Mara did not have time to be thrown off-balance by the woman-woman partnership. She did not even have much time to be sad, from that point forward in the evening.
On the ground floor, they turned right down a hallway just short of the barroom and stopped at the last door on the left, which bore an ornately-carved golden knocker, the plate crafted to resemble cresting waves, the knocker itself shaped like an anchor. Eli used the anchor to rap three times, and footsteps beyond preceded the door flying open to reveal a woman–not Lori–whose dark hair was fashioned into two low, perfectly symmetrical knots.
“Hi, Becca,” he said, when she merely stood in the door and stared at him with tears in her eyes. “Lori told you we were coming?”
The woman’s amber gaze flicked to Nick, then to Mara, and then returned to Eli. She appeared to be biting the inside of her lip.
“Yes,” she finally managed, only parting her lips long enough to breathe the single word before clamping them shut again.
“Can we come in?”
She stepped back and Eli nodded at Mara to precede him inside.
With the door shut behind them, Becca seemed to regain some of her equilibrium.
“Lori’s getting the dinner rush sorted, but she’ll be here in ten minutes with the food,” she said, as they doffed their shoes and followed her deeper into the apartment. She pointed out the dining room and summoned her daughter–a precocious little girl with orange hair and abundant freckles, who hugged Eli about the leg and then immediately seized Nick by the hand and said she wanted to show him her toybox. Nick looked at Eli. Eli looked at Mara.
Mara shrugged. “As long as I can see you, Nicky.”
They spent the next five minutes getting the children settled on a rug between the sitting room and the dining room–thankfully separated by nothing but a change in decor. Mara didn’t know if her nerves could handle a wall between her and her son. Becca offered wine, which Mara accepted. Maybe she’d be a better houseguest, a better person, if she got a little tipsy.
Lori arrived shortly thereafter, carrying two massive wicker baskets that filled the apartment with the smell of roast meat and herbs. Mara’s efforts to help lay out dinner were, to her relief, accepted. Becca set her to work helping to unpack the baskets while Eli disappeared into the kitchen with Lori to fetch water and more wine.
Unfortunately, that left her alone with Becca and the two distracted children.
“We are so sorry,” the woman murmured, casting a glance to Nick and Adeline before reaching out to lay a hand on her arm. “Eli told us that Nick doesn’t know, and as parents we respect that. I won’t bring it up again. But I didn’t want all of dinner to go by without us telling you how very sorry we are for your loss.”
“Oh. I…” Mara looked down at the woman’s slender fingers on her arm. Her stomach roiled. She did not want this. She didn’t want sympathy from strangers. She wanted to go to sleep, to play pretend. “Thank you.”
Becca squeezed her arm before returning to her task, and Mara took another sip of her wine, though some might have called it more of a bracing gulp.
By the time they sat down to dinner, she’d finished the glass of wine and was feeling, in general, much more amenable to existence and much less persecuted by Lori and Becca’s kindness. The children ate separately, in view but out of earshot, and their hostesses kept up a steady stream of conversation. Lori in particular went to great pains to keep the attention off Mara, turning the conversation away every time they drifted too close to Davy.
As a consequence, Mara spent most of dinner learning about Lori and Becca. Becca was Ralini, and had crossed the Stormway as a teenager to spread what she laughingly called ‘the gospel of freedom,’ only to have all of her supplies and money seized by the Order upon landing.
“I could have gone home,” she said lightly, as if the decision was inconsequential. “They left me my travel documents. But then I met a girl who offered to share her supper and I couldn’t have left her behind.”
Lori blushed and reached over to take Becca’s hand, lifting it to press a kiss to her knuckles. “I still think it was the stupidest decision you ever made.”
“Probably.” Becca shrugged. “But it was also the best.”
Lori, Mara learned, was born in Southport to an alcoholic mother and a fisherman lost to sea when she was six. She had taken to selling her body when she was fourteen–a tragic piece of backstory, delivered with a smile and a laughing eye roll, as if such was the fate of everyone, in some way or another. Which, Mara thought, it most certainly wasn’t.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“I hid money everywhere,” she explained, gesticulating with her fork. “Under the floorboards, in my mattress, in flour sacks. Flour sacks were the safest. That old drunk would sooner starve than bake a loaf of bread. ‘Round about the time I’d saved enough to run, I met Becca.”
Becca, who apparently had a penchant for pickpocketing, had been living on the streets for several months and had just amassed enough money for passage back to Ralin. Instead, she and Lori had run together. A rash decision, but a good one, as it turned out. They’d split the cost of a small room at a boarding house in Cinder and found jobs–Becca using her literacy to secure employment as a bookkeeper, Lori serving ale at a taproom down in the southern quarter. The southern quarter, Mara was made to understand, fell more in line with her original expectations of Cinder.
“And the rest is history,” Lori concluded, as if the path from impoverished menial laborers to thriving business owners was an obvious one. It wasn’t, of course, and Mara wanted to know more. But she had more pressing questions.
“And how did you meet Davy?” she asked, glancing at her travel companion. “And Eli.” Her initial guess that he and Lori were lovers no longer felt plausible, but that left the question–why such a vehement reaction to his appearance?
“Oh, that’s a good story,” Lori said, bouncing in her seat. Becca sighed and served herself another helping of roasted potatoes.
“It’s a dreadful story. Lori is twisted in the mind,” she said dryly, but her gaze was fond, resting soft and easy on her partner’s face.
“It’s not a dreadful story, it’s exciting!” Lori waved her fork in dismissal. “So as you know, Mara, Cinder generally operates outside of Order control.”
“Right.” Mara dipped her chin in a nod.
“But sometimes, they send patrols through. Just to keep everybody scared. They’ll pick a few shady businesses to raid–none of the big companies, of course– and haul a few lowlifes off in chains, that kind of thing. We never worry too much about it. Nobody does who’s running a legitimate business. The Order comes after the hard criminals, mostly. Sins of honor, like ours,” she cast a dramatic, sultry expression at Becca, who rolled her eyes, “are generally overlooked. You know how it is. The closer you are to the Capital, the more they care about things that don’t matter. Out here, they’re just hanging on to control.”
Mara didn’t know. She was beginning to wonder if there was anything she did know. But she nodded in silent encouragement, and Lori went on.
“Well, a few years back–Sweet Sisters, what would it have been?”
“Four,” Becca said. “Four and a half.”
“Oh. Yeah. Of course,” Lori laughed, casting a fond glance toward Adeline. “It would’ve been four and a half. Anyway, an Order patrol came through and they sent your husband around to all the inns. Some routine effort to seed Cinder with Order spies. He walked through the door, sidled up to the bar with one of those slimy order lieutenants, all smooth and casual, and started laying down persuasive magic. ‘Take notes on comings and goings, record suspicious activity,’ that sort of thing. I hardly remember. I’d been having pains all morning. Labor type pains, you know, but too early.”
“Oh,” Mara breathed. “How terrible.”
“It was. Like I said, I hardly remember that first visit. I was so dizzy and sick, they might not have even been doing persuasive magic.”
“They were,” Becca interjected. “They got to me, too.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Lori exclaimed. “Yes, they visited Becca’s work. We were running the inn together, but she still worked part time down at the bank.”
“They came to the bank, Davy and the lieutenant,” Becca took over. “The lieutenant asked questions, and Davy persuaded the answers out of us.” She shuddered. “I really hated him, for a moment there. They laid the same magic on us before they left, the same kind of command–take notes on large sums of money, stuff like that. But right before they left, the lieutenant was already out the door, Davy leaned in close and told me I needed to get back to the inn. I don’t know if he used persuasive magic, or if I was just so rattled. As soon as they left, I ran back, found Lori in the kitchen, unconscious and bleeding.”
“Depths,” Mara breathed. “A miscarriage?”
“Almost,” Lori said, with dissonant cheer. “Davy showed up that night with this one in tow,” she pointed at Eli with her fork. “He saved Adi and I, and then Davy explained their true mission and wove us all shields. We’ve been working for the rebellion ever since. It’s not much–”
“It’s plenty,” Eli interjected.
“It’s not much,” Becca said sternly. “It’s not enough, considering what you did for our family.”
“Not nearly enough,” Lori agreed, turning back to Mara. “We just lead the Order astray when they come through. Act like the persuasive magic is still working on us, feed them bogus information. And when rebels come around, we board them at a discount. It’s really not much.”
“Small gains–”
“--add up,” Becca finished, rolling her eyes at Eli, at his quoting of the rebellion’s fourth tenant. “We know. But still. We want to do more. We want to fight.”
“If you try to do more, you’ll put yourselves in danger,” Eli said, his voice taut. “Better to stay safe and keep doing the work you’re doing. The rebellion needs safe havens, information, and supply routes just as badly as it needs fighters. More…” He trailed off, turning his attention back to his food, jaw tight. Mara looked from him to Lori to Becca. Both women studied him with inscrutable expressions. “You’re doing more than enough,” he concluded woodenly, taking a bite of brisket.
Lori exchanged a look with Becca, whose lips curved into a sad smile, then turned to Mara.
“Enough about us, though. Tell us about you!”