Page 14 of Of Love and Treason
Epimandos snorted. “Did he not know your father is the carcer jailor?”
“That’s not even the strange part. I told him not to bother praying but he said he would anyway.”
“Like when I say I do not want to talk, and you insist on talking? I know the feeling.”
Iris paused her kneading. “I watered the plants on the balcony when I got home, and suddenly... I could see.” Her scalp prickled as she said the words aloud for the first time.
“Well.” He paused as if studying her. “It obviously did not last. You brought your walking stick today.”
Iris continued kneading. “I saw my feet and my hands and the boards of the floor. A bird’s shadow as it flew.”
“You dreamed it.” He set another bowl on the counter beside her. “Last one.”
She slid her finished dough toward him. “It was no dream.”
“Did you tell your father?”
She dumped the bowl’s contents on the counter and gathered the crumbs together. “No. He’s been staying at the carcer since it happened. With the ban going into effect and the rioting, I’m not certain when I’ll see him.”
“What happened to your hand?”
“Is it bleeding again?” She touched the tender patch on her knuckles.
“No. It is mostly scabbed.”
“The—I tripped.” She didn’t tell him she’d tripped because the gods had been removed from their niche and strewn across the floor. Had her father done that? She couldn’t imagine it, but there could be no other explanation.
Epimandos slid the bowl inside the proofing tunnel with a clunk. He shuffled to the far end and pulled out the first batch of dough, now ready to be shaped into loaves. She and Epimandos didn’t speak any more about her sight. Or anything at all. As Epimandos formed thequadratusloaves and carried them to the outside ovens, Iris set to work shaping loaves, buns, and hand pastries.
Outside the front door, the multilevel Markets of Trajan came awake with the dawn. Wooden wheels of delivery carts ground over the paving stones in a rush to get out of the city before the sun rose and Urban Guards began handing out fines. Shop shutters banged open and the aromas of fresh fruit and hanging meat and fish burst into the covered walkways between shops. Iris finished shaping the last few batches of dough and, with Epimandos’s help, stocked the bread baskets behind the front counters and unlocked the front door. Iris positioned herself behind the counter, quaking beneath the weight of Paulina’s trust.
Two women entered, chattering and carrying with them a lingering fragrance of sandalwood, rosemary, and citrus.
“Do you like it?” one of the women asked. “I’m calling it Summer Holiday—what do you think?” Glass bottles tinkled as the speaker set a wooden box on the counter.
“Itisrather nice, Bea,” the other woman said.
“Good morning, dear.” The woman called Bea directed her voice toward Iris. “I’ll take one of those raisin buns—they’re a hug for my soul! Or my hips, rather. That’s where it’ll end up!”
“Sounds lovely! Make it two,” the other woman said. They cackled.
Iris grinned and moved to the shelf where the raisin buns were piled and fetched two.
The bottles in the box clinked as someone dug through them. “Gah! What is this?”
“My new scent for men,” Bea said. Coins clicked against the countertop. “It’s so mysterious and exotic, don’t you think?”
“You might have better luck selling it to the Urban Guards as riot control. One sprinkle of this and anyone would run.”
Bea sighed. “My nephew doesn’t like it much either.” She took the buns from Iris, who ran her fingertips over the counter to find the coins.
“You must be new, dear,” Bea said. “I’ve never seen you up front before.”
Iris’s face flushed with heat. “Paulina is away today. I—I’m usually in the back.” She ran her thumb over the coins, hoping the images weren’t too worn for her to feel. Exact change.
Relieved, she dropped it in the money box.
“You’ll do brilliantly, I’m sure,” Bea gushed. “You have a wonderful day now.”
