by Amy Keeley
“No! And you’re lucky to still have a place here instead of getting sent back home for the way you spoke to me just now.” Grabbing his coat and cloak, he opened the door. “He’ll be gone before I come back or I’ll throw him out myself.”
The bell rang, and Lejer waited, glaring at her. “Well?”
She sighed and descended the stairs with him. At the foot stood Lily, a baby on her hip and one hand holding a basket. The baby sneezed. Lejer didn’t chase them out.
She had expected Lejer to be angry. Men were expected to guard the secrets of their trade and Lejer had made a point of guarding them so well that no one was able to make bread like him. Not even his wife, though she came close if the number of customers they still had was any indication.
She hadn’t expected him to threaten to send her back. That was a fate usually reserved for unfaithful wives. Unless, she thought, he doubts me.
Most of the conversation with Lily was a hazy strain; work she put out of her mind as soon as it was done. Only one thing caught her attention.
“—and Lord and Lady Felldesh have hired a highly-respected minstrel!”
“What?”
“I was just as surprised when my husband told me. He’s one of the greatest in the entire land of the Tothsins. Zhiv Mikhailsin.”
“What does he look like?”
Lily laughed. “What an odd question. Do you know most of the women ask that? Even I asked that. But my husband tells me no one knows because it’s a custom now for musicians to cover themselves with invisibility as they play.”
They aren’t the same, she decided. The minstrel upstairs plays a fiddle. “I’m assuming the great Zhiv will be accompanied?”
“Oh, yes. With many minstrels from the area. Some, I’ve heard, have even traveled great distances for the honor, with the largest number of fiddlers any court, except perhaps the king’s, has ever had before.”
“I see.”
She remembered the look of horror on the minstrel’s face and how imperative it was for him to get to town. It made sense now.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. Lily’s eyes grew wide and Krysilla turned toward the sound as well, though she knew who it was.
The minstrel, fully dressed, stepped into view. He still looked exhausted, and his wavy hair hadn’t been properly combed, but he was still as handsome as when she’d first seen him. In fact, his unruly hair gave him a rakish appearance that was far too attractive for any woman’s heart.
Lily apparently felt the same. She blushed, then looked at Krysilla, waiting for an introduction.
“Ah, Lily.” She thought quickly. “This man...he’s—”
“A distant relative,” he finished for her. “She didn’t even know my name until last night when I so unceremoniously asked her for help.”
“Oh?” One of Lily’s children tugged on her hand but she barely glanced at her before turning all attention back to the minstrel.
“Parlay,” he said, and bowed. “At your service. I play at fairs and for small groups.”
“Oh.” She frowned. Lowly minstrels were different from the kind that played at courts, Krysilla guessed. “And how are you related?”
“Distantly. It would take a bit to explain. How much time do you have?” And Parlay smiled.
Krysilla wasn’t sure whether to laugh or pout when Lily gazed at him with a look that said she had all the time in the world. That magnetic smile could melt the coldest of hearts, she decided and tried to avoid looking at it herself. “Your order, Lily?”
“Ah, yes.” She giggled, as if remembering who she was. “My husband will be worried about me.”
Parlay’s smile never wavered. “He ought to be.” His wink made Lily blush.
Krysilla’s jaw set. “Here’s the receipt. I’ll put it in the oven.”
Lily took it, only half aware of her surroundings. Only when her children began begging her to stop at the carpenter’s on the way home to see the models did she appear to come back to her senses. Krysilla watched her dissemble, rattling off a list of errands, until the door shut. “You noticed her blue sash.”
“As clearly as I noticed yours,” Parlay said, this time with a calculation in his eyes that made her nervous. “Jealous?”
Pointedly ignoring his question, she said, “If you’re well enough to get up, then you’re well enough to leave.” She carried Lily’s marked loaf down the hall.
“Are you sure?” She could hear his smile in the words.
“I thought you were in a hurry to get somewhere yourself?”
“That I was and am. As soon as you give me back my fiddle.”
Maybe he would play at the Felldesh manor on New Moon. She wanted to ask. She wanted to learn more about him. But she thought of the way he flirted with Lily and frowned. Anyone who ignored promises, especially those tied to the blue sash, was not someone she should trust.
That she was tempted to ignore those very promises herself was something she tried not to think about. “The bread has to go in the oven first. I’ll get your fiddle after it’s in.”
He followed her out to the ovens and watched patiently as she put the bread in. Tension knotted her stomach as she waved her hands in the spell that would write on the outside of the oven when the loaf was done. She shouldn’t be doing this while he watched.
He’s announced himself as a relative, she tried to calm herself. No one will think twice if he watches.
Still, it seemed odd that he would be so eager to leave one minute, then tarry the next.
Finished with the loaf, she went to the cart and pulled back the burlap. As expected, his fiddle case sat just where it had been the night before.
He took it up with a frown. “It was out here all night?”
“I had my hands full at the time.”
If he caught her meaning, he didn’t show it. He opened the case and took out the gleaming fiddle. Close-up, Krysilla loved watching the sunlight dance through the polished wood as Parlay turned it this way and that. Taking up the bow, he tucked the fiddle under his chin and plucked the strings, turning the pegs to change the pitch until he appeared satisfied. Putting it away, his smile returned. With a sly, sidelong glance, he said, “You can ask me if you like.”
“Ask you what?”
“If I’m playing at the Felldesh manor.”
“Obviously you are if you mentioned it. Why would I need to ask now?”
“So that I can repay you for your kindness.” And the look he gave her then made her knees weak.
Krysilla shook her head and walked back to the house. “We all know each other in this town. It would be wise not to get tangled up in blue sashes while you’re here.”
“Thank you for the information. I owe you again.”
She paused at the door, remembering the affection in Lily’s voice when she spoke of her husband. “If you feel you must pay me something, don’t hurt my friends.” In spite of her fear that she would melt at the sight of him, she forced herself to glare at his handsome form.
His flirtatious glances had been replaced entirely now by calculation. He was summing her up; she knew it. When he did smile, he said nothing. He bowed, then turned and, shoulder strap once more wrapped twice around his hand, walked away.
All the rest of the morning became a blur of customers and orders, with thoughts of the events early this morning weaving through them. When the sun was high and it was time for dinner, Krysilla had almost put Parlay out of her mind. Almost.
She had made an extra loaf of bread, just in case she needed it for him. With a sigh at her foolishness, she put it on the table with the others and ladled the pottage into bowls.
Lejer came through the door, his vest and coat dusty. At least he looks sober, she thought, and pulled out a chair for him.
He grunted his thanks and sat down. “He gone?”
“Yes. He left not long after you did.”
“Didn’t take anything, did he?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Lejer leaned forward and breathed in the aroma of the pottage. “I’ve been thinking it might be good to have a vegetable stew for New Moon.” He began to eat.
Krysilla had been about to sit down, but she stopped and remained standing. “No meat?”
Everyone had meat for New Moon. Even the beggars were given a small amount, in remembrance of the bounty of peace.
“Krysilla,” Lejer said between bites, “we need the money for a new oven. Business has been very good and we need to grow it even more.”
Her anger from before made her clench her jaw. She breathed in deep, trying to relax. “If we have a new oven, will I have an assistant in the bakery?”
His eyes narrowed. A shiver of fear ran through her stomach, but she held firm. Another oven meant more work and she didn’t think she could do much more without breaking.
“An assistant might turn out to be untrustworthy.”
She thought of Lily and her well-kept home. “I need more time to focus on the house.”
“You help me in the bakery. That’s good enough for a wife.”
“The place is falling apart. I need time to rest from the magic I use in the bakery so I—”
“Can what? Dust and clean? It’s clean enough here. You don’t need to do anything more.”
“I’m tired, Lejer.” It was the first time she had complained in the seven years they had been married. Tears of exhaustion sprang to her eyes.
“Don’t nag, Krysilla.” Tossing his spoon into his bowl, he got up and grabbed his coat. He opened the door.
“Since when have I—” and then she saw Parlay on the other side.
Embarrassed, she turned away, hand over her mouth. “What do you want?” she heard Lejer say.
“I owe you a debt,” came Parlay’s bright, cheerful response. “In fact, I owe you two. As a way of repaying you, I have gotten permission for you and your wife to listen to the musical extravaganza at the manor of Lord Felldesh on New Moon. I would also like to give you and your friends a private concert tonight at a place of your choosing.”
Trying to appear as if she didn’t care and that Parlay hadn’t interrupted anything, Krysilla sat down at the table and began organizing it. A cobweb caught her eye and she quietly waved it away with magic that really should be saved for the bakery. The effort almost made her miss Lejer’s expected response to Parlay’s offer.
“Extravaganzas aren’t for the likes of us. We don’t have time for them.”
If Parlay was surprised, he didn’t show it. “I thought you might say that. So, I took the liberty of asking if you might, with her ladyship’s approval, listen from the salon next to the room. It’s her ladyship’s personal room, where she sometimes retires when a dinner has proved too much for her delicate constitution.”
Aren’t we good enough for the main room? Krysilla waited for her husband to say those words, but nothing came. She looked up and saw him staring at Parlay as if he was trying to figure out the minstrel’s game.
“All right,” he finally said. Shocked, Krysilla watched her husband fold his arms over his blue vest and lean against the door frame. “I’m not about to subject my friends and family to your playing, though.”
“Would you care for a small sample?”
The bell rang. Confused, Krysilla got up to answer it. As she did, she noticed he now wore the strap of his fiddle case over his shoulder, as he should have done before. For a moment, as he took the strap from his shoulder, their eyes met, and his smile grew. A blush dusted her cheeks and she hurried to the front.
Not long after, the sound of Parlay’s fiddle filled the air behind her with a happy jig.
Trying to focus on the customer instead of his playing, she quickly took care of the old man who had brought in a loaf to bake for his dinner. Seeing him to the door (something she never did with a customer), she checked the sign that told passersby that the bakery was closed for lunch.
It hadn’t been turned to show it.
Had she forgotten to turn it? Walking up to it, she reached out to do so when she felt the faint tingle of magic along its edges. Someone had turned it back to the side that said they were open using magic. As if enchanted, she let her fingers linger on the edge of the sign, wishing she had the training of a manor-born lady. It was said they could tell not only the kind of magic used, but who had used it. And Krysilla wanted to be sure before she confronted the one she thought might be behind it.
The sound of Lejer’s clapping, along with two or three other pairs of hands reminded her of her surroundings. Quickly turning the sign to its proper side, she walked back to the kitchen. A small group had formed in the distance and were waiting for more.
“Not bad,” Lejer said, a smile on his face. “Not bad at all, minstrel.”
“Tonight, then?” he asked, putting his fiddle away as he spoke.
“Here, in the backyard. I’ll spread the word.”
“Thank you.” Parlay closed the case and bowed low. “Until tonight.” Turning in Krysilla’s direction, he bowed again, not quite as low this time.
She nodded her head in acknowledgment. I shouldn’t be this happy from such a gesture, she thought and tried not to frown.
Neither spoke until Parlay had left. Lejer took a deep breath. “Well!” Grinning from ear to ear, he put on his coat. “I’d better spread the word. Thomas across the street will be green with envy that I managed to get a private concert from a minstrel of that quality. Is he playing for the Felldesh manor?”
“He didn’t say.”
Lejer looked around the kitchen. “Krysilla, if we’re going to have company, we’ll need to have the place fixed up. Do what you can, and bake some treats. I’ll see if I can’t get some more business out of this.”
Silent curses toward Parlay running through her mind, she nodded. “Of course.”
His grin spread even further and he left to go spread the word.
He’ll be here tonight, the more insane part of her thought as she cleaned that afternoon before she went on deliveries. She would hear him play and hear his voice and see his smile. Just thinking of that brought a smile of her own to her lips.
***
Evening came and a small crowd had gathered in their backyard. Lejer had somehow managed to find a carpenter willing to make benches for everyone. From the safety of the kitchen, Krysilla watched the crowd murmur and gesture and she could tell from that alone that everyone was curious about a minstrel who could impress Lejer, one of the more stalwart Tothsins in the village.
Krysilla wondered about that herself.
Using only a little magic to keep down the mess, she sprinkled powdered sugar on the little cakes she’d made. Powdered sugar stuck to her hands and to the places on her face where she’d rubbed or scratched as she worked. She’d already used quite a bit getting the house ready and she didn’t want to collapse when it came time to hear Parlay play. The bell at the front of the store rang and she growled. “Coming!”
“Don’t worry,” Parlay said, walking down the hall to the kitchen. “it’s only me.”
She brushed a strand of hair from her face before realizing she was coating it in powdered sugar. “Oh!” And then she saw him. “Oh.”
He wore the garb of a traveling minstrel with some money to spend. He wore the dark purple vest that showed he was a performer, with a bleached and starched white handkerchief in the pocket, yet both were of a somewhat higher quality and better cut than what she’d seen him wear at the market. His shirt, of the same quality as the vest and handkerchief, was a patchwork of light purple and off-white, a direct contrast to the plain brown slacks and laced boots he wore, and the sleeves were only slightly more full than the shirt he had worn previously. He looked both adventurous and calm.
“Is that what you’ll wear at the Felldesh manor?” she smiled and went back to dusting the cakes.
“If only. My clothes for that event will be much more flashy.”
With no one to see them because of the invisibility, she smiled. “I
thought, being the kind who enjoys the ladies, that you would want something that got attention.”
“I can get attention no matter what clothes I wear,” he said, with a sly look that made her blush.
“Well,” she said, regaining her composure, “you’ve certainly gotten this town’s attention. I think half the village is trying to squeeze into our backyard.” She hesitated, looking at the crowd. “How do you do it?”
“What?”
“Some of the people out there say you can’t be as good as Lejer says you are because you don’t use magic.”
“That’s the draw. Magic is used by everyone, even minstrels, so what would music look like without it?”
“Then how do you do it?” She looked back at him. “How do you keep them from walking away disappointed?”
He leaned his back against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. “Some do. Can’t help that. As for the rest, I practice very, very hard, and hope for the best. What about you?”
She blew a stray strand of hair from her eyes this time, instead of touching it. “What about me?”
“A baker’s wife. Is that all you do?”
She chuckled. “It’s all that matters.”
Though the smile remained on his face, his tone was serious. “Is it?”
Not liking the direction the conversation was headed, she looked out the window. “Looks like it’s about time for the show to start.”
“It starts when I appear.”
She turned to him in surprise at his arrogance. As if realizing how he had sounded, he shrugged. “There’s no other way to say it.”
“You think you’re that important. What’s to keep them from getting up and walking away?”
“The same thing that kept you.”
He’d gotten too close with that one. Krysilla took one of the enormous trays full of cakes. “I’m walking away, aren’t I? And I wasn’t the one who asked you to play in our yard tonight, either.” She turned away to take the cake outside.
“Krysilla.”
She froze, hating the way her name sounded like a caress when he said it, hating the way she lingered, waiting for more. Terrible behavior from a wife, she scolded herself.
“Goodwife,” she corrected him. And yet, she waited.
