Airlean Tales S2E3: Baker

The next morning, Karis pulled on her windsoles and springstepped south, landing in the rustic Gallows Square. Townspeople milled about with baskets and laundry and schoolbooks, some chatting together as they peeled nuts and shucked clams, others bartering with merchant carts. Some looked up at Karis’s arrival, and she quickly pulled the hood of her traveling cloak further over her face. She had a very distinct appearance, and if she was recognized as the Second Hunter, she could forgo any notion of privacy.

Azalea Fairwen technically resided in one of the rented rooms of a large, dingy townhouse, but Karis did not bother checking there. Instead, she made her way down a cluttered pathway of squat cottages, stopping at one with a crooked chimney and a wildflower garland hanging from the door. A wooden sign declared Wes’s Workshop in bold, bright letters.

Karis stepped forward and raised her hand to knock, right beneath that charming garland, but something gave her pause.

The door was ajar.

Karis frowned lightly and pushed it open, drawing her rapier with her free hand. Her manawell hummed eagerly, thirsty for blood.

But instead of an assailant or a masked burglar, Karis was only met by the very picture of domesticity. Open windows to usher a spring breeze through embroidered curtains. A hearth crackling with warmth. A wooden table arrayed with buttery, golden-brown treats: quail quiche, crumbly cobbler, pudding pies with a ribbed, flaky crust.

Karis sheathed her sword quickly as soft footsteps padded around the corner. A girl emerged from behind a wall of cluttered shelves, apron tied over her simple dress, padded mitts swallowing up her delicate hands. She looked happier than Karis had ever seen her at the guild or on the battlefield; blissful, humming, her fair hair tied back from her smooth, untroubled face.

When she saw Karis, she gave a delighted gasp. “Lady Karis!” she said, meadow-green eyes beaming. “How nice to see you!”

Karis’s heart warmed just a little. To the rest of Airlea, this was Azalea Fairwen, renowned Hunter, Lady Stormrider in the flesh. One of four people who had ever slain a Class Five corruption. But to Karis, she was something like a little sister, a sweet girl of barely eighteen years who liked baking and reading more than her status as a national hero.

“The door is unlocked, little flower,” she noted. She slipped fully into the cottage.

“Wes only locks the door at night, or when there’s no one home,” Azalea said.

“Why?”

Azalea looked puzzled. “So that he can have visitors.”

“What if they’re unwelcome visitors? Violent visitors? Do you have your starshooter on you?” Azalea’s powerful firearm could deter unwanted attention, at least.

“No.” Azalea gave a scandalized look. “I would never shoot a civilian.”

What about a criminal? Karis nearly asked, but she bit her tongue. “I just want to make sure that you’re safe,” she said instead. “You’ve made quite the name for yourself, and even your ingeniator friend carries the name of a prestigious noble house. Some knave could try to attack you here.”

Azalea’s eyes widened, as if she had never considered this idea. Which she likely hadn’t. Sweet, innocent thing.

“Alright,” Azalea said gravely. “I’ll be more careful.”

She ushered Karis further into the house, which opened into a little workshop: charcoal sketches, knickknacks and copper gadgets, diagrams pinned on the walls. This was the primary function of the residence—the imaginative workshop of Azalea’s precious inventor friend, Wesley Geppett.

Azalea gingerly pushed aside some papers on the cluttered central table and gestured for Karis to sit. “What’s happened, Lady Karis? You don’t usually visit.”

Don’t I? Karis wondered with a prickle of guilt. She had a tendency to disappear into her work, and in the process, forget to tend to those closest to her.

Even this day was no exception.

“I’m sorry, little flower,” she said, clearing her throat lightly. “Much as I would like to stay for pleasantries, I’m afraid that I have other motives for my visit.”

“It’s alright,” Azalea said generously. “I know that you’re busy.”

Hardly. The dragging months since the last Storm had been all but odious. Karis managed to amuse herself for some time by turning to her only remaining hobby: music. The pianoforte, violin, lute, and harp kept her occupied for several weeks. But then the itch started—a deep one, under her skin. And it was of no help that a certain dark, striking face kept surfacing in her idle thoughts.

But admitting any of this would serve no use, so Karis only coughed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You see, we’ve received some…visitors. From another country, as it were. An Atlantean delegation.”

Azalea’s eyes blew comically wide. “Atlantis!”

Right—the girl was young, and had been born in a rural village besides. She never would have met an Atlantean.

“What are they like?” Azalea said eagerly. “Do they truly wear headdresses that look like fins and coral? Their armor, is it made from the scales of sea serpents? What about the opalite beading? And the Tidebreaker Fleet—”

Karis raised a hand, and the excited girl quieted.

“I’m certain those questions would please the envoy,” Karis said, smiling, “but I cannot answer them. You will have opportunity to ask them soon enough.”

“I will?”

“The guildmaster is looking for a knowledgable guide to show the Atlantean envoy around the finer establishments of the kingdom. She has nominated you for the role.”

Azalea choked. She paled and then flushed a pretty pink.

“Me!” she exclaimed. “I’m—I’m hardly qualified!”

“You would make for a fine host.” When Azalea shook her head, Karis sighed. “Then who would serve the role better?”

Azalea thought for a moment, then brightened. “Aron. He knows so very much about the city.”

“Aron?”

“Oh, you might know him as Echo. The Lone Wolf.”

“Myths forbid, no,” Karis said flatly. The Lone Wolf! A high profile mercenary of the underground! Under his watch, Simon Kourios would be spirited away to a brothel immediately. After a scenic detour to the black market and the gambling parlor and the kennels, of course. Azalea Fairwen was a very sweet girl, but she seemed to believe that everybody else was just as kind and good—which Karis could personally attest was untrue.

“Oh, alright,” said Azalea with a light frown. “I think Aron would enjoy it.”

He would enjoy it a little too much, I think. They were attempting to entertain a scholarly delegate, not some two-faced noble with perverse tastes.

“You would make for a fine guide, little flower,” Karis said. “You have a kind and hospitable nature that would please them. If you are willing to accept the task.”

“Willing!” Azalea raised her chin, eyes glimmering. “I would be thrilled to accept. But I—I don’t want to let the Guildmaster down, or, or bring shame to the nation.”

Don’t worry, Yuden has already done his best on that front, Karis thought sullenly. Outwardly, she smiled.

“The envoy’s name is Simon Kourios,” she said. “He is the Prime Consul of the Vascea Dominion—from what I can tell, that is something of a second-in-command to one of their major provinces. He seems quite fond of literature and learning. I believe you have that in common.”

Azalea beamed. “Then I know just where to bring him!”

“The library?”

“No, no. Books are wonderful, yes, but the greatest learning happens among people.” Azalea waved towards the open window and to the bright sky, which was dotted with mana lamps and colored streamers. “The Mythaven night market, that’s where he must go!”

“Sounds lovely indeed.” Food, festivities, and innocuous games. The perfect material to occupy the envoy’s attention until Nicolina and Prince Sethis could figure out just what to do with a foreign delegation.

The workshop door suddenly opened. Karis immediately turned, weaving a quick length of sugar-thread in the rare situation that a beheading was in order. But one was not. The person who stepped into the workshop was, in fact, its owner: Wesley Geppett, a young man with a ruffled shock of brown hair falling over his kind face.

“Wes!” Azalea’s face lit up in a radiant beam that almost hurt to look at. “I’ve just finished my latest batch! Would you like to try one?”

Karis stifled a grin of amusement as Wes’s cheeks flushed, his eyes a little dazed from Azalea’s smile. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought she had stumbled upon an adoring housewife and her equally smitten husband. It was surprising that they were not a courting couple, though she supposed Wes’s status as the heir of House Geppett complicated matters. Perhaps they merely wished to remain discreet.

“Of course,” Wes said distantly, moving toward her. Karis was quite sure he hadn’t even heard the question. “Are you having fun?”

“Oh yes,” said Azalea breathlessly. She quickly removed her apron and dusted flour from her hands. “I’ve been trying butterscotch today. The first batch turned out a bit cloying, but I think this one has a nice and balanced flavor. A bit nutty.” She reached for the nearest cookie and broke off a piece. “Say ah.”

Wait, Karis thought. Are they courting?

Wes opened his mouth obediently, and Azalea popped in the cookie. He chewed for a moment. Then his eyes lit up.

“Mm,” he said. “That’s good. Hint of walnut?”

Azalea clapped her hands. “Yes! You taste it?”

“I do. It’s delicious.”

They must be courting, Karis thought.

“It masks the marshpurse well, doesn’t it?” Azalea beamed. “I think it’ll be perfect. Ma says that the kids hate marshpurse, but maybe if they’re bunny-shaped cookies, then it won’t be so bad.”

“That’s smart,” Wes said, laughing. “Apothecary cookies.”

“It’s nice,” Azalea admitted, blushing. “To have something I can do with Ma.”

He grinned openly at her in a besotted way that nearly made Karis blush. Then he suddenly jumped, as if he had just noticed Karis’s long, elegant figure hovering by the wall.

“Ah,” Wes said, clearing his throat. “Welcome to—to the workshop, Lady Caelute.”

Yes, yes. She might as well have been window dressing next to Azalea.

Karis inclined her head. “A good day to you, Lord Geppett.” When he flinched, she amended: “Sir Wesley.”

“Please, Lady Karis, just call him Wes,” Azalea urged. “You saved his life.”

“Please, just call me Wes,” Wes mumbled. “Anything else sounds like a threat.”

He shrugged off a worn dust-green cardigan, and replaced it with a dressy coat with gilded vine embroidery crawling around the hem. Then his quick hand tried to tame the wayward fluff of his hair. In an instant, he’d managed to mostly transform into a stuffy-looking aristocrat.

Azalea frowned at the sight. “You’re going already?” she said. “But you just got back.”

Karis smothered a giggle. Behold, the pouting housewife.

“I wish I didn’t,” Wes said ruefully, “but you know how it is. Father is entertaining a friend. A friend who conveniently has an eligible daughter.”

Ah yes, an eligible—a what? Every thought in Karis’s head vanished in the blink of an eye.

“Oh,” Azalea said plaintively. “Well, I…hope it goes well.”

Wes nodded stiffly, and an awkward silence pervaded the workshop as he turned to button his cuffs and pull on a pair of velvet gloves. Karis gawked openly, her gaze flitting between them.

Azalea gave no protest, and Wes gave no further explanation.

They weren’t courting.

Karis could hardly believe it. The besotted smiles, the adoring gazes, the playful exchanges—all of it, for futility? Were they not aware of how much they gawked at each other like a pair of utter fools, how obvious they were to everyone around them?

This is absurd, Karis groused. Azalea would have to be blind to miss the young ingeniator’s regard for her. He looked at her like he wished to capture the stars and lay them at her feet. As for Wes—well, Azalea was not profoundly expressive, but when she felt something deeply, she was rather terrible at hiding it. Surely Wes did not expect her affections to be entirely platonic.

“If I might venture a question,” Karis said casually, “who are you meeting?”

Wes squinted. “Lady Charlene…something or another, I don’t remember. Of some important house, I’m sure.”

Karis ran through the thorough list of noble houses in her head. Scions roughly close to Wes’s age. Reputable enough to associate with House Geppett, yet not an immediate threat to their holdings, for Wes would have remembered such a figure.

“Charlene Penrose?” she guessed. “Of the Penrose Winery.”

“That one, yes.” Wes nodded. “I’m to show her around the night market while our fathers talk business.”

Karis snuck a look at Azalea. A casual bystander would not have noticed anything unusual, but Karis knew better. The young girl’s hands had frozen over her cookies, and her smile had pressed a little thin.

“Ah,” Karis said slyly, turning back to Wes. “A courtship, then.”

Azalea’s shoulders visibly stiffened.

“Maybe,” Wes said tiredly. “I’m sure that my father would like to think so.”

Maybe? Alarmed, Karis’s eyes slid to Azalea. The little one was going to lose her love if she did not act quickly. But Azalea said nothing, and only sullenly nudged her cookies onto a serving plate.

Suddenly, Karis was overcome with a blaze of anger. What had happened to the precocious little Hunter who had fearlessly marched out against a Class Five? Who was this timid mouse that had taken her place? She would have words with this little one.

“I’ll be back soon,” Wes said, looking to Azalea.

Azalea was staunchly turned away from him, likely to hide a distraught expression. “Alright,” she said, sounding cheerful enough—to the untrained ear, which Karis did not possess. “Have a good time. Be well.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed Wes’s face, but with a polite nod in Karis’s direction, he slipped out of the workshop without another word.

Karis waited for Wes shut the door behind him. She waited an additional sixty seconds until his footsteps had completely receded into the distance.

Then she wheeled on Azalea with a most accusing glare.

Azalea blinked and shriveled under the look. “L-Lady Karis?” she stammered.

“Do explain something to me, little flower,” Karis said sweetly.

“Of—of course. Um, what do you want to know?”

Karis jabbed a finger at the closed door. “Why are you letting him walk out of your life without a fight?”

Azalea’s face blanched, pale and colorless as snow. “W-walk out…where? Who?”

“Do you love that ingeniator of yours?”

“Love—of course!”

“Then what? You’ll simply stand back and let him wed another?”

“Of course!”

“Then why don’t you—pardon?”

Azalea pushed back her shoulders and seemed to gather her composure. “I can’t possibly be so selfish. I know Wes needs to have other friends. And…one day, he must find a nice wife and get married.” She hunched forward a little, her bottom lip jutting out. “It’s good. He deserves the very best girl. I would—I would be an awful person to want things to stay as they always have been.”

“And why could you not take that role?”

“What role?”

“Marry him. Love him. Make him happy.”

For a moment, an odd, distant look settled over Azalea’s face, as if she were already imagining that perfect little world. Then she quickly shook her head.

“It’s not mine to take,” she said.

“You’re not interested?”

“I—I didn’t say that.”

“You find him unattractive?”

Karis caught a brief flash of spirit beneath the girl’s timid veneer as she glared back. “Of course not! Wes is very—very handsome!”

“Then why not wed him?”

“I mustn’t, and that’s that! I wouldn’t be good for him!”

Rubbish and horserot. “And if he loves you?” Karis challenged. “At the very least, he certainly treasures you. You would break his heart?”

Azalea raised her chin, hackles visibly rising. “First, don’t put words in Wes’s mouth,” she said fiercely. “And second—this is very rare, Lady Karis, but you can’t possibly understand. You’re beautiful and accomplished and of noble birth. So many people would die for your hand. But me, I’m just—I don’t have much. I’m not really a Hunter anymore, just a guild aide. I’ve a common background. I’m barely educated. If I were Wes’s father, a big and proud nobleman with a lot of money, I would think that a country girl would make for a very bad wife for his son.”

Her intentions were good, but so very, very misplaced.

“Azalea Fairwen,” Karis said severely, “by the Mythics above and the dead below, you are the Stormrider of Airlea. You have felled a Class Five, tamed the Dragon Whisperer, and done both in your first three months of being a Hunter. Bards have already written ballads about you. You are an aide because Nicolina intends to make you the future guildmaster. So help me, chase down your boy and do something right now, or I shall—I shall submit a faulty report.”

Azalea clapped her hands over her mouth. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. I would slip it in among my legitimate ones so that it takes ages to verify.” A terrible sin in the eyes of the law-abiding girl.

“Didn’t you listen?” Azalea blurted. “If I do anything, I could ruin what little Wes has left with his father. Right now, Lord Geppett tolerates his inventing because it doesn’t interfere with his duties, but if Wes courts a commoner—he’ll be very angry and ban Wes from the Board and take away all his assets. I could make Wes terribly miserable. I can’t do that, Lady Karis, I just can’t.”

She was starting to look genuinely distressed, her brows pinched and her chin jutting forward. Karis felt a little sorry, but not enough to pull back.

“Then the solution is simple,” Karis said. She tapped the hilt of her rapier, which swayed in its sheath at her hip. “We must simply have a little…discussion with Wes’s father.”

Azalea gave her a stern look. “That’s exactly what Aron said.”

“Who’s—ah, the Lone Wolf.”

“Yes.” Azalea looked thoughtfully. “Actually, I think the two of you are quite similar.”

Karis would pretend that Azalea hadn’t just compared her to a seedy mercenary. “Let me tell you simply: that boy loves you.” She held up a hand when Azalea opened her mouth. “No, little flower, it’s no use protesting. You suspect it as well. I realize that now, after hearing from you. You think it might be true, and you’re scared to accept it. That’s alright. It can be difficult to admit when you really want something, and the strength of your own feelings can terrify you.”

Karis stopped at that. How strange. Why did she suddenly feel a tinge of guilt?

She shrugged it off and continued.

“But time is short, and Lord Geppett clearly feels the urgency, even if his heir does not. Now is the time to act. Unless you would sooner see your ingeniator married away to a girl who only wants him for his money.”

A scandalized look crossed Azalea’s face, as if she had never considered this possibility. Which she probably had not. Such a pure girl could not fathom a world where anyone married Wes for anything other than love.

“Alright,” Azalea said hesitantly. “I will—I will think about it.”

Karis decided to push just a little more. “For how long?” she prompted softly. “Until he announces betrothal with another?”

Azalea gave her a panicked, watery look. “No, I—I don’t know, but—I need to think.”

“When, little flower?”

“Soon,” Azalea said firmly. Her eyes fell to the ground. “Soon, but not now.”

It was the best Karis would get. She could tell by the way Azalea’s chin jutted out stubbornly. Once she made her decision, the girl was impossible to move.

“Alright,” Karis relented. “I only say this because I don’t want you to live with regrets, little flower. In the end, the decision is yours.”

“I know,” Azalea said, and it was genuinely warm.

“Now, let’s get you fixed up,” Karis said. “You’ve an envoy to greet. Where’s your nicest dress?”

Several hours later, cleaned and primped and dressed in a lovely town frock, Azalea stood at the mouth of Gallows Square, doing her best to appear very calm and put-together despite the buzz of nerves under her skin.

She did not quite understand why Karis had told her to dress nicely. Cleaning up for a foreign delegation was to be expected, of course, but styling hair? Lip rouge and eye pencil? Dabs of perfume? When Azalea had asked, Karis had only smiled mysteriously and said, “You’ll be at the night market, won’t you?”

“Yes, but it’s not very fancy. I’ve gone there loads of times.”

Karis had only hummed and continued to arrange her hair. Dare Azalea say it, there had been a scheming look in her eye.

Simon Kourios arrived at Gallows Square quite late. Surprisingly, he was alone, meandering almost aimlessly through the square. He poked around a cart of baked goods, read the plaque on the central fountain, and engrossed himself in a poetry reading from the community stage. Amicable and genteel, he seemed nothing like the person Karis had described—sly, beguiling, unsettling. Watch your step around him, little flower. I do not trust him.

“He seems to be quite interested in Airlean culture,” Azalea said cheerily to Karis, who only stared the envoy down with a steely gaze.

“Yes,” Karis said tightly. “So very interested that he would avoid us and have us wait on him. Make no mistake, little flower. This is a statement of power.”

Azalea faltered. Perhaps Karis was simply inclined to dislike the envoy.

Simon had apparently run out of things to look at, because he rounded the square and approached them. Karis’s open hostility immediately washed away into a neutral, plain smile.

“Lord Envoy,” she said crisply, “I hope your accommodations have proved sufficient. This is Azalea Fairwen, who will serve as your guide during your time here.”

Azalea saluted, then looked abashed, then began to bow until she realized that she had skirts to gather, stopped, then curtsied.

“Welcome to Airlea,” she said. “Pleasure to meet you, Lord Envoy, sir.”

“Just the name Simon will do,” Simon said amusedly. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Fairwen. I heard you are one of the illustrious Hunters?”

“Oh!” Azalea exclaimed, coloring. “From who?”

“The lady at the baking cart spoke of you as the Lady Stormrider, of whom the poetry reading painted a most flattering image.”

Azalea colored even deeper. He hadn’t been dawdling like Karis thought; he had been learning from his surroundings, soaking them up like a rag. “That’s, that’s very kind of them,” she managed. “Um, don’t believe everything you hear, though. I suppose I was a Hunter, but I’m just a guild aide now.”

“She is absolutely still a Hunter,” Karis said flatly. “No normal guild aide could take the head off a sprinting jackrabbit from the battlements.”

“Oh?” said Simon with a lift of an angular brow. “Impressive indeed. That’s quite a small target.”

“You ought to see how she handles a starshooter,” Karis said. “Like poetry, an extension of her arm. I always thought it a clumsy weapon, but she proved me incorrect.”

Azalea wanted to melt into the street and disappear at the sound of her hero praising her. She had no idea that Karis Caelute, the Second Hunter of Airlea, had thought such nice things about her.

“Well,” she stammered, “I’ll do my very best to show you around the city as well, Lord Simon, sir.”

“Just Simon is alright,” the envoy repeated with a smile.

“Mister Simon, was there anything in particular you wished to see? What kind of activities interest you?”

“Just Si—eh, never mind.” Simon stroked his chin for a moment. “Frankly, I’m not choosy. I find much of Airlea to be quite fascinating. So long as I am learning things along the way, I shall be more than satisfied.”

Learning! He also loved learning! Azalea clapped her hands together and beamed. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

Karis gave a brisk bow. “Then I shall take my leave here.” She cast a significant look in Simon’s direction. “I pray your time in Airlea will prove delightful, Lord Envoy…and most enlightening.”

Simon’s demeanor changed somehow, although Azalea had difficulty pinpointing the details. His smile seemed tighter, his gaze a shade colder. “We shall see, Lady Caelute. I pray for that as well.”

Azalea frowned as Karis wove down the main road and disappeared into the mingling crowd. She had missed something; she was certain of it. Karis and Simon had been in one of those exchanges, the sort where there were vague ideas and emotions being conveyed rather than words, the sort that was difficult for Azalea to pick out.

Well, no matter. If it had anything to do with her, surely Karis would tell her. For now, her focus must lie in becoming the greatest guide that Airlea ever saw.

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