The Baker's Wife--complete

by Amy Keeley

  “I think,” she said, unsure if she should say anything at all, “you’re supposed to put them in the correct order.”

  Zhiv watched them turn. “It reminds me of some drawings I saw once. Wandering worlds spinning around a center, but some don’t move in a circle.”

  Something changed within the spell. A thin line of magic ran from the gears down the door and into the ground. “Parlay, you might want to hurry.” And she told him what she’d felt.

  He barely nodded, his attention completely on the characters in front of him. Then, he began touching them in turn. “Okya,” he whispered as he pressed them. “For the path that creates and destroys.”

  The characters he touched spun and locked into place.

  “What did you say?”

  “The Ornic word for ‘sun’. Did that do anything?”

  “I don’t know.” Inside, she could feel only some of the gears had stopped. Others continued to turn, though more slowly now.

  He tapped his fingers against his thigh, then touched more characters. “And then it would be, ’mozh’, to remind him of the village he protects.”

  More gears locked into place.

  And so it went. Ayapor, for the river that brings the market. Yeevavorn for the market itself. And finally, husa for home.

  As he touched the last character, the gears, instead of locking into place, spun wildly before resetting. “It didn’t work,” she said.

  She felt magic snake through the floor around their feet. “Parlay—”

  “I feel it.” He stared at the characters. “I’m missing something,” he murmured.

  The magic pooled underneath and seeped over her toes. Pain sharp as needles pricked her. Wincing, she said, “Maybe the village doesn’t mean as much to him as you think.”

  “Why do you say that?” His focus remained on the door, though he also winced, and she knew the magic was doing the same to him that it was to her.

  “Did you see the way the room was before the musicians entered? Maybe he’s using the Ornic word for power or glory.” Burning pain seeped through her feet and crawled up to her ankles.

  He blinked. “It would be something he’d want to remember.”

  This time, he didn’t stop to think. His hands flew as he touched each of the characters. “First, the sun,” he said as he worked, “then, his wife, then the village and the river and the market and finally the Next Home, husanokya.”

  The magic that had been steadily creeping stopped and slid away. The gears remained locked briefly, then turned, and Krysilla felt rods pull bolts out of the wall. “You did it,” she whispered.

  “It helps to have someone who knows locks,” he grinned. Taking hold of the pendant, he pushed and the door swung open.

  Inside, gold bars glittered in the light Zhiv held up. Pointy objects wrapped up in bags and occasional gem-studded artifacts with uses foreign to Krysilla all gleamed in the light until it fell on a small bookshelf and a desk with a chair pulled out beside it. “Ah,” he said. “Here is the reason for all the drama.” He turned back to Krysilla, away from the bookshelf. “I had hoped for the presence of Lord Felldesh, though. He’s much better at explaining things than I.”

  “Am I?” a deep voice said from the chair by the desk. “Or are you trying to be funny?”

  At the sound of the voice, Zhiv’s head had whipped around. By the time Lord Felldesh had finished speaking, Zhiv seemed once again sure of what was to come. Good thing, Krysilla thought as Lord Felldesh removed a cloak that made him as invisible as the pendants. Wadding it up, he tossed it onto the pile of gold bars.

  Zhiv shook his head. “And I thought you respected magic.”

  “And I thought you respected authority.” Lord Felldesh stood and Krysilla felt more fear than when she had been waiting for Zhiv to enter the combination for the door.

  “I give respect where respect is deserved, not to men who use their position to hide their sins.”

  Lord Felldesh chuckled. He clapped his hands and the room filled with light from the lamps along the walls, their King’s Lights burning brighter than the ones in the manor above. And then he saw Krysilla. “What is she doing here? An audience for you to play to?”

  “It’s not much good, playing without one.”

  Lord Felldesh’s eyes burned bright with anger. Before he could say or do anything, Zhiv said, “Lord Felldesh, may I introduce Krysilla Gillasin, the baker’s wife.”

  All the color left the face of Lord Felldesh. The man who had, at first, appeared so immovable, stumbled backward.

  “Back to our original topic,” Zhiv began but Lord Felldesh interrupted.

  “You’re cruel, Zhiv. Far too cruel.” The proof she’d wanted barely registered in her confusion at the reaction of Lord Felldesh to her name.

  “She’s part of this, and you know it.”

  Lord Felldesh’s eyes glittered. “And what will she do when she knows? How will you comfort her?” To Krysilla, he said, “You must have heard his reputation by now, Goodwife Gillasin. White or blue sash, doesn’t matter. Or have you rationalized it by saying you’ll always treasure the memory?”

  Her cheeks burning from the shame of what he implied, she said, “He hasn’t touched me.”

  “It’s true,” Zhiv shrugged. “Couldn’t have slammed that door harder if she tried.”

  The lord’s eyes narrowed. “Then what did he promise you?”

  “The truth,” Zhiv said, before Krysilla could think up a lie.

  “It can’t be that simple. No one wants to know their spouse is less than the person they thought they married. Or do you feel, in your strange way, that she’ll be better off for knowing?”

  “At the least,” Zhiv said, his eyes glittering this time, “she’ll know why he leaves her alone so often.”

  Lord Felldesh studied Zhiv with a steadiness that made Krysilla nervous. The words that had passed between them made her feel cold, and she was trying desperately to unlock the meaning before the implied pain began.

  One thing was certain. Lord Felldesh was wrong. She did want to know. Maybe, if she knew, if she could understand why her husband did what he did, or where she went wrong, she could keep the happiness she’d discovered and still manage to be the wife everyone said she should be. The locks would be a problem, but if they understood each other, that could be resolved, too. Even if she had to give up using this magic, she would if she knew love waited for her at the end. But all of this hinged on knowing.

  Striding to the small bookshelf, Lord Felldesh grabbed one of the books, bound closed with leather. “Here.” He tossed it to Zhiv, who easily caught it. “You have the information the King paid you to find. I’ll pay you even more if you leave now.”

  “A bribe?” Zhiv’s eyes narrowed.

  “Please,” Lord Felldesh said in a low voice and she realized he was begging. “The King wants to know and I’ve confessed. Let that be the end of it.”

  This time, it was Krysilla who spoke. “No. It’s not the end. He says I’m involved and you haven’t denied it. If you won’t tell me, I’ll ask my husband directly.”

  At that, Lord Felldesh laughed. “If your husband knew you were here, he would have already left, running for the river like a frightened doe.”

  “What is it?” she demanded. “I can assure you, I’ll forgive my husband, no matter what he’s done. I won’t be weakened by anything you tell me.”

  Stunned, Lord Felldesh stared at her. “Anything. Are you sure of that?”

  Remembering the words of the Disciples, she quoted her favorite sermon. “‘Love does not turn away when it finds the object of its affection marred. It is faithful, even when that faithfulness is not returned.’” Next to her, Zhiv stood still, his gaze fixed on the floor. Lord Felldesh regarded her. “There is nothing he has done that I will not forgive him for.”

  Lord Felldesh slowly nodded. He looked at a point beyond her, his eyes full of sorrow. “I feel the same. But, no matter how much one may wish it, there are s
ome times when forgiveness is...difficult. You won’t find your part in that book. It’s a ledger of all the taxes I’ve kept for myself. It doesn’t say why, or who receives them.”

  Zhiv said, “Lejer Gillasin, I assume.”

  Shocked, Krysilla stared at Zhiv. Lord Felldesh’s smile was empty. He closed his eyes, and tilted his head, as if deep in thought. “What is the saying, Zhiv? ‘There are lies that are not spoken. There are words that are not said. There are truths that are but tokens. There are girls you should not bed.’ Your truth, my poor goodwife, is currently in a room with no windows, though it does have a secret door. I’m sure, given how much you’ve said, Zhiv, that you know the exit. Take the goodwife there, and may the Judging Path forgive you for the pain you’re about to cause.”

  With that, Lord Felldesh left.

  “How?” Krysilla demanded.

  “I’ll explain as we walk.”

  “My husband doesn’t steal.”

  They entered the corridor. No magic hummed around them. Zhiv’s pace was quick and it was difficult for Krysilla to keep up with him. “Technically, only Lord Felldesh has stolen. Women aren’t considered property.”

  Krysilla stopped, all the words about her involvement making a terrible sense. “He wouldn’t have an affair.”

  “Why?” Zhiv stopped and turned. “Because he’s such a good Tothsin?” he sneered. “Because every New Moon he goes with you to hear a sermon from the traveling Disciple and makes sure you never touch anything but bread with your magic? He’d turn you over to the Dogs in a heartbeat if he knew what you’d been doing.”

  Krysilla wanted to deny it. She wanted to say Lejer loved her enough to try to keep it quiet. To her great disappointment, she couldn’t.

  “That nobleman,” Zhiv continued, “loves his wife far more than she deserves. He has sacrificed himself to keep her from shame and a life that she has sworn she will not live. I’ve done my duty, and found what I came here to find. But that isn’t justice.”

  “And what is?”

  Zhiv turned and began walking again, faster than before if it was possible. Hurrying after him, Krysilla said, “Lord Felldesh is a good ruler. He treats us all fairly. If what you’re about to do—”

  “Are you saying I should defy the King?” His voice held the promise of laughter with no mirth.

  “I’m saying, perhaps Lord Felldesh is right.”

  “You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen your husband yet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Follow me.” They entered the corridors with the cellars, with their twists and turns. But he didn’t take the same path as before. “Do you love the ovens so much? Or is it security you’re afraid of losing?”

  “I’m not afraid of losing anything.”

  “You’re a terrible liar, goodwife. Or,” he pushed open a door and cold, night air blew inside, “is it that you love him, after all?” He held the door open for her and she passed by him to the Felldesh grounds.

  “I’m his wife.”

  “Ah, yes,” he let the door close, “that answers everything.” His pace as they walked the lawn made her breathless. “Why do you destroy your health working in the bakery? ‘Because I’m his wife.’ Why do you stand by him no matter what he might have done? ‘Because I’m his wife.’” He turned suddenly and she stumbled to keep from running into him. His aquamarine eyes looked gray in the starlight, like stone. “Why did you only start prettying yourself when a handsome man offered you freedom? ‘Because I’m his wife,’ doesn’t really cover that, does it?” He whipped around and she struggled to catch up to him.

  “What do you care? Lord Felldesh is right, you must have something you want out of this. There’s no reason the King’s minstrel would care one fig about me, unless I had something he wanted.”

  He stopped, and held a finger to his lips, his eyes serious. Crouching down, he seemed to be counting something along the wall. He moved a few paces further ahead, then away from the manor a few more, before gesturing for her to stand by him.

  She did so, strolling to where he stood, with the attitude that he must be wrong. Folding her arms, she waited.

  Leaning close by her ear, he whispered, “Was he at home when we arrived, goodwife?”

  Glaring at him, she turned her attention back to the wall. Only a few minutes had gone by when she heard something within it creak. A small door, barely big enough to crawl through, opened. Out of it, crawling, came a half-dressed man.

  Zhiv held up his King’s Light and it blazed just long enough to blind the man, and reveal him to his wife. Lejer Gillasin covered his eyes. “Burning Fire, what—”

  “Lejer.” She didn’t mean to say his name. But part of her still couldn’t believe what was in front of her.

  He froze. “Krysilla?”

  “And Parlay,” Zhiv said brightly. “Now that we’re all aware of each other’s names—” but before he could finish, Lejer rushed forward with a roar.

  Zhiv gave Krysilla a shove to push her out of Lejer’s way. Magic hummed around Zhiv and then, he wasn’t there.

  Lejer grabbed nothing, and fell to his knees. Still furious, he yelled, “Shouldn’t trust a minstrel!”

  She thought of the times she tried to reach out to him, and he refused her. She thought of the days when she was so tired, she could hardly think, and he was nowhere to be found. She thought of slights, and insults, and sharp words and a heart that seemed bound in rock whenever she hoped to touch it. This one thing explained so much. “How long?” she said.

  Lejer stood. At least he has the decency to look ashamed, she thought, as he avoided her eyes. He didn’t answer.

  She thought back through their married life. He’d always been busy. He’d always had connections to keep up. “It started a year after we were married, didn’t it?”

  He shook his head. “Three months after she was married.”

  She remembered that. The whole village had been given a holiday when Lord and Lady Felldesh married. There had been a general feast. But that would mean...“You knew her before you met me.”

  “I was trying to forget her. I thought I could.”

  That explains that first year, she thought. And as she thought through when things fell apart, her breath came faster. “It was when I finished training, wasn’t it? That’s when you went back.” Lejer opened his mouth to speak, but she wouldn’t let him. Not yet. “But you knew only a couple months afterward. I could tell. You didn’t want me.” She chuckled. “I felt it. I thought there was something wrong with me, that I’d done something, and you never...all the guest rooms. You built them for her, didn’t you? And the finery we have, it was for her. Were you hoping the bakery would kill me?”

  “Now, you’re getting dramatic,” he said.

  “I have a right!” Her world had begun to splinter. She laughed. “I have a right to be dramatic. You would have sent me back to my family because I kept a sick man in a spare room. The whole village would have thought I’d failed in my duties as a wife when I was only trying to help someone in need. And you would have let them. You would have let them.” Horrified at what she was seeing, she turned away. She could hear him following after her, but she didn’t slow or turn around. “The money, Lejer. They said you received the taxes Lord Felldesh was supposed to pay to the King.”

  “Never,” and she could hear he was telling the truth. “Sometimes...sometimes she would laugh about how we would run away together. But she would always say that she was too attached to her money.”

  “Then that leaves us with a loose end to tie up,” Zhiv said, though he remained unseen. “Because Lord Felldesh says you’re the one who receives the money he’s been taking.”

  Krysilla stopped. “Would there be a reason for Lord Felldesh to hide the person who receives it?”

  Lejer eyed the grounds, as if waiting for Zhiv to reappear. “I won’t talk to anyone I can’t see.”

  “Because you’d much rather not talk until I’m covered in my own
blood,” Zhiv said. “Sorry. I’m rather partial to this vest.” His voice moved in a circle around them, bouncing from one side to the other so that it was impossible to tell exactly where he was, magic similar to what she’d felt in the door moving with it, though without the depth of power the door contained. “There’s only one explanation, and, therefore, only one person left to speak with.”

  Lejer’s face paled. “Stay away from her.”

  “So she can keep building the wealth that will enable her to leave? It’s done through a third-party, isn’t it? A blackmailer who uses your name, a final nod of affection toward your wife when you finally got the courage to run away with your...well, I guess love, though I doubt love has anything to do with this.”

  When Lejer spoke next, each word cutting her worse than if he’d taken a knife to her himself. “I would do anything for her, face any man who dared insult her—”

  “Throw yourself into a raging fire and forgive all insults,” Zhiv said, unimpressed. “I’ve already heard enough of devotion for one night. So, moving on, you’d ruin a truly good nobleman and the name of an innocent woman, because you were overcome by passion. That makes sense. Consider your secret kept. At least, by me.”

  Eyes wide, Krysilla opened her mouth to speak.

  “You wanted justice, didn’t you, goodwife?” Zhiv interrupted. “Besides, how can I condemn a man you so obviously love? Farewell.”

  And the magic she felt from him left.

  Silence stretched between her and Lejer. What could be said? She’d caught him breaking his promise, and she now knew he didn’t love her enough to keep the Dogs away if he felt she endangered his plans with Lady Felldesh. She sighed. “Let’s go home, Lejer.” And she began to walk.

  He didn’t follow.

  Krysilla stopped and turned her head almost over her shoulder. She couldn’t look at him. Not yet. “Has anything changed?” she asked.

  “You know.”

  Words had difficulty forming as she thought of their arguments, of when he threatened to send her back for letting “Parlay” into their home and when he told her he had rights as a husband. Rights. She could feel that insane laughter bubbling up again, and stopped thinking altogether. “It’s not like I need to fear an illness.”