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faneliansficaloh · 6 months ago

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A Lifetime of Happiness

(Ch 1) (Ch 2) (Ch 3) (Ch 4) (Ch 5) (Ch 6) (Ch 7)

This is Chapter 8

Notes

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25 November 1817

Dear Penelope,

I attended my first Court ball last night. I found it not very different than what you will find back in England, except that I found myself missing a gigue. The fashions are of course a little different than you would see in an English ball room, but I would only make a fool of myself trying to describe them to you, as I am not well versed in fabrics, pleats and frills. But the etiquette was the same as you’d expect in any European court, which this technically is.

It was odd being at a ball after so long. I had the eyes of experience which let me see the frivolous and the romantic mixing at the helm of the ladies dresses as they twirled away. The young couples that were besotted, unaware of anything else in the world but each other, the laughing young men who do not suspect love might struck them down at any moment, if they set their eyes in the exact pair of lips that slightly part and silently, inadvertently beckon; and of course, the less honourable that are just playing games to pass the time. This, I noticed, includes some of the ladies.

The food was delicious. I dare say so far it is the one thing I have found to be much superior. I could spend my days just eating the fresh fruit and the cheese filled bread our cook bakes. It is a good thing I do not have the time and that I have to set an example. The coffee is also the best I have ever had, but I’m afraid the same cannot be said of tea. It does not agree with me to have coffee in the afternoon, it is simply not the same. There are no cobnuts to be found, either, but that is true of anywhere but Kent, I guess.

Nothing truly is the same, but that is the point of travelling, to learn and understand what is different, is it not?

Yours, Colin.

1814 – Kentish Cobnuts

The remainder of the summer and the fall went away pretty quickly. By the time they were on their way to join the Featheringtons on December, he was absolutely sure it had all been a momentary lapse. He was in fact looking forward to seeing Penelope and confirming that everything was as it had always been. He was the picture of contentment the whole way, chatting and pointing out random facts about things he would spot on the way, like an eager child.

“Oh, those are cobnut trees!” He said, excitedly “When we were little, father would bring us out here and we would forage for them. He always knew the best time so we could beat the squirrels to them.” A fond smile plastered in his face at the cherished memory “We’d fill baskets to store them and eat them through the winter. Francesca hates them when they’re green, but those were Father’s favourite. Daphne and Ben would fight for the golden ones, because we had to wait longer for them, but I love them in all their stages. It is a shame the picking season has passed already.” He ended, wistfully.

“That’s nice” Marina muttered, in a distracted tone, without looking out the window.

He recognized he must have annoyed her by talking so much for most of the trip, so he remained silent the rest of it, which was not much longer. The trees he had pointed out were an indication they had reached the Featherington grounds. He hadn’t been there in a very long time as they had never returned to pick cobnuts themselves after his father’s passing, which had been years before Archibald Featherington inherited the title and the families became more closely acquainted.

When they arrived and were let in the drawing room, they were greeted most cheerfully by Mrs and Mr Finch, who were apparently still very much enjoying their newly wed bliss, while Prudence sulked in a corner and barely acknowledged their arrival. Portia welcomed them and asked them to take a seat, while the children were taken upstairs to sleep and their belongings put away in their rooms.

The Featherington house in Kent was where the mismanagement the estate had suffered under Archibald Featherington made itself the most evident. The furniture could do with some fresh upholstery, the wallpaper in the drawing room was starting to yellow, which was not the bright citrus yellow tone Portia favoured, but the sad yellow of aged things that smell of cigar. This sad state reminded Colin that he needed to speak to Portia and offer his help as Jack Featherington had disappeared with the ill gotten funds he had swindled, and presumably left the Featherington women in financial trouble. Seen as it had been him who unmasked Jack, he felt responsible, and knowing Portia, that might be the very reason why they had been invited to join them in the first place.

Such were his thoughts when the drawing room door opened and Penelope came in. He felt a flutter in his stomach and when she smiled at him with her full poppy-red lips, the swelling in his heart did away with the notion that he was past the emotions he had been battling with since July.

“Marina, Colin! How good to see you. Did you have a pleasant trip?” She said as she closed the door behind her, the cascade of red hair swinging around the fair skin of her neck and shoulders.

“Oh, yes. Rather uneventful, really” Marina responded. Colin had remained seated and seemed to be having a headache, as he had closed his eyes and was rubbing at his forehead, with a frown, as he shifted his position on the sofa to be able to rest his head on his hand.

“Are you alright, Colin?” Of course she was truly concerned.

“My apologies, I just need some rest” He said, a little flushed and unable to look at Penelope in the eye.

“You really do not look well, Mr. Bridgerton. You should go lie down” Portia rang the bell.

“I really should. If you’ll excuse me.” As she came into the room Mrs Varley was charged with showing Mr. Bridgerton to his room.

“Has he been ill?” Penelope asked Marina

“He was perfectly fine until a minute ago. As he said, he’s probably just tired, he was talking non-stop the whole way” she said, more complaint than explanation.

“Did he tell you about the--” Penelope said, knowingly and a little excited herself, but Marina did not let her continue.

“Oh, whatever it is he must have, amongst a million other things.” She rolled her eyes “It is me who should have a headache, truly.”

Penelope did not press the matter any further, even though she felt a little slighted that Marina had not let her talk. She figured she was really tired from the trip, even if it was not a very long one from Aubrey Hall.

Colin spent the rest of the afternoon upstairs, on his own, watching the fire in his room. He was wrestling with his thoughts, trying to understand what the upheaval inside him was all about. So far he had been working under the premise that he had been confused in a heated moment.

But he was now wondering if that night, that wretched dream and all the confused thoughts that followed were really just a natural progression of something stronger that had started much, much earlier. But when? Can anyone truly ever pin point the exact moment when their feelings shift for someone?

A knock on the door startled him, but he welcomed the interruption.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to make sure you’re alright” It was Penelope, along with a maid who was carrying a tray. “We’ve brought you tea and biscuits.”

“Pen, you shouldn’t have troubled yourself. I’m feeling much better, thank you.”

“I’m just worried that you’re ill and will make us all sick, that is all” She joked, with a soft smile. She had a small box in her hands and showed it to him “These are for you, I’ll leave them here” she deposited the box on a table beside the door. “I’m glad you feel better, we’ll see you at dinner then.” He nodded, and she left with the maid.

After the door closed, he crossed the room to inspect the box. It was filled with cobnuts. He stood frozen in place, as if his feet were nailed to the floor, as a flood of shared memories washed over him.

Oh, it had definitely started much, much earlier indeed.

***

“Ah, Mutton! It’s been ages since we had roasted mutton!” Prudence seemed too excited, prompting her mother to giver her a scolding look.

That evening they were joined by the Dankworths, to celebrate their son Harry’s engagement to Prudence. They had met in church a couple of months back and Portia had since then been using all of her powers to ensure that Prudence did not betray all of their recent misfortunes, as unfortunately her name was only that—she was in fact anything but prudent.

“What a coincidence! Mutton is my favourite, Miss Featherington, especially roasted and with such a beautiful arrangement of vegetables to accompany it, what a delightful combination!”

Penelope was convinced that if it were left to him alone, Harry would have married Prudence not a week after they met. Nothing was more agreeable to him than a thing that pleased her and nothing more detestable than that which annoyed her, he was a newborn learning about the world through Prudence’s eyes. And even though Prudence did not show any inclination as overtly as her suitor did, Penelope could tell she was very pleased with him.

“It is really a very good roast” Colin felt compelled to note once they had started eating, since a prolonged silence seemed to have befallen the dinning room after Harry’s exultation.

“The potatoes are very good, too.” Said Marina, prompting Colin to look over at her plate, and then he noticed something that incited his curiosity.

“I thought you loved tomatoes” It seemed Marina had been taking them off the mutton and putting them aside.

“Oh. I do like them, but they make my mouth tingle and itch sometimes, so I don’t eat them.”

Penelope raised her eyes to meet his and bit her lips in to avoid laughing at him, but he felt teased and couldn’t avoid chuckling.

“The carrots are excellent” Penelope added taking a bite.

“And the peas?” Colin asked her, with journalistic interest.

“Superb, I declare!” She beamed

“Indeed!” Colin nodded, with affected seriousness. Marina rolled her eyes but neither paid any attention.

“Any comment on the beets?” Penelope asked him

He mocked deep thought “I dare say they are positively exquisite!”

“I found them scrumptious my self”

“Very well put, yes” he nodded.

Penelope was extremely glad to see that he was in good spirits and was being friendly to her again. She had noticed he had been avoiding her since their arrival, and she had assumed he was either feeling ill or was upset with her for some reason. It was such a relief to know she still had his friendship.

“It is all very good, yes, we shall commend the Cook for this wonderful meal. Thank you.” Portia put an end to the game. She didn’t have time to address whatever that was, she needed to focus on Prudence, who had already been sulking about Jack Featherington disappearing and thus abruptly ending their forced engagement. However favourably it all had turned out for them, she needed to ensure Prudence wasn’t jilted once more.

***

January was already coming to an end when Portia got truly alarmed. Of course she knew Penelope had always had a tender attachment to Colin Bridgerton, which she had tried time and again to discourage. It was simply unrealistic; the boy seemed to live in the clouds and had more attention from the ladies than he knew what to do with. There was nothing worse in her experience than a man that knew himself to be a catch – At the time she had feared that he would only waste Penelope’s time leading her on forever until he had had his fill of all the frivolous flirting and actually decided to take a wife, possibly sometime in the next twenty years.

She hadn’t had much trust that Marina’s plan of seducing him would succeed and was thus extremely surprised – and relieved – when it did. Not only were they out of the predicament they faced with the girl expecting a child under her roof, but also because finally, her daughter would be persuaded to leave her hopes behind and focus on her future. Of course she did not enjoy seeing her daughter suffer as she did when the marriage was a done thing -the poor thing tried very hard to disguise it, but it was evident to her mother. She was so young, though, Portia assumed she would move on quickly.

But now, well over a year later, much to her dismay she started to notice a very unexpected development. Penelope’s friendship with Mr. Bridgerton had only gotten stronger now that, as he liked to say half-jokingly, they were cousins, and what was even worse, he seemed to allow himself some new liberties under the guise of them being so related.

They would often carry conversations on their own, laughing at their little jokes that, frankly, weren’t even that funny. He was always looking after her, very attentive and making sure she was not left out of things, which was all very kind and good of him, but it was the lingering glances that made Portia start to pay more attention to Mr. Bridgerton’s behaviour.

Nothing untoward had occurred, of course, but that particular January morning she noticed something more. A too-pleased smile on his face accompanied his outright stare directed at an unsuspecting Penelope, who was playing with Marina’s girl on the floor of the drawing room of her own house. It was rather pathetic and she fully expected him to let out a dramatic, longing sigh at any moment – if it were any other girl, she could have laughed at him.

“Penelope, I need you here!” she had called her, trying to break the stare but not being able to think of an excuse quickly enough. And then, of course the gentleman he was went to help her get up. Was she imagining things? Could no one else see the way he stared into her face as she lifted her, quite unnecessarily close? But Marina was busy with her boy, and her other daughter and her son in law were never paying attention to anything. She crossed glances with Mrs. Varley whose alarmed face confirmed her own fears.

“What is it mama?” Portia brought her hand to her head, fidgeting with her hair

“I forget, but come, sit here with me” She positioned her so that Penelope’s back would be turned to Mr. Bridgerton while she could see him. She then started fidgeting with Penelope’s skirts. “We should get you a new wardrobe for this upcoming season”

“Weren’t we already going to do that anyway?” Her mother was acting oddly, even for her.

“Yes, but – I will let you choose whatever colours you prefer this season” She said with the softest smile she had ever given her and Penelope did not know how to feel about it. Was she dying and nobody had told her?

“Is everything alright, mama?” It was her turn to be alarmed.

“Of course it is! I only want you to have whatever you feel you need to succeed this year”

It was the look of tenderness in her mother’s eyes that really made Penelope worry. She got closer to her mother and whispered “Have we lost all our money again, mama?” Portia so far had not made any real push for her to marry, and now she was talking about her succeeding. She immediately concluded she was scheming to get her a rich husband to get them out of some new trouble.

“Why would you say that? Of course not. Believe it or not, I care for you, and only wish to see you settled and secure” And far away from Mr. Bridgerton, she would have added if not for the risk of being overheard. She nibbled on the tip of her thumb. “And perhaps we should extend your social circle, beyond your family, at least”

“Oh?” Portia gave her a significant glance, tilting her head a little bit. “Oh, Yes, I suppose I should.” It was true that she had been spending most of her time with Marina’s family since they had joined them in the country. “Can I be excused, I would like to go to my room”

“Very well”

And, of course, as Penelope left the room Colin’s gaze followed her.

“Mr. Bridgerton!” Portia called him a little too harshly.

“Yes?” He was startled and quite confused at the tone.

Portia changed her face from scolding to a more amiable smile “Are you planning on going back to Aubrey Hall before the London Season?”

“No, we will be going to London directly from here, I have business to tend to in town.” Marina gave her an intrigued look. He had never before had any business to tend to.

“Isn’t it odd that Penelope is going and you are not?” Phillipa finally uttered from the other side of the room.

“Is she?” His interest seemed a little too much sparked. Portia could see him reconsidering his visit. The one time Phillipa had paid attention to something that wasn’t about her and it had to be this.

“I’m still considering if I will let her go” Portia said. “Why, she’s my only company now that my other two are married, I may want her to stay with me. Who knows, next season she might be married as well” She said raising an eyebrow, ready to catch the slightest sign of a reaction. His frown cemented her resolution.

“I am utterly tired of being a guest in other people’s houses, I wish to be back on my own home” Marina said and Colin nodded as if to agree.

And with that, it seemed the matter was settled.

Colin and Marina did return to London the very next day, and since Penelope had been very insistent on going to Aubrey Hall with Eloise the following month and Portia thought that it would not hurt Penelope to have Lady Bridgerton’s support in the upcoming season—she would in fact need every possible advantage she could get, so she let her go with the warning that she should never be unchaperoned under any circumstances. This puzzled Penelope enormously, as she had never required a chaperone at the Bridgertons.

It did not matter. She would not let that dampen the joy she felt at the prospect of spending time with her dear friends.

Chapter 9

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druidx · 6 months ago

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Toreguard Winter Festival Foods

@aquadestinyswriting asked me for some Traditional Festival foods which might be enjoyed in Toreguard at Year's End, so I thought I would share what I came up with.

Rabbit Buns & Appan Sauce

Rabbit Buns (also: Bunny Buns, or Bunnies) are soft, unleavened bread buns which are filled with a paste of dried and ground sugar beets and either beans or parsnip - whichever is doing best that year (on occasion buns can be filled with other things such as brassicas or carrots, though most agree this isn't traditional). Rabbit buns get their name from the stamp applied to the finished bun - that of a rabbit under a full winter's moon - which relates to the tale of a young girl, her sick mother, and a merciful bunny.

Appan sauce is made from fruits which grow on bushes partly submerged in the shallows of the Red River, the tributaries of which feed Toreguard's canals. It is a fist-sized fruit with crisp, sour flesh and a yellow smooth skin. Appans are harvested at the end of summer, with the flesh mashed and preserved as a sauce. Once the harvest is taken, the pit stones are then cast back into the river at the source so that Galana will grow more bushes. Appan sauce has a number of culinary uses, but it's most often associated with winter Rabbit Buns. Here it's placed in wide, flat dishes where the bun can be dipped, the sourness of the fruit complementing the savoury filling of the bun.

Candied Nuts

Despite the city being located on the Pagan Plains, there are a number of copses dotting the landscape, as well as the Darkwood Forest within a few days travel. It's from here that cobnuts, dallo-apples, acorns, and ponuts come. The nuts are shelled, roasted and then tossed with a caramel made of ground sugar beet.

Orrotillo

Considered a 'left-overs' dish, this is occasionally served alongside the main roasted meat on the last day of Year's End. It consists of any left-over meat from the previous days' feasts, including offal from butchered birds, mixed in with cereals such as millet or quinoa, and baked into a 'cake'. It's often served with Ulorm, a sour cream spiced with horseradish.

#FF headcanon #eat all the things #meta writing #fighting fantasy #titan fighting fantasy #meta wandering words

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heelanhomestead · 2 years ago

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Hi there … 👋 We’re spending the day planting some more trees. I know I say this every time, but it really makes me happy. This year we’ve decided to plant some cobnuts, just a little step closer to a self sufficient life and food security.

Alongside the cobnuts, we’re also popping in a weeping willow. We have a damp area on our land, so are really hoping this will help to dry it out … 🤞

If only it would stop raining, it would make this job so much easier … we’re dodging heavy downpours 🌧😅🌳

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moleculardepot · 3 months ago

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Natural Cor a 9 (Corylus avellana allergen 9), Hazelnut

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kazimaaromatics · 8 months ago

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skribeworks · 2 years ago

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Coils of the Serpent - Chapter 8

Ganthe tensed.

It was time. He had delayed long enough. The crowd was only going to get heavier.

He began to step out of his hiding place, then hesitated again. What if someone recognises me? he wondered. Or my clothes?

He had stolen a new tunic and breeches from a clothes line on the outskirts of Tarburh. They weren’t much, but they were better than the soiled rags he had been wearing. He felt bare without his jerkin, but that would only attract notice. He was just a humble farmer visiting on market day like the others he could see on the streets.

One. Two. Three. He stepped out onto the dirt street, and headed down to the crowded docks.

They had argued for the rest of the day, as they headed toward Tarburh. They had also argued well into the night, camping without fire, food or bedding. They had even woken him from a deep sleep with their shouting, it got so heated. Falduin was adamant that he would go nowhere near Tarburh, but refused to say why.

Ultimately they all decided to follow Heric and head to Wombourne. They all eventually agreed that there were were no answers back in Milardus. The only way to find out what was happening, and who was behind it, was to head to the mining site.

Ganthe was the only one that slept fitfully. The others, surprisingly even Ifonsa, had difficulties sleeping on the bare ground, but Ganthe had slept in worse places. Much worse, as little as a few nights before. Being out under the sky was truly glorious. He didn’t mind being crawled upon by ants and other crawlies. The thunderous dear leaping through their camp didn’t wake him either.

“How much?” Ganthe asked one of the bargemen. There were an awful lot of them clustered along the dock, trying to hawk their services. There seemed to be few takers.

“Thr’penny each to Harnsey.” The Bargeman said.

“Thr’penny? “

“It’s the going rate.”

“No wonder you’re backed up.”

The bargeman shrugged.

“What if I want to go further up river?”

“We only go up as far as Harnsey,”

Ganthe suspected that. He’d only made the one run upriver, but he knew there were a series of cascades at Harnsey. Going further upriver required porting the barge, which was tough work and cost a lot. It was far easier to transfer to one of the barges plying the upriver route.

“I doubt you’ll find anyone willing to head further upstream though,” the Bargeman continued.

“Why’s that?”

He shrugged, “Nearly all of them have moved down river. Look at them all.” He said pointing at several barges. They were all smaller size than the ones that plied the route between Milardus and Harnsey.

“There’s two of us,” Ganthe said handing over six coins, “with the possibility of a few more. They’ll pay their own way.”

“When do you wish to leave?”

“Midday.”

“We’ll be here.”

His next task was to buy food. Enough for a few days, but not too much. That would attract attention. Falduin had also slipped him a couple of silver gros in the hope of buying a blanket, or something else to sleep on. Ganthe had tried to warn him that he’d have to carry it, but Falduin had been insistent.

The market was crowded, filled mostly with the people from the surrounding farms and hamlets, but there were some that looked as though they were from farther afield. A few might have been of a nobler class, wearing clean linen tunics and coloured woollen hats.

There was quite an array of foods available, but Ganthe wanted stuff that was both light, and compact. Their packs, those that had them, weren’t especially big.

Within half-an-hour he had collected several different types of dried fruit: apples, pears, grapes and even a few apricots. He bought a sizeable sack of cobnuts, a handful of pinenuts, as well as a few walnuts, and salted plums. He also found salted fish, and a streak of dried meat, that he paid too much for. He didn’t feel it was enough. Perhaps a loaf or two of bread might fill out the empty corners.

As he was making his way over to a small stall where he saw some loaves, he heard someone call his name. He hesitated for a moment, then continued without looking back. Nobody knew he was here. Nobody would remember him in any case. His name wasn’t uncommon. They must be calling to someone else.

“Ganthe!” The voice was right behind him. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, “Is that you?”

He turned to see Ancod. He had also served in the militia, although under a different captain.

“It is you!” Ancod squealed. “I can’t wait to tell Balto. He was certain you were dead.”

Ganthe allowed the smile to form of its own accord. “No. Not dead at all.”

“You’re looking well.”

“Hard work. What can I say?” He could feel the lie forming around him. It must be like how Falduin felt when he cast a spell. He sensed the role take over, the words coming automatically. “Farm life agrees with me.”

“You own a farm?”

“Rent. Near Sifield.”

“That’s a long way to come.”

“We’re expecting our first soon. The wife has terrible cravings.” Ganthe said, holding up the bags he was carrying.

“Wow. I would never have guessed that you of all people would settle down.”

“We fought hard for this land. Why not enjoy it? You look well. What’s happened since the war?”

Ancod began moaning about how things were awful, and how he could only find manual work for poor pay. He missed the grand old days when they were fighting The Empire and the goblins. He had tried signing on with several lords but none were interested.

“I’ve just finished some work in Shaybur,” Ancod said. “I’m on my way to Swyn. Word is there’s a bunch of work there. You hear anything?”

Ganthe shook his head. He’d only been half listening, as he usually did when Ancod moaned - which he did a lot. “How’s Balto?” he asked by reflex.

“Last I heard, he’d signed on to a mob working out of Pryleah.”

“Doing what?”

“He wouldn’t say. All hush-hush. Probably a bit on the dodgy-side, you know how he is.”

Ganthe nodded absently. He was just about to ask about Balto’s knee (it was injured during the war), when a flash of dark red cloth amongst the crowd caught his eye. It was the same distinctive shade as the one he’d seen in the valley the day before.

“You wouldn’t have need of some labour on your farm would ya, Ganthe?” Ancod asked.

Then he saw her. Her cloak and hood were red. In the sunlight it looked like the colour of blood. As she moved through the crowd, she kept her hood up, covering her face, but Ganthe could see her long brown hair peeking out every now and again. She was tiny, looking barely taller than a child.

What really gave her away was the two brutes that walked a pace behind her. They were her bodyguards, Ganthe knew. Garbed in the same leather brigandine, and carrying wicked looking swords at their hip. They stood out amongst the peasants and village-folk, who all gave them a wide berth. Carrying swords so openly, Ganthe was a little surprised the bodyguards hadn’t been detained by the watchmen. Perhaps the witch had magicked them or something.

“I wouldn’t normally ask, but I don’t fancy walking all the way to Swyn,” Ancod continued. “ What if the word is wrong? What if there’s no work up there?”

The woman stopped, and turned.

Ganthe only just looked away in time. He got a brief glimpse of her face, much older than he imagined.

He laughed and placed his arm around Ancod. “I need to find a blanket. Let’s discuss it as we shop.”

As they walked away, Ganthe could feel the woman’s gaze boring into his back.

“They’re here,” Ganthe grinned as he whispered in Heric’s ear.

Heric twisted, and had his knife to Ganthe’s throat before he could blink. Ganthe’s grin became a grimace.

Ganthe stumbled back as Heric shoved him away. He almost tripped on a root hidden amongst the leaf litter.

“Idiot,” Heric said, as he pulled his knife away. Then he stormed off.

“Not clever,” Ifonsa said as she emerged from the shadows of an old oak. She lowered her bow and returned the arrow to her quiver.

“Where’s the food?” Falduin asked. He was seated on a log beside Lera. Up until Ganthe’s failed jape, they had been talking quietly with one another, almost like lovers do. Was something going on between them? Ganthe wondered.

“I left it back there,” Ganthe said gesturing behind.

Falduin leapt up and raced toward where Ganthe had pointed, disappearing into the low brush.

““I needed to know if everything was secure here first. You might have been held hostage,” Ganthe added.

“And you just decided to play a dangerous prank?” Ifonsa said. “To make certain?”

“It worked,” Ganthe said, wiping a drop of blood from his throat. “Now I know you’re not hostages.”

“What if we were?”

“I guess I’d have to lead a valiant rescue,” Ganthe flashed her a grin.

“It’s covered in ants,” Falduin cried from the scrub.

“Brush them off,” Ganthe called back, “Unless they’re honey ants. Those are delicious.”

“What is this?” Falduin asked as he emerged from amongst the trees.

In his hands he held the bags of food, and under one arm he carried a heavy blanket coiled up. He dropped the blanket onto the ground in disgust.

“That’s your blanket,” Ganthe said. “It cost quite a lot unfortunately.”

Ganthe unrolled it to reveal the garish pattern, patches of green, yellow and red with a brown border.

“Is that all they had?” Falduin asked.

“Oh no,” Ganthe admitted, “They had lots of really nice ones, but nothing nearly as expensive as this. You gave me two gros, after all. I wanted you to get your money’s worth.”

“You paid two gros for that?” Ifonsa said, laughing.

“Just one,” Ganthe said, “The other one I gave to a friend, who needed passage to Swyn. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

Falduin was speechless. He kept opening his mouth to speak but no sound would emerge.

“What? Did you buy him a horse?” Ifonsa asked.

“I believe that was his plan.”

“It’s beautiful,” Lera said, running her hand over the blanket. “So soft. I believe you got a bargain.”

“I thought so,” Ganthe agreed. “They wanted much less, but I haggled hard.”

Heric returned, having calmed down. ‘You said they’re here,” he said pointing at Ganthe with his knife. “Who is here?”

“The witch,” Ganthe said, “And about twenty of her disciples.”

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