by Amy Keeley
“I was going to leave you the bakery,” he said.
“Yes. I gathered that.”
“And I thought if I blackened my name, it might take away some of the taint from you. It wasn’t as if I was going to leave you with nothing.”
“But you would have left. And I would have thought I was to blame.”
He said nothing. She turned and looked at him now, shivering in the chill night air, much smaller than she remembered him. “Do what you like. I’m going home.” And she did.
The walk was long and dark. More than once, something frightened her along the way, and yet she didn’t slow, angry enough to smash anything that kept her from a calm night with a warm cup of tea and a soft bed. When she finally arrived home, she felt as if she were walking while asleep. Locking the door behind her, she stared at the cold, dark house in front of her. Nothing was lit, nothing...and then she saw a flicker of light at the back.
“Goodwife?” Zhiv called out from the kitchen. He seemed to be messing with the fixture above the table.
Stunned at his audacity, at his arrogance, she stormed down the hall to the kitchen. “This is my home.”
“I thought you might appreciate some light when you arrived.”
The King’s Light now hanging in the kitchen above the table looked warmer than the ones Lejer had brought her each year. This glowed with a light that reminded her of when the fire in the oven burned low, and cast amusing shadows on the wall. It felt comforting. And relaxing. And that terrified her. “Why are you here?”
He sat at the table, leaning on one elbow, and shrugged. “I thought you might like to know what I’m going to do with the information we found.”
“I thought you’d already decided.”
“Nothing’s certain until I speak with him.”
“And?”
He gestured toward a chair. “Sit, please.”
“I’ll fall asleep if I do.”
“And that’s bad?”
“Around you, yes.”
He smiled, warm and seductive. “It’s understandable, what those two did. Passion can destroy a man’s sense and a woman’s heart. All the King needs to know, is that his money will be flowing back to him once more.”
“Justice.”
“What would you have me do? I’ll grant you anything you ask. Ask me to go back on my word to your husband, and I will. Ask me to ignore it all, and I will.”
“What will the King say?”
“As long as he gets paid and Lord Felldesh continues to rule the kingdom wisely, he won’t care. It’s one of his failings.”
Krysilla nodded, unable to trust him. “What about you?”
He tried to look innocent.
Krysilla made sure the table was between them as she continued. “You were livid in the manor when you talked about this situation. What changed?”
He got up. “I started thinking about you.”
“What about me?”
“Oh, various things.” She could tell what those might be from the look in his eyes.
“You had more than one day to seduce me.” They circled the table, but she wasn’t afraid. “That isn’t what you want.”
“How do you know? Everyone has their breaking point. Look at your husband. He tried so very hard to live as a good Tothsin should, keeping all his promises and vows. But time got to him.”
She remembered how she looked in the mirror, and that the minstrels seemed more interested in who she was to Zhiv than in her. “I find it hard to believe you couldn’t find a prettier girl in the village than me.”
“But none more interesting. And none who have found out as many of my secrets as you.”
Krysilla tried not to smile. “You want to keep an eye on me.”
And with a look in his eyes that made his meaning clear, he said, “I’d rather make sure nothing’s on you.”
It was the first time any man had been so direct in their intentions. Even Lejer, her own husband, had never said anything close to that. It took a moment for her to notice they’d stopped circling, and that Zhiv remained on the opposite side of the table from her.
It was difficult not to think about what it would be like with him. She could almost feel his hands slipping under her dress, his lips on hers. She was no untouched maiden, and the brief taste she’d had now and then with Lejer of what was possible had left her hungering for more. But it was only now, when something that might satisfy it was so close that she realized just how sharp that hunger was.
As if it were nothing but an appetite, she thought, remembering the dreams she’d had when she was still unmarried. And she knew her answer. “No.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I’m sorry?”
“You don’t love me. And I don’t love you.”
“Love,” he scoffed, amused at her response.
“I know what it’s like to lie next to a man who is always somewhere else. You say time breaks a person. It’s already broken me, just not in the way you think. You’d leave me for someone else. And by then, it might be more than just lying next to you for me. Better not to even have a taste, than cry over what might have been.” He opened his mouth to speak. Terrified he might talk her out of this and tempt her beyond what she could stand, she said, “I have nothing to offer you. I’m the wife of a baker. I have no money, no connections. I can’t even guarantee you, the great Zhiv Mikailsin, an audience. More than that, if I were to lie with you now, the one thing I can still respect myself for is lost forever, so go. Please. Before my husband comes home.”
Zhiv tapped his thigh twice, then nodded. “And about Lady Felldesh and your husband? What do you wish me to do?”
“It’s not for a baker’s wife to judge. As a servant of the King, do whatever you feel is just.”
He chuckled, and studied her through narrowed eyes. “Farewell, then, goodwife.”
“Farewell.”
He left through the back door and she locked it behind him. Her hands shook as she finished the keyspell, not from fear but from need. She exchanged the warm light he’d brought into her kitchen with one that seemed more like a pale winter light. It must be because the sphere has no golden tint, she thought. Taking the warm light upstairs, she put it in the Blue Room, and stared at the bed where he’d been, remembering what he’d looked like in the morning.
She went back to her room, undressed, and placed her blue sash carefully on the stool. Even though she was tired, she washed her face and brushed her hair. She still didn’t dare look in the mirror.
There’s no reason, she thought, for him to want me. Not for anything I can see. And I can’t possibly be that interesting to him. No, whatever he wanted was something only known to him, something that would benefit whatever plans he had in mind.
That she knew for certain. Far more went on in his head than tunes and spells. And somehow he’d decided she figured into what he truly wanted.
But he didn’t want her. As Lady Felldesh had said, a woman knows. It was with those thoughts that she climbed into bed and tried to sleep.
Lejer didn’t come home that night.
***
Things almost went back to normal over the next two months. Lord Felldesh continued to rule the land as he always had. Lady Felldesh continued to throw parties, though Krysilla heard rumors that her brightness had dimmed somehow. No one knew why.
Lejer came home the day after Krysilla learned about his infidelity, walking as if he carried a sack of flour on his back. He said nothing as he entered through the kitchen door. Krysilla went back to stirring her soup and busying herself around the house.
He spent the rest of the day in the Sun Room. Once, when she went out to feed the chickens, she caught him staring at the place where Zhiv had played, and she wondered if he blamed Zhiv at all.
Krysilla, in spite of her newfound repugnance of his touch, discovered she could tolerate his presence. When he went back to working in the bakery, she was polite. In fact, she was grateful. It gave her more time to catch
up on the house.
He still went out in the evenings and stayed late. Sometimes, he didn’t come home at all. But now Krysilla didn’t wait for him. He slept in the Sun Room, and she stayed in the Master Bedroom.
She never went back to the Blue Room. Better to move on, she decided.
Not that she wasn’t grateful. The house looked bright from her cleaning, she wore pretty dresses and slept more. With her growing energy, she made a point of stopping to talk to the women in the village, and even began inviting some of them over for tea.
For the first time in many years, she was happy. Lonely, but happy. And if that made little sense to her when she thought about it, she didn’t care.
One day, while she was speaking with a customer and Lejer was busy with the ovens, a young man walked in. He seemed barely above sixteen years of age, with light gold hair and clear, brown eyes that looked around the shop, as if taking note of everything they saw. “May I help you?” she asked.
He smiled and bowed. “I’m here to ask if you need any help.”
“You’ll need to speak with my husband. Just a moment.” She finished with the customer, an old woman who looked appreciatively at the young man before leaving, then poked her head into the bakery. “Lejer. Someone’s asking for a job.”
“We don’t need the help,” he said, not looking away from the loaves he shaped.
“I was sent,” the young man said. “My name’s Byor Hilloksin.”
Both Krysilla and Lejer stared at Byor, then at each other. “Who sent you?” Lejer asked.
“A fiddler. Said you’d know who it was.”
Lejer dusted off his hands, stared at Byor for a moment, then nodded. “Wait in the front. I’ll speak with you after I finish these.”
With a nod, Byor leaned against the wall and went back to looking. Though he seemed like a good enough young man, the fact that he had ties to Zhiv made her nervous. And once, when she was tidying up the front desk, she caught him looking at her with a curiosity that went beyond that of a person asking to assist in a shop.
As she thought about the possible reasons why Zhiv might have sent him, one came through clear: he wanted eyes in Lejer’s bakery. Infuriated, she began to clean the house, bottom to top, her magic straightening and dusting and polishing, even though she’d already done most of those small chores the day before. It let her focus on something other than a growing helplessness.
She was caught in his web, whether she liked it or not.
Finished with the upstairs, she saw Lejer and Byor standing just outside the back door. Byor smiled and they shook hands.
With a grin, Byor raced off. She hurried downstairs to find out what Lejer had discovered. He came back inside, frowning so deeply, his face seemed to have become nothing but lines and folds of skin. “That musician friend of yours is quite a talker.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh, nothing. Just told Hilloksin that we needed help and that we’d be glad to receive it. Said the bakery was killing you and he’d be doing us a favor. That confused him when he saw you. He said you didn’t look miserable at all.”
“I’m sure that pleased you,” she said, remembering how tired she had once been. Still, even with both of them working, the bakery was hard work. If Zhiv had done this out of kindness, she might feel more grateful. Instead, she felt wary.
He shrugged, then shook his head. “Happy now?” he said, deep resentment simmering in his eyes when he looked at her. “‘Oh, I’ll just have him here for the night, Lejer. I can’t turn out a sick man.’”
Krysilla folded her arms over her chest. “Do you expect me to apologize?”
“I expect you—”
“To what?” she hissed, and raised one eyebrow in a silent challenge.
Whatever he was going to say, he appeared to think better of it. “First that fiddler and now you,” he muttered. “People can’t seem to mind their own business.”
Krysilla blinked as she realized he thought having an affair with Lady Felldesh was none of his wife’s concern. And now, he was putting her on the same level as Zhiv, thinking she was using that knowledge to get what she wanted. This isn’t going to work, she thought. It would be better for them to have more than separate bedrooms. But where would she go? And how would she support herself?
There’s nothing to do, she decided, but continue in this cold hell and make the best of it. The thought made the bile rise in her throat. “Will he be here for supper?” she asked.
“Doesn’t matter.” He didn’t explain or excuse as he got up and left.
It wasn’t more than a few minutes later, when dinner was ready and filling the kitchen with smells that made Krysilla’s mouth water, that Byor returned, a sack slung over his shoulder.
“So,” she said, setting a place for him. “I assume you’re living here now.”
“Yes, goodwife.” He washed his hands and sat down to eat.
“I’ll get the Blue—one of the guest rooms made up for you.”
“You won’t need it for lodgers?”
They must do things differently where he’s from, she thought. “I don’t rent out. Hon Gillasin would never approve, and I like the quiet. Besides, the bakery pays well.”
“It’s a nice one. Very cheery.” He leaned forward and said, “You want to know why I’m here, don’t you?”
Surprised, she said, “I don’t care.”
“If you know the fiddler, Parlay, then I’m sure you do. So, what’s your guess? He said you’re smart, you know.”
“Did he?” Smart was not how she would describe herself. She sighed, remembering what it was like to talk to him. “I’m guessing you’re here to keep an eye on my husband.” She thought a moment, remembering the way Zhiv had wrapped the fiddle-case strap around his hand, until he’d been inside the village and she wondered if it was a signal. “Were you the one he was supposed to meet in town?”
“The night he got sick? No. That was someone else. Your friend, Lily’s, husband.”
Krysilla guffawed. Unsure if she should feel betrayed or amazed, she sat down, laughing until her sides hurt. “No wonder,” she said, when she finally managed to catch her breath. “It all makes sense now.”
“Don’t be angry at her,” Byor pleaded. “She knew something was going on and wanted to help.”
Krysilla rubbed her forehead with one hand, leaning her elbow on the table. “And now, whatever Hon Gillasin and I do will go right back to Parlay.”
“I’m only to keep an eye on your husband. Parlay said I was to leave you alone.”
She stopped rubbing her head and looked at him from over the top of her hand. “Why?”
“He didn’t say.”
So that she could continue practicing magic with no one knowing? Or perhaps it was because he wanted to watch over her, personally. She hated how the thought excited her. I’ll leave if he tries, she told herself.
“Though,” Byor continued, “he did tell me to relay a message to you. Two things, actually.”
She lowered her arm, settling both hands on her lap, and waited.
Byor straightened up and began. “‘There are lies which are not spoken. There are things that are not said. There are truths that are but tokens. There are girls you should not bed.’ That’s the first message.”
“And the second?”
“That if you need anything, to consider his help.”
“What does he expect me to do?”
“I don’t know. If he has something in mind, he didn’t share it with me.”
Byor seemed honest enough, she thought, studying him. “Thank you. Just so I’ll know, how long have you known him?”
“Long enough that I wasn’t sure what I would find when I got here,” he grinned. “He said this was a nice home, and that there was a chance I’d end up taking over the business if I impressed your husband enough. I’m surprised the first part turned out true.”
“He told you all that?” It was more a statement that a question.
> “I used to work for a cook at the palace. I didn’t like the way he treated me, so I ran off, which is a stupid thing to do when the cook is able to complain directly to the King and the Dogs can be sent to make sure you’re not using his spells. I didn’t care.” And she could tell how much he wanted freedom in the way his jaw set, and his eyes blazed. “Parlay heard about me and hired me to keep an eye on things here and there. I wasn’t a natural at it, not like him. He didn’t care as long as the job was done. When he mentioned this place...” he shook his head. “Each of the jobs were in Hurush. I never thought I’d end up here.”
“Do you think you’ll inherit this place?”
Byor leaned back, eyes distant in thought for only a moment. “Chances are good. I know how to regulate a fire, and I’ve even cooked some bread for the King when he ordered it. And I know the work a kitchen entails, so I’m not afraid of that. Hon Gillasin has a look in the eye that says, if I do well, this place might as well be mine, even if his name is on it. That only leaves you, and I think you’ll be gone by morning.”
She chuckled. “Why do you say that?”
“The look in your eye when I told you Parlay’s offer.” Eyes narrowed, he said, “You know you’re not the first to interest him, right?”
She didn’t think so. “I don’t want his interest. But I thank you for the information.”
The rest of the dinner was surprisingly pleasant. Byor was a bit of a talker and interesting, even though he didn’t have Zhiv’s charisma. They spoke of the capital, and of life in the palace, of the best kinds of wheat and the best kinds of bread and what sold and what didn’t. She filled him in on the things she’d learned about the village and he listened carefully, as one who is taking over a business should. He didn’t mentioned “Parlay” again.
All that night, she thought over Zhiv’s message. The saying was the same one Lord Felldesh had recited, so she was certain it was a reference to their last adventure. But the offer...the offer was a greater temptation than she expected.
