Epilogue
After what felt like fortnights, Chary Tesserine finally enjoyed the opportunity to reunite with her dear cousin Florrie.
When they met at the Commonplace Palace, Florrie hadn’t changed a bit.
Granted, she was moving with an unexpected grace and confidence, and there may have been an unpractised broadness to her smile unlike anything Chary had ever seen – but, on the whole, she was still the same old Florrie.
She greeted Chary formally and stiffly, as she always did, and her arms dangled most inelegantly at her sides.
Because Florrie claimed to be burdened with countless errands to do, the cousins were bound for the marketplace.
Despite Chary’s best efforts to share an edifying array of cautionary tales on the way, Florrie seemed inappropriately distant, as though lost in a daydream.
She emerged from her silent musings to purchase a surprisingly large quantity of bread and vegetables when they reached the culinary-arts thoroughfare.
“Does the prince provide you with insufficient sustenance?” Chary asked. “One cannot live off stew. I know you don’t enjoy the texture of a wilted salad or afternoon roast, but they’re terribly fashionable—”
“The Commonplace Palace’s kitchens are among the finest in Stillscape,” said Florrie. “The contemporary painting An Aroma of Obsolescence was inspired by a toothsome meal the artist enjoyed there—”
“Florrie…” Chary groaned.
“Still, I prefer to make my own. I’ve even dared to try new recipes recently.”
“But look at the ingredients you’ve chosen!” Chary shook her head. “You despise the texture of marsh-radishes, for example; I know you can’t abide the thought of chopping something so slimy.”
“I suppose it’s a good thing I won’t be chopping them.”
Chary opened her mouth and closed it again.
She wanted to say that Florrie was ridiculous – there was no way to prepare marsh-radishes besides chopping them, unless one was utterly provincial.
She also feared the quantity of food Florrie had purchased was awfully excessive for a conservator who lived alone, and Folk were bound to whisper about that peculiar Hyverfell girl’s wastefulness.
Still, she decided to keep both comments to herself.
At present, Florrie appeared possessed by an atypically reckless fortitude, which Chary, to her frustration, found slightly unsettling.
With her rucksack already overstuffed with purchases, Florrie strode with graceless determination towards the nearby textile market, where a wool-vendor greeted her warmly by name.
“I’ve been thinking of you two,” said the elder. “See this lovely skein? I rather fancy it looks like the sea at sunrise. Would you kindly take it off my hands?”
At the phrase you two, Chary couldn’t help but notice Florrie’s fingers start to twitch. Perhaps her cousin was confused by the man’s bizarre statement. Chary had never met this wool-vendor in her life, and certainly never in Florrie’s company, so why would he think of them as a pair?
“Oh, the colours are sublime!” sighed Florrie. “Like the riotous waves in the etching of—”
“Florrie…” sighed Chary.
“… The Deluge’s Demands!” her cousin finished, despite Chary’s interruption. “Thank you kindly. I’ll return soon with something wondrous, I’m sure.”
“Please do! I’ve had Folk stopping by for days, asking after more of those woven—”
“How wonderful! Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow,” Florrie said quickly, giving him a frantic wave as she led Chary back to the main road.
“Whyever are you on such familiar terms with that wool-vendor?” Chary asked.
“I have recently developed an interest in textile production. Now, Chary, go on – you haven’t finished telling me about your unfortunate colleague who acquired a horse-drawn carriage.”
Chary was happy to return to this topic and, to her surprise, Florrie seemed happy enough to listen.
At one moment, she was fairly certain Florrie was humming with delight.
As a result, Chary immersed herself so thoroughly in the necessary criticism of equine transportation that she almost didn’t notice when they returned to the palace.
“Goodness, it’s late!” Florrie exclaimed. “Shall we say good evening?”
“Oh, I have time to spare,” Chary replied. “You couldn’t possibly send me off without revealing your new home. One little peek, perhaps?”
A fortnight ago, Chary had overheard Orchel chatting with Bower and Glin about Florrie’s recent change of residence.
Apparently, she had abandoned her guest quarters at the Commonplace Palace and found somewhere “more convenient” to live.
What could be more convenient than on-site quarters?
Chary feared she would simply faint on the spot if she didn’t find out.
She was pleasantly surprised when Florrie acquiesced, leading the way through a backdoor into the palace and across the galleries – all without giving a single lecture about the history of art.
Their arrival into a dark and dismal tunnel, however, was less pleasant, and Chary was altogether disgusted when Florrie brought her into what was simply a conservator’s studio.
There was nothing in it except for frames, phials and tools – plus a large painting placed solidly upon an easel with a cloth over it.
“Are you still… settling in?” asked Chary, aghast.
“I couldn’t be more settled, honestly.”
“Surely you’re joking!” Chary cleared her throat.
“Aren’t you? Oh, you aren’t. Well, honestly, Florrie, I’ve been doing my best to hold my tongue, but…
I fear you’ve regressed. This is no home for a grown gentlewoman!
Besides, I can’t imagine you bringing someone back to this closet.
Have you given up on courtship entirely? ”
Florrie burst out laughing in a most improper way, and Chary could only gape at her. Whatever was the matter with her cousin?
“On that note, I’m afraid it’s time for me to retire,” Florrie managed to say between gasps for breath.
Before Chary could protest, she found herself outside a closed door.
In her confusion, she waited, trying to catch sight of Florrie through the keyhole.
The studio was alarmingly dark. Were there any lamps in that drab little place?
Oh – there was Florrie! Chary could just glimpse her.
She was facing that painting – and she was smiling.
It wasn’t the graceful, in-vogue smile Chary often encouraged Florrie to make in public.
Her cousin’s entire face was wrinkled and rounded with joy.
It was inelegant, to be sure, but also unrehearsed and spontaneous and true – if Chary dared to admit it.
Alas, admitting to such sentimentality was also rather out of vogue at present.