Chapter 11
MARIS
The morning is slow enough that I hear the door open over the sound of the oven draft.
Kaedrin steps inside unhurried, arms at his sides, a softness to his mouth. He nods once in my direction, which I don't return, and then his gaze drops to Elin on her stool.
She has her cloth doll propped against the counter edge and is explaining something to it in a low, serious voice. She doesn't look up until he crouches a few feet away and says, "What's her name?"
Elin looks at him. Then at the doll. "Pip."
"Does Pip work in the bakery too?"
"She's the manager," Elin says, with great gravity.
I slide the morning's second tray of pastries into the oven and latch the door.
When I straighten, Kaedrin is still crouched at Elin's level, forearms resting on his knees, listening while she outlines Pip's managerial responsibilities with complete focus and clarity. She’s about ready to take over my job.
He asks a follow-up question. Elin answers it with authority.
I come around the counter and stop a few feet back, watching.
Elin scrambles off her stool. "I'll show you her house." She's up the back stairs before I can say anything, her footsteps clattering across the floor above us with the urgency of someone on an important errand.
Kaedrin straightens and glances at me.
"She has more dolls?" he asks.
"Several." I fold my arms. "She'll be back with all of them."
He nods, and there's something at the corner of his mouth that is almost a smile. I look away from it.
Elin comes back down at speed, both arms loaded. A second doll, smaller, and a carved wooden horse that Brennor made for her last winter. She deposits them on the counter in front of Kaedrin and begins introductions.
I watch her face while she talks. She's using her most authoritative voice, the one reserved for things she genuinely cares about, and Kaedrin is treating each introduction with the seriousness it apparently deserves.
The horse gets a longer look. He asks how fast it runs.
Elin tells him very fast, and demonstrates briefly across the counter.
Something pulls tight behind my sternum. Not anger. Worse than anger.
I tap Kaedrin on the shoulder. He turns his head. I arch an eyebrow and nod toward the space behind the counter.
He follows, that near-smile still sitting on his lips.
I turn to face him and keep my voice low. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Talking to Elin."
"I gave you permission to watch the bakery. Not to come inside and—" I gesture toward the counter where Elin is now rearranging her toys with focused purpose. "This."
"It's quiet out there." He glances at the front window. "Nothing moving. I thought—"
"That's not the point." I step slightly to the side, putting my back to the counter so Elin can't read my face. "She doesn't need this."
He's quiet before responding. "She seems to want it."
"She's three. She wants everything she sees," I say evenly. "That's not a good enough reason. You're going to leave, Kaedrin. When your investigation is done, you'll ride out the same way you did before, and she won't understand why. She'll just know you're gone."
"That's not what I intend."
"Intentions don't raise children." I narrow my eyes. "What happens when the courts call you back? When there's another commission, another border conflict? You'll go, because that's what you do. And Elin will spend the next year asking me where the grey man is."
He shifts his eyes to the side. "I'm willing to talk about how that changes."
"It doesn't. You're a hunter. You go where they send you."
"I'm saying I want to discuss—"
"I'm not interested in discussing it." I glance over my shoulder at Elin, who is introducing the wooden horse to Pip. "Not right now. Not while she's sitting ten feet away getting used to having you around."
He opens his mouth.
"There’s nothing you can say," I say.
He stares unflinching, his eyes never leaving me, then past me at Elin, the corners of his eyes softening. He reaches back and adjusts his cloak over his shoulder, a slow deliberate movement.
"Mama." Elin holds up the wooden horse. "Can Pip ride him?"
"Sure," I say. "Why not."
She beams and sets about arranging this with great care, and I go back to watching the oven door and telling myself the tight feeling in my chest is just the heat from the hearth.
The pastries need rotating in another few minutes, and I don't move to do it.
Elin has gone back to her toys, unconcerned, the wooden horse apparently mid-journey across the counter. I make my voice low and my eyes on Kaedrin.
"You can't keep coming in here," I say. "Not like this."
He tilts his head slightly. "I came in to—"
"I know why you came in." I glance past him toward the front window.
Three people have slowed on the walk outside.
One woman I recognize from the council meeting last year stops entirely, her market basket on her arm, looking through the glass with the focused attention of someone filing information away. "Look at the street."
He turns his head. Looks. Turns back.
"They already have opinions about Elin," I say. "Every time you're seen in here, those opinions get larger and louder. Some of them know what you are. Some of them know you're a bounty hunter." I cross my arms. "Do you understand what they'll think?"
"That I'm here on business."
"That you're here for us." I hold his gaze.
"That Elin is the reason a bounty hunter is stationed outside my bakery.
That she's done something, or I've done something, or we're connected to whatever darkness they've already decided is living in this town.
" I drop my voice further. "You collect your bounty and you leave.
I'm the one who stays here. I'm the one who has to buy grain from Brennor and sell bread to Pella and walk past the council hall every single morning. Long after you're gone."
He scoffs and tosses his head back.
"They're watching us right now," I say. "Through that window."
"I know."
"Then act like it matters." I step forward and press two fingers to his chest. "Stop giving them things to look at."
He looks down at my hand. I pull it back.
He takes a slow breath through his nose and releases it. When he speaks, his voice is even. "I'm not leaving."
"You will. When the courts call—"
"I'm not leaving," he says again. "Not until this is resolved. Not until you and Elin are clear of it." He doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't adjust his posture. He just says it, flat and certain. "That's not negotiable."
I study his face. "You said something like that once before."
"I was recalled."
"Yes." I nod at him. "And the next recall? The one after that?"
He doesn't answer immediately, which is answer enough.
"You're good at certainty," I say. "Right up until the orders change."
"Maris."
"I'm not saying it to be cruel." I glance at Elin, who has the horse and Pip engaged in what appears to be a formal negotiation.
"I'm saying it because she's in there, and she already asks about you when you're not standing right outside.
One week, Kaedrin. That's all it took." I look back at him.
"What happens in a month? What happens when she understands what leaving means? "
His eyes remain steady on me. Outside, the woman with the market basket has moved on, replaced by two men pausing near the fountain with their heads together.
"I understand what you're protecting," he says.
"Do you?"
"Yes." His eyes cut briefly to Elin and back. "And I'm telling you I intend to be worth protecting her from. If you'll let me."
The oven needs tending. I can smell the pastries hitting the edge of done and I don't move.
"Stop coming inside," I say finally. "Watch from the street, the way we agreed. And stay away from the window when there are people out there with nothing better to do than stare."
He gives a soft grunt, then nods once. He pulls his cloak straight across his shoulder, turns, and walks to the door.
"Kaedrin." He stops with his hand on the latch. "If you're not here when it matters, don't bother coming back at all."
He doesn't turn around. After a beat, he pulls the door open and steps out, and I hear it close behind him.
I go to the oven.