Chapter 14
Hannalinde
Carlijn unpacked her trunks the way she did everything, with happy abandon.
“Hanna, I could weep. This is the finest day of my life,” she announced, extracting a chemise from her trunk.
She shook it out and hung it in one of the enormous wardrobes.
“No one telling me when to come home. No one asking where I’ve been.
No one telling me whom to marry.” She spun around, ringlets flying, arms wide enough to encompass the room and the freedom it represented.
“I’m shocked your parents agreed so readily. I’m glad for it, but still surprised.”
“I told them I needed time to sew my trousseau and could only be helped by your expert needle. Of course, my fiancé is very understanding when it comes to matters of dressmaking. That whole trunk over there is full of fabric he sent.” She turned to the trunk in question, which she opened with mock reverence.
Inside was the folded yardage of a dozen beautiful woolen fabrics, from heavier jacquard-weave to very fine and shot with gold. It was a generous betrothal gift.
“We’ll have to do something to keep the moths out,” Hannalinde mused, running her hand over the material. “Betje will have concocted a method to drive them off.”
“Who wants to wear wool? I’d rather have silk.
” Carlijn waved away the concern, letting the lid fall shut.
She dove back into the other trunk, emerging with a drawstring bag.
She shook it, and dice rattled inside. “For our amusement. I intend to fleece every gargoyle in this Tower, starting with the pretty one I danced with at your wedding.”
“Lucan.” Hannalinde sighed. Of course, Carlijn liked the one gargoyle that Rikard had warned against.
“That’s the one! Does he visit often?”
Hannalinde shook her head. Rikard did not bring his friends home…
or at least he hadn’t since she’d arrived.
Perhaps he was ashamed of having a human mate.
Or perhaps he wished to keep her pregnancy under wraps as long as possible.
It was difficult to hide the swell under her gown these days.
She rubbed her belly absentmindedly, and the child gave an answering kick.
“You must invite him,” Carlijn declared.
She set the dice on the sill beside the window box, which Hannalinde was loath to move now that the climbing roses were starting to find purchase around the window frame.
She would miss them while she dwelled in the other nesting chamber, but she could still visit them whenever she liked.
She turned and took Carlijn’s hands. “Let me show you the rest of the eyrie. I want you to see everything.”
She gave the tour, such as it was, showing Carlijn all the rooms. The private garderobe they all shared.
The main chamber with its wide table and too-tall benches, where Rikard often roosted during the day, although today he’d roosted in the nesting chamber.
The balcony where the gargoyles came and went.
Cléa and Roul’s chamber, which Carlijn peered into with fascinated caution to spy on the daysleeping pair.
And then Hannalinde’s new quarters, the shallow stone nest in Rikard’s roost, which was now piled in fresh furs.
The keepers had moved her things, but she hadn’t yet slept in the space. Tonight would be the first night. It was homey enough with all her possessions in their place, although it didn’t seem like hers yet. The prominent roost where her stony mate loomed over the nest made that impossible.
“Cozy,” Carlijn said, eyeing the roost shrewdly. “Will he always stay in here, too?”
Her pulse picked up. “He has every right.”
“Where will you change your shift?” Carlijn teased.
Hannalinde shook her head and gave her a pointed look.
She’d warned Carlijn not to speak of the arrangement, even when they were alone.
Her child’s parentage had to be unquestionable.
“I’ll complete my toilette while he’s stone, of course.
And if I must bathe while he’s awake, I’m sure he’ll give me a few moments to myself. ”
“Ah, right.” Carlijn perched on the edge of the nest opposite Rikard’s roost and stirred the furs with her feet experimentally. “Do you ever just... look at him while he’s frozen?”
The answer was yes, though Hannalinde would sooner swallow her own needle than admit it.
She looked at him the way she might admire a piece of art.
She memorized the scars that ridged his face and crawled down his neck.
His shredded wings, bound tight during the day, were easier to see while he slept, their torn membranes thin enough in places to let light through.
He was a ruin, and he was beautiful, but of course she couldn’t say either of those things to Carlijn. It felt far too intimate.
“He’s stone,” she said instead. “There’s nothing to see.”
“There’s plenty if you ask me.” Carlijn gave her a cheeky look but let it go and changed the subject herself. “Tell me about the food situation. Is there cheese? I can’t live without cheese.”
“I’ll let the keepers know. They’ll bring us anything we ask for. In fact, that’s the midday tray arriving right now, if you want to inspect it.”
They retreated to the main chamber and, finding the meal to Carlijn’s liking, settled in to eat.
They gossiped and planned their next visit to the market like old times, and absurdly, it made Hannalinde want to cry.
Though they hadn’t been far apart, the seven tiers that separated them had seemed vast. It was sweet to be reunited.
Carlijn seemed to feel the same, because she reached across the table and squeezed Hannalinde’s hand. “I’ve missed you. I know it’s been wonderful, and I know you’re happy, but the Tower is a long way from my father’s house.”
The sincerity caught Hannalinde off guard. She squeezed back. “I missed you too.”
“Good. Now.” Carlijn lowered her voice, though the gargoyles were frozen in their chambers and the nearest keeper was probably four tiers down. “When do I get to see Lucan?”
Hannalinde closed her eyes. She should have seen this coming. Carlijn had danced with Lucan at least four times at the wedding feast and came away with flushed cheeks and a look in her eyes that Hannalinde recognized from years of watching her friend fling herself at unsuitable men.
“Carlijn. You’re betrothed.”
“But not dead! Don’t give me that face. I’ve survived worse than a charming gargoyle.”
“Rikard says nobody survives Lucan.”
“Your husband is too serious, don’t you think?” Carlijn’s curls bounced as she giggled. “I just want to have a little fun with friends before I’m condemned to a dreary life in Meravenna. You can’t deny me that.”
Hannalinde sighed. She didn’t think being a wool merchant’s wife sounded so bad. She would miss her friend, but surely there were new friends to be made in a new city. Perhaps some even played dice. But clearly, Carlijn had made up her mind that Meravenna was akin to a gaol sentence.
“I’d never forbid you from finding a friend,” Hanna said. “But I insist on being present when you see him, at the very least.”
Carlijn pouted. “I don’t need a chaperone.”
“Yes, you do! Ask your mother!”
Carlijn laughed. “Fine, maybe I do. Well, at least roll the dice with us. I don’t want to be stuck playing scaccus every evening. It’s such a bore.”
Hannalinde pretended offense, since scaccus was her favorite. “It’s not boring! Rikard loves scaccus!”
“Of course he does. I told you he’s too serious.”
“Then I guess I am, too.”
“Yes, you’re an old, pregnant, married lady now.” Carlijn came around the table to kiss her cheek to soften the teasing jab. “You’ll see. It’ll be fun.”
“That’s what worries me.”
Carlijn scoffed. “It shouldn’t. I know what I’m doing.”
She did not, in Hannalinde’s opinion. She was playing a very dangerous game, risking her betrothal to play games with a rakish gargoyle. But Carlijn’s face was bright and hopeful and alive, and Hanna didn’t want to start off their new living arrangement by ruining that.
“Fine,” she said. “But if he breaks your heart, I’m not responsible.”