Chapter 43
Forty-Three
Cali emerged from the Wayside Inn well past her usual hour, blinking against a sun already climbing high in a hot sky.
She drew in a deep breath, savoring the absence of the bitter cold that had clung to Wayside when she’d left.
There wasn’t a trace of the snow she remembered crunching beneath her boots or a hint of the icicles that had fringed the thatched roofs.
Instead, small green shoots had pushed up through the mud around the stone obelisk in the town square, and the air carried the loamy scent of thawed earth.
The market wasn’t as bustling as it was in the summer months, but farmers were already displaying wooden crates of early greens and baskets of magenta rhubarb stalks.
Winter had loosened its grip while she’d been away, which felt fitting.
She made her way toward the tavern at an easy pace, pausing without quite meaning to in front of the apothecary shop.
The windows were dark, and the door was shut tight, with no wisp of light seeping beneath it.
Cali grinned to herself, certain she knew exactly why Iris hadn’t opened for the morning and exactly who she was likely still abed with.
The one establishment that wasn’t slow to rouse was Pip’s bakery, and the scent reached her well before she arrived at the glass door.
Cali found her feet carrying her toward the aroma of yeast and sugar and citrus almost without her permission, as if Pip’s oven itself had the power to lure her through the door and straight to the displays.
“Cali!” Pip popped up from behind the counter so suddenly she startled. “I didn’t think I’d see you this morning after the festivities last night.”
“I’m getting a late start.” Cali glanced over her shoulder at the quiet road. “But it seems I’m not the only one.”
Pip rubbed his snubbed nose with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge of powdered sugar behind. “We haven’t had a late night at the tavern since you and Thrain left. I suppose everyone is recovering.”
“Everyone but you.”
Pip chuckled. “No rest for the baker. A village needs its bread.”
Cali inhaled deeply. The scents of the bakery were everything she’d remembered they were. “I missed this.”
Pip shuffled his feet behind the counter and smiled. “You weren’t bereft of baking on the pirate ship. Thrain told me all about the ship’s cook and her rolls.”
“Marvella made a good yeast roll,” Cali admitted, giving credit where credit was due. “But they were nothing like your sweet rolls.”
Pip’s cheeks flushed a deep, pleased pink. “Oh, now, baking isn’t something to compete over.” He flapped a sugar-dusted hand, though the satisfaction in his expression said otherwise. “There’s room in the world for more than one talented baker.”
“Of course,” Cali said, hiding her smile.
“I have to tell you, Thrain’s description of the coconut and sea lime scones quite intrigued me. I’d never heard of sea limes before. They aren’t something I’ve found in Wayside or in Elmshire.”
“I believe they only grow on certain islands,” Cali told him, thinking back to her time on Claw Island.
The halfling held up a burlap sack that looked strikingly like the one Thrain had brought off the pirate ship. “Thrain brought a sack of sea limes back with him and was kind enough to share them with me.”
“So that’s what was in the sack.”
Pip barely registered her amused comment.
“I have a lovely recipe for lime pie, of course, but I thought I could come up with something a bit more portable.” He produced a tray from beneath the counter with a flourish, revealing neat rows of yellow-green bars, their tops dusted lightly with sugar. “Sea lime pie bars.”
Cali accepted one and took an eager bite. The tartness hit first, bright and sharp, before melting into something sweet and buttery beneath. The rich crumb crust melted in her mouth and cut the tang of the sea lime perfectly.
“These are amazing, Pip,” she mumbled through her mouth of crumbs.
His face lit up, and he wrapped two more bars in wax paper before placing them in her paws. “Take them, take them. The sea limes came from your journey, after all.”
“Thanks,” Cali said, as she backed from the bakery with sticky paws.
Continuing toward the tavern, she passed the bridge and was nearing The Tusk & Tail, nibbling contentedly on her second bar, when a familiar warbling sound drifted toward her.
She paused, then changed direction, following the noise toward Erindil’s encampment between the back of the tavern and the stream.
She hadn’t seen the elf the night before, and it struck her as strange, though perhaps no stranger than anything else about him. Certainly, no stranger than his elaborate encampment and his personal battle ostrich who appeared wholly unsuitable for any kind of battle.
The ostrich in question lay curled inside his own high-peaked tent, the silk flaps drawn back and tied with gilded tassels. His lavender feathers rose and fell with each warbling breath, his spindly legs making erratic pedaling motions. Glen was clearly deep in some fantastical ostrich dream.
As they’d discussed before she’d left, the wrought-iron arch from Lira and Korl’s wedding had been moved from inside the tavern to behind it. It now created a formal entrance to the encampment, although there was nothing informal about the site.
Cali walked under the arch and crept past Glen toward the largest tent, just as its gold-fringed flap parted and Erindil stepped out.
The elf looked as regal and composed as ever, even if his robes were long and edged with white feathers and the rings glittering on his fingers were enormous.
“Ah,” he said, spotting her and smiling broadly. “My favorite archer returned to us.”
Erindil motioned for her to join him around the fire, where opulent chairs and velvet settees made it look less like a campfire and more like a royal parlor. Even the flames seemed charmed, since they didn’t emit smoke or burn down to cinders.
“You weren’t at the tavern last night,” Cali said, settling onto a plush, tufted ottoman as he lowered himself into the gilded, high-backed chair that made him look every bit the elven prince.
“Time has a way of slipping past me,” he said, with a small, unbothered shrug. “I apologize. I lost track of the hour, and then the evening, and I’m afraid by the time I noticed, it seemed rather late to make an appearance.”
That didn’t surprise her. An elf’s concept of time was quite different, since he had so much of it. Cali offered him her remaining sea lime bar.
“Pip made these using the sea limes Thrain brought back from our journey,” she explained.
His brows peaked ever so slightly. “Sea limes, did you say? I haven’t tasted sea limes in an age.” The elf took a bite, and his eyes fluttered shut. “Delectable, as always. The delightful halfling baker may be one of the chief reasons I haven’t yet left this little village.”
Cali laughed, then leaned back, bracing her paws on the emerald-green velvet. “Bonnie told me about your history with her grandmother. What she knows, at least.”
The elf studied her for a long moment, as if weighing something.
“It’s true that I knew her grandmother before she became the first Bonnie One-Eye.
Back when she was as young as your Bonnie.
” A faint, knowing smile touched his mouth.
“She was bold and brash, and much like her granddaughter, I imagine. I hope you’ll forgive me for not telling you before you left.
I felt it was Bonnie’s tale to tell, if she chose to do so. ”
Cali’s cheeks warmed. She fought the urge to correct him and say that the pirate wasn’t “her Bonnie.” She reminded herself that he wasn’t a mind reader able to pluck secrets from the air, despite what it might feel like. He was only old and observant, and entirely too perceptive for her comfort.
“Did you also know she has two perfectly functioning eyes?” Cali asked.
Erindil stroked a hand down his chin. “I assumed she did. It would be incredibly bad luck for every woman in her family to lose an eye in battle. The same eye, mind you.”
“People do crazy things for family.” Cali gave the elf a pointed look, as she flicked a gaze around the elaborate campsite he’d erected behind his niece’s tavern.
Erindil mumbled through another bite of the sea lime pie bar, either oblivious to her point or ignoring it.
“I’m glad you’re still here,” Cali said. “I know you’d originally only planned to stay until Lira’s wedding.”
Erindil lifted the half-eaten confection, his cheeks flushing. “Like I said, I’m quite fond of Pip’s pastries.”
Cali had the strangest sensation that the elf wasn’t telling her the whole truth. “Don’t you miss Lananore? It must be more luxurious than living in a tent, even if these aren’t your average tents.”
Erindil’s expression took on a dreamy quality. “Lananore is quite spectacular, and truth be told, I miss waking up underneath a waterfall.”
Cali wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she nodded. “There must be an important reason to stay here then.”
He bristled. “There’s nothing more important than protecting Lira, especially now that…” He seemed to remember where he was and who he was talking to, and he shoved the rest of the sea lime pie bar into his mouth.
Well, that was odd. As far as Cali knew, Lira wasn’t in any kind of danger. If she were, Vaskel or Korl would have told her. Then again, Cali reminded herself, the elf could be overprotective.
Once he swallowed, he stood, and the pantheri followed suit, even though she was clearly being rushed off.
“Thank you again for the sea lime treat,” Erindil said as he walked her to the edge of the camp. “And I am glad you returned safely. Wayside needs you.”
Cali stopped and dropped her voice. “Is something going on no one’s told me about? Is Lira in danger?”
The elf stared at her for a beat before shaking his head and laughing. “Goodness me, no. Where did you get such an idea?”
Cali eyed him, but he didn’t seem insincere. Maybe this was some kind of elf memory loss. He was incredibly old, after all.
“As long as you’re sure,” she said.
He smiled at her. “Completely sure, my dear.”
She turned to head toward the tavern’s back door, but Erindil caught her by the sleeve.
“I forgot to ask you if you were tempted to stay aboard. Did you ever consider joining her crew?”
Cali thought about Tris and Jolli, about Pinkie scaling the mast to the crow’s nest, and Bonnie smiling at her over the light of the candelabra. She thought about the comforting creak of the hull and the lapping of water that lulled her to sleep.
Then she popped her last bite of the sea lime pie bar into her mouth and let the tartness snap her back to reality. She shook her head. “It would be hard to tempt a pantheri with the prospect of living at sea.”
Even if it was on a sentient ship with a female crew she now called friends and a captain she couldn’t stop thinking about.
The elf only nodded, slow and wry, the corner of his mouth curving in a way that made it perfectly clear that he didn’t believe a word of it.