That dangerous promise in the way he held himself made Viv scan him for a weapon that wasn’t there. She almost let go of her staff as her hand involuntarily jerked toward the saber that used to be belted to her waist.
Then a group of three sailors broke her line of sight. When they’d passed by, he was gone.
She searched the crowd for him, but in the end, it wasn’t like she could mount a pursuit in the state she was in. Viv gave up and carried on, but the image of him nagged at her, prickling her survival instincts in a way she’d learned not to ignore.
As she passed through the front gate, Viv glanced to the side to find Iridia the Gatewarden in conference with others in the same blue uniform. There seemed an awful lot of Wardens in Murk, but Viv supposed a garrison was kept against the unlikely event of trouble from the west again. Or maybe they’d gotten word of Varine’s progress up the coast and were taking precautions. Stories of the wreckage left in her wake had to have trickled here by now.
Almost as though she could sense her presence, the head Warden interrupted their conversation to fix Viv with her golden eyes. The tapenti eyed her up and down and Viv could feel the challenging weight of that regard. She returned the stare in kind, but only one of them needed a staff to get around, and she imagined she saw that knowledge reflected. Viv felt like she was fleeing the field of battle as she passed out of sight.
She came to a halt a few yards outside the fortress walls, heedless of the traffic flowing around her, and took a long breath of briny air.
For the first time in several days, Viv regretted leaving her sword in her room.
* * *
As she made her way up the slope and past the bakery, still trying to shed an anxious mood, a bell tinkled and someone called out to her.
“Viv!”
Maylee emerged from Sea-Song Bakery, the scent of sourdough arriving with her. There was no line out the shop door, so the day’s rush must have been over.
“You’re gonna make a lady think she’s lost her touch,” accused the dwarf, dusting the flour from her apron as she stepped down. In her other hand she held a folded paper sack.
“Huh?”
“Well, you haven’t been back since, hon.” She flipped her thick braid back over her shoulder, her cheeks still rosy from heat, or hard work, or both. “A baker could take offense.”
“Oh! Oh, no, those biscuits? They were great. Amazing, even! But I’m surprised you even remember my name.”
Maylee rolled her eyes, as though that was ridiculous. “I see you’ve got some new transportation?”
Viv banged the staff against the ground. “Moving up in the world.”
The woman offered the sack. “You’re at The Perch, ain’t you? Here’s a little somethin’ for the hike up the hill. Had a few spares.”
Viv took it, raising her brows at the dwarf. Then she peeked inside. Four or five muffins filled the sack, crusted with nuts and sugar.
“Seems like the Eight granted you a second chance.” Maylee winked at Viv and reentered the bakery without another word. The bell tinkled after her.
“Uh, thanks!” Viv called belatedly to the closed door.
She withdrew one of the muffins and took a bewildered bite. An involuntary moan escaped her lips. The rest of the muffin didn’t survive long.
“Second chance?” she mumbled through the final mouthful. Then she licked her fingers clean and walked on, shaking her head.
9
“So, for about half the book, I couldn’t stand either of them,” said Viv, her voice slightly raised. “I thought for sure I wouldn’t make it to the end, and I’d owe you twenty bits.”
She dealt Fern’s carpet a terrific blow with her walking staff. A cloud of dust, dander, and down erupted into the air. Gripping her end of the carpet firmly, she flicked it upward, and even more filth drifted out.
Fern coughed and waved a hand, both feet on the other end of the rug where it was draped up and over the boardwalk railing. “But?”
“But then, I don’t know. I’m pretty sure it was when they were stuck in Red Rule House with Pruitt and the rest of them. Everything flipped. It was the two of them back-to-back against a bunch of liars. They didn’t even talk to each other differently, all sarcasm and nasty jabs. And sleeping back-to-back too, with the sword between them …”
She motioned to Fern, and they flipped the threadbare rug before Viv delivered another savage crack. Amazingly, there was more of Potroast to be dislodged. The gryphet in question hooted in his sleep as he dozed in the sun in front of the door.
“The framing changed everything,” finished Fern. “Like one of those trick drawings that become something else when you turn them upside down.”
“I think I saw something like that once on a tavern sign. The Coney & Gull. Looked like a bird straight on, and a rabbit if you tilted your head.”
“Yeah, exactly that. But you did finish?”
“I did.” Viv pulled the rug taut and dusted the surface with one hand, examining her fingers. Not too filthy.
“And?” Fern sounded impatient.
Viv smiled and held her peace a moment longer, making a big show of inspecting the carpet. She folded it in quarters until she’d gathered it all in, moving slowly with most of her weight on her left foot. Stacking it up in front of the door, she could feel the rattkin’s impatience burning on her back.
She very carefully withdrew four five-bit pieces from her wallet and offered them to Fern. “I don’t think I’d ever want to care about somebody the way those two did. Seems kind of dangerous.”
Fern didn’t take the coins, crossing her arms instead. “But you did like it? Even with the distinct lack of swordfighting?”
Viv thought for a moment, idly moving the bits with her thumb. “Well, there was plenty of fighting, I guess. Just not a lot of bleeding. And I might have more than liked it? I’m having a hard time saying why, though.” She cleared her throat, embarrassed. At the same time, there was something about Fern’s attentive, almost hungry gaze that made her want to satisfy it.
“It’s like … they were so terrible together in some ways, but … they still defended one another? I’m pretty sure they even loved each other. I mean, if you count chapter thirty-five, they definitely loved each other.” She rolled her eyes. “But past that, in a way that mattered more.”
The rattkin was studying her face with a half-smile. Viv thought she remembered her Pa looking like that when she was first able to heft a steel blade. A little rose of warmth bloomed in her chest to see it one more time with fur and whiskers.
Awkwardly, she finished, “And I guess it makes me think that if I’m willing to call that love, then … a better kind might not be so impossible.” She blushed and looked away. “Love. Gods. C’mon, I feel like an ass here. Take the damn money.”
Fern did so with a knowing look.
* * *
While they were at it, they swept out the shop, which required moving the stacks of books nested in the corners. Viv traded her walking staff for Fern’s bristle-broom. Potroast seemed to object, nipping at it and growling at her. He waggled his tiny vestigial wings, but she nudged him gently out of the way with the broom. Well, mostly gently.