Chapter 3 Brook
“Thank you, Azalea,” Brook said with a smile.
Fully dressed, she plopped back down on the luxurious four-poster bed she occupied in The Webbed Foot, the small but opulent inn the Fyreham-Greymalkins chose nearly every Midsummer Market.
They had comfortable rooms and a good breakfast, which were the only two things Papa insisted he must have.
Brook also liked the staff, including Azalea, whom she’d seen grow into young adulthood over the decades.
The girl set down Brook’s breakfast tray and gave a little curtsey and a giggle.
“What’s the gossip this morning? Yesterday it was all about Raylen of Moonscliffe.” Brook grinned.
As expected, Azalea giggled again, this time with a pretty flush. “I think I saw him yesterday.”
“And was he with his newly intended? Or has he failed to find one after all?”
“I think he was.” She tapped her bottom lip thoughtfully. “There was a very handsome elf with him.”
“Of course there was.” Just as there was always one near her.
Brook slipped a coin into Azalea’s hand and sent her packing.
She didn’t actually want breakfast in bed, she just wanted to avoid her parents this morning.
That’d mean being sidelined into a gown fitting or some other cultural dance preparations—and she had no intention of attending tonight’s soiree.
She split the bread in half and stuffed the cheese into it, took the servants’ stairs down the back, and didn’t bother with her invisibility magic. The little village was mostly empty in the late mornings, which was prime time for transacting business in the market.
So when she rounded the corner near The Three Cats and saw some of the Emberleigh royal guards lounging out front, she stopped in her tracks.
Prince Aldian wasn’t even here yet. Why were there so many guards?
Sure enough, that ex-flame, a particularly large specimen of a soldier affectionately known as Sunny, was among them.
Before she could pull her thoughts together enough to disappear, Sunny locked eyes with her.
Fuck.
He stood, head down, clearly heading toward her.
She turned on her heel, marched around the nearest building trying to look unhurried, and murmured the spell to wrap the light around her.
If Aisling wasn’t up for a little fun, maybe Brook could sweet-talk Sunny into forgiving her for disappearing on him last summer. He’d almost certainly give her a fake engagement.
No. No, what was she thinking? Nothing was worth being Sunny’s hyperromantic fixation for another season. Not even getting Priscilla off her back.
Brook was eager to see Aisling but not enough to attempt dividing her attention during the lunch hour.
Partly because it would be rude, but also because she sensed she wouldn’t win that battle.
Instead, she explored the tech, magic, and gift sections of the market in greater detail.
She purchased a clever little sex toy from the cute elf, Acantha, at the clockwork shop.
She ordered some new leathers from her favorite clothier, Rowan—whom she was fairly certain was some kind of cousin, though she couldn’t have said how.
She browsed the enchanted matches Elian had for sale this summer, admiring the craftsmanship and attention to detail.
When the market began to slow down as people retreated to prepare for the cultural dance, Brook finally made her way to Aisling’s stall.
Her heart hammered in her chest, that first flush of excitement after setting her sights on a new paramour.
Business had slowed to a trickle, but Aisling was spattered with flour and berry filling, her curls vaguely powdered with flour or sugar—Brook could think of interesting ways to find out which—and her clothing askew, showing off the faint freckles sprinkling pale shoulders.
What a lovely surprise. Brook couldn’t help but wonder where else Aisling was hiding freckles.
She waited in the short queue, catching Aisling’s gaze now and then and smiling secretly. When she reached the counter, she leaned against it and said, “What’s good today, pretty baker?”
Aisling laughed—no blush, this time. “I saved something for you. Come on.” She nodded to the back of her stall.
Brook strangled an urge to punch the air in triumph and went around the back.
The door was cracked, so she slipped inside and pressed her back against it to keep out of the way.
Aisling finished dealing with her last customer, then turned and put her hands on her hips.
Her tail lashed once and then curled around her ankle tightly.
When Brook caught her eyes again, Aisling was watching her with raised eyebrows, one hand on a popped-out hip.
Brook smiled, perfectly happy to be caught admiring. “You have something for me?”
The tail unwound and flicked back to the shelf, snagging a paper-wrapped parcel. Aisling passed it into her hands and held it out.
Brook stepped further into the stall and accepted it, then peeled back the paper. “What is it?”
“A new recipe. I want you to be my taste-tester. You’ve traveled widely, yes?”
Brook nodded as she unwrapped the jewel-like little cloud cake, then held it up to admire. “It looks fancier.”
“It’s just a prototype.” Aisling licked her lips, tail flicking again.
Brook was starting to wonder what that meant. Most body language, she could read just fine, but the tail was new and fascinating.
“Are you hungry?” Aisling asked.
“Always.”
Aisling turned and opened the oven. “Go ahead.”
The blast of heat nearly blew Brook’s hair back, it was so powerful—and that was just from the upper rack. The lower ones were hidden, closer to the heat source. Gingerly, Brook popped the lovely little cake into the oven, then stepped back.
Aisling laughed. “It’s safe. As long as you don’t touch the rack.”
“Noted.” Brook snorted.
Aisling shut the oven and, after glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was waiting for service, refocused on Brook. “So, you came for your free cake after all.”
“That’s not why I came,” Brook confessed.
“No?”
“I came,” Brook said pointedly, “To ask you if you want to help me avoid the Emberleigh cultural dance tonight.”
“You want to avoid it?” Aisling raised one eyebrow.
“Very much so. Have you been to those things?”
Aisling shook her head, displacing a dark red curl. Her nose wrinkled, and she tried to blow it out of her face. Failed.
Brook’s fingers twitched to fix it. “Well, I’m sure they’re lovely if you’re into that sort of thing. But I am not. My taste runs to the smaller, more personal parties that crop up. But I’d much rather spend the time under the stars, sharing a bottle of wine with someone beautiful.”
Aisling bit back a smile. “Oh? Like whom?”
Brook gave in to the urge and reached out. She twirled Aisling’s errant curl around her finger, then tucked it behind the point of her pink ear. No earrings, no jewelry at all, come to it. Would she like some, or would it just be in her way in the bakery? “You, of course.”
Aisling laughed. “You’re terrible.”
“Am I?”
“No. You’re entirely too good. Eat your cake and tell me what you think.” She turned as a new customer approached her counter. “Welcome. What can I get for you?”
Brook glanced around for the paper from her cake. When she found it, she reached into the oven with it and took her piping hot pastry—she expected it to hurt her hand, but the paper had some kind of coating that protected her hand. Possibly it wasn’t paper at all? How very interesting.
Aisling’s tail thrashed toward the shelf of pre-made baked goods, so Brook pressed against the door again. She watched from close up this time as Aisling went through her service process with the next few customers, tail, hand, hand, tail, hand, hand, talking animatedly about cakes all the while.
The tail featured raised ridges on the thickest part, near the base of Aisling’s spine. Brook’s fingers twitched again, curious, but she busied them with her cake and let her eyes roam. Almost without thinking, she peeled back the paper and took a bite—
Her knees nearly gave out; it was so bleeding delicious.
The cake was bread-like but airier; the filling was a rich, aromatic yellow custard flavored with spices and honey and other good things.
It looked almost like the other cloud cakes on the outside, but with a sprinkle of powdered sugar over a golden-brown top instead of the honey icing.
The cake had her full attention after that. Brook nibbled it from different angles, trying to perfect the ratio of custard to cake in every bite, eyes rolling back in her head.
“You like it?” Aisling asked, hesitantly.
Brook refocused her attention past the little crumb of cake left in her hand. All Aisling’s customers were walking away with steaming paper parcels in hand. Brook blinked and said, “It’s the most brilliant invention at this market. I’d put money on it.”
Aisling rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “Well. Thank you. It’s a new egg custard I’ve been working on. Just a little cinnabark and spice-flower stamen in it. Pricey but worth the investment, I think.”
“Very. Enter this in any of the competitions and you’ll surely win.” Brook popped the last bite into her mouth happily.
Aisling laughed. “Flattery will get you…”
“A shared bottle of wine at Portage Point tonight?” Brook smiled hopefully.
Aisling nodded. “Meet you at my wagon?”
“I can help you close up and prepare for the morning,” Brook offered.
“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to—”
Brook waved her off with the empty paper wrapping. “It’s an excuse to spend more time flattering you.”
“Please, no.” Aisling laughed. “I must seem to love it, but I’d really rather just…”
“Talk?” Brook guessed—though it wasn’t the first thing to come into her mind. Not by miles.
“Yes.”