then inspected the soup simmering over the hearth and judged it to be ready. Everyone in the town was expected to contribute to the harvest festival, and while her soup was simple fare, it was delicious and welcomed, even by those who contributed far more.
Glancing at the door, she half-expected to see a tall man silhouetted against the light, and for a brief, bitter moment she realized she wasn’t sure who it was she wished for more to be the one to see – her late husband, or Caleb. Pushing aside such irrelevant thoughts, she reminded herself that aching for what you couldn’t have was pointless. She was a farmer’s wife, and knew the nature of life: it rarely gave you choices, and to survive you looked forward, not back.
A short while later, Marie heard someone approach and turned to find Caleb at the door. Wearing half a smile, he said, ‘Expecting someone?’
She crossed her arms and gave him an appraising look. Only a few years younger than Marie, a clean-shaven chin and a long, unlined face gave Caleb a youthful look, despite the grey creeping into his shoulder-length brown hair. His eyes were also brown and fixed on her like a hunter’s. He wore well-made but plain-cut garb, fit for a woodsman, a large floppy hat of black felt, a dark-green wool tunic cut snugly over his broad shoulders, and leather breeches tucked into buckskin boots around his calves. He had a long face, but she thought him handsome, for he carried himself proudly. He always spoke calmly and thoughtfully and he wasn’t afraid of silence. But the main reason she was drawn to him was because when he looked at her, she felt that he saw something of value there. Caleb smiled. ‘I’m late?’
‘As usual,’ she answered with a slight smile. Then her expression bloomed as she laughed. ‘But not too late,’ she crossed the room to stand before him. Kissing and hugging him, she said, ‘The boys left a few minutes ago.’
He returned the hug, then said, ‘How much time do we have?’
Marie looked askance at him and said, ‘Not enough, if I read your mood correctly.’ She tilted her head towards the hearth. ‘Help me with the kettle.’ She moved to the hearth and picked up a long oak pole leaning beside the stonework chimney.
Caleb unslung his bow, hip quiver and backpack, and stored them in the corner. As Marie slipped the pole through the iron handle of the large kettle, he took the opposite end.
They lifted it from the iron hook which held it above the flames and started towards the door. ‘You first,’ he said.
Once outside, Caleb swung around so they could walk side-by-side with the kettle between them. ‘How was your journey?’ Marie asked him.
‘Uneventful,’ he answered.
She had learned not to ask about his business or where he had been, for she knew he was working on his father’s behalf. Some claimed that Caleb’s father had been the Duke of Stardock once, but at present no one claimed dominion over the island or its town on the opposite shore. Patrols from the Kingdom garrison at Shamata would occasionally spend a day or two at the local inn, or Keshian patrols might ride up from the border fortress in Nar Ayab, but neither side claimed the Great Star Lake or the surrounding countryside. This region was under the control of the Academy of Magicians on the island, and no one disputed their authority.
But Pug was no longer in control of the Academy, and like all those who lived in Stardock Town, Marie was unsure how that had come to pass. Yet, his sons – Caleb and his older brother Magnus – were still occasional visitors to the Academy. Whatever the relationship between Pug and the ruling council of the city of magicians, it was an enduring one, no matter what estrangements might have occurred in the past.
Marie had met Caleb when she was a young girl and he little more than a scruffy woods-boy. They had played together from time to time, but then he had vanished. Some said he had gone to live on an island in the Bitter Sea, while others said he stayed with the elves. They had been reunited when Caleb was Tad and Zane’s age, and Marie just four years older. Though her parents disapproved of them spending time together, they said nothing because of who Caleb’s father was.
But, after the summer during which they had become lovers, he vanished once more. His last words explained that he had to leave on his father’s business, but he promised to return. Marie had waited more than a year before bowing to family pressure. She married young Brendan, a man she eventually came to care for deeply, but who could never set her heart racing the way Caleb had. Years went by and Caleb didn’t return.
But whatever the reason for his long absence, Marie had wed, and birthed two sons – one who had died as a baby before Caleb had appeared again – without warning, three years ago at the Midsummer’s festival of Banapis.
Her heart had soared at the sight of him, and while she chided herself for allowing the memories of a silly girl to overwhelm her, she had still sought him out as soon as she knew of his arrival.
That night she had indulged in far too much wine and dancing, and it had been the most fun she could remember since before her husband’s death. After the boys were sound asleep, she had slept in Caleb’s arms.
And the next day he was gone once more.
Since then she had grown used to his ways – appearing without notice and then vanishing. He had made no promises and she had asked for none. Yet they had formed a bond and she was certain that no other woman waited for him. Why she felt so certain she couldn’t say, but she was sure.
‘Staying long?’
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’ she asked.
‘A number of things. I have a message to deliver to the ruling council, and they may take a while to consider their answer. So, a few days, perhaps a week.’
‘Anything you can talk about?’
He smiled. ‘Not really. Let’s just say it’s another of my father’s very important missives.’
‘Yet you delay to come to the festival with me?’ She wore a knowing smile on her lips.
‘A day will make no difference.’ He grinned at her. ‘Besides, I have my own business here.’
‘Oh, do you now?’
‘Yes,’ he laughed. ‘As you well know.’
As they approached the town square, several people greeted Marie. ‘Well,’ she whispered after returning their greetings, ‘we can discuss that business, later.’
Caleb looked at the unusually large crowd gathering and asked, ‘More people have arrived?’
‘Some,’ she answered. ‘A shipping concern out of Shamata has put up a building on the edge of the south road, near the old stone bridge. They have three new families and some single men from town working for them. They’re making Ellie’s pa real nervous. I think that’s half of the reason he’s marrying her off to Miller Hodover’s boy, Grame. He wants to make sure that he’s secured the grain shipment contracts up to Land’s End and Krondor.’
‘As good enough reason for a marriage as any, I guess,’ said Caleb, ‘if you ignore love.’
She glanced at him to see if he was being serious and found that once more she couldn’t quite read his mood. Sometimes Caleb was as easy to read as a child. At other times she had no idea what he was thinking, and disappointingly this was one of those times.
They carried the kettle over to one of the large wooden tables borrowed from a nearby inn and placed it on the spot indicated by one of the women overseeing the feast. One of the other women looked up, ‘Marie, Caleb,’ she said, smiling a thin welcome.
‘Tessa,’ returned Marie.
The woman, florid-faced with ale-bloom cheeks as if she was a heavy drinker, had a jowly face set in a painful smile. ‘Brought another kettle of your nice little soup,’ she remarked, her tone condescending. Tessa was the miller’s wife, and soon-to-be mother-in-law of Ellie. She was well attired and took Marie’s hand disdainfully, patting it softly, and giving a slight nod. ‘We understand,