Verity had never really been around children, even when she was a child herself. She didn’t have any brothers or sisters, though she didn’t really know why that was the case, and neither of her parents had come from very large families, which meant that she hadn’t spent all that much time with cousins either. The closest she’d come to attending a proper school had been the conservatory, but she’d been old enough to feel like her own person by that point. Before that, she’d mostly just had private tutors and nannies.
Pucklechurch’s school was small, like everything was in the little town aside from the church. There were roughly fifteen students in each class, with their own room, teacher, and helper. The way things were set up, each teacher would be with the class for their entire education unless they moved away or went to get more education elsewhere. The room, then, would be the home to those students for a significant part of their lives.
Mrs. Colfield had gone into labor not too long ago, leaving her helper, Miss White, as the sole instructor of the five and six year olds. Miss White had put out a call for people to come help for the duration of Mrs. Colfield’s maternity leave, which might be as much as four months, if she wanted it. More likely it would be back in less than two, with the baby wrapped up and carried next to her chest, growing up as a part of the classroom until around three or four years old, when he would go join one of the other classes.
Isra and Verity came into the classroom together, and the children immediately erupted into cheers. A little girl with pigtails was the first to wrap Isra in a hug, but a lot of them piled in around her, either trying to hug her at the same time, or being more polite and waiting their turn. A boy with jet black hair stood back slightly and looked Verity up and down.
“Hello,” she said to him.
“Bob,” he said. His eyes went to her lute, which she had strapped around her back.
“I’m Verity Parson,” said Verity, placing a hand on her chest. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He turned and walked away, apparently having lost interest.
Verity waited expectantly for introductions, either from Miss White or Isra, but no introductions seemed to be forthcoming, and the children had circled Isra to take her to show their creations.
“Verity, was it?” asked Miss White. Verity wasn’t sure why she was surprised, but Miss White was young, maybe even her own age. She had the characteristic wide nose that marked Chelxic heritage, and her skin was a darker shade, though she was also sun-beaten in a way that called to mind a farmer.
“Yes,” nodded Verity. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought that if you were looking for help, I might be able to give a bit of a reprieve.”
“It’s extremely welcome,” said Miss White. She looked over at Isra. “She’s so good with them.”
Verity watched. Isra was good with them, which had somehow been unexpected. In Verity’s mind, the children liked her because of the animals, but there were no animals around, and the children were happily chattering, showing her various things that they’d found outdoors, or craft projects that they’d made, or in at least one case, recounting a story from a book they were holding. The child looked up after every word or two, to make sure that Isra was still listening. Isra was happy and enthusiastic with these children, smiling and bright, coming alive in a way that stirred something in Verity. There was a song somewhere in there.
“I was thinking that I would play a song,” said Verity. “If that would be alright?”
Miss White nodded. “We have story time in not too long, and sometimes there’s a song then. Were you planning to use bardic magic?”
“I don’t know,” said Verity. “Would that be alright?”
“Just try not to rile them up,” said Miss White. There was an awareness to her, a way that she was watching the children as they flocked around Isra, as though she was keeping every single one of the fifteen children in her head at once. Verity couldn’t help but compare it to a conductor watching an orchestra, but she thought the metaphor was probably not that good, because conductors didn’t typically need to rush over to talk one of the performers through a crying fit.
The black-haired boy came over to Verity and stood next to her, watching her. She thought his name was probably Bob, but that seemed like a funny name for a child, and he had only said it, ‘Bob’, so possibly he’d meant something else. Verity crouched down, taking a knee, so she was on his level.
“Hello. Bob, was it?” she asked.
He nodded. “Are you a wizard?” he asked.
“Um, no,” said Verity. “That is, not really. I’m a bard.”
“What’s that thing?” he asked, pointing at the lute.
“This,” said Verity, swinging it around to show him. “Is a lute. It’s a special entad lute that lets you play a lot of layered music at once, so when you pluck one string it’s like plucking a lot of strings.” She took the lute from her strap and held it out. “Do you want to pluck it?”
He plucked a string, then did a clumsy strum of it while she held it. He had a look of concentration on his face, like he was going to figure out lutes in the space of a few minutes.
“Here,” said Verity. She found a chair and sat in it, then held the lute in its proper position. “When you place your fingers here,” she pressed down. “You change how the lute sounds.” She demonstrated for him, a D, then a G. “And if you just strum your lute while you change the notes, that’s really all there is to music.”
Bob was watching her with hard eyes, as though he didn’t believe her. Miss White was mediating an argument, and Isra was sitting on the floor, braiding a girl’s hair while others waited their turn and played with her.
“You can play songs?” asked Bob.
“I can,” nodded Verity. “I think I’m going to play one in a little bit, for the class.”
“Can you play one now?” asked Bob.
Verity considered that. “I can, yes. What would you like a song about?”
“What songs do you know?” asked Bob.
“Um,” said Verity, considering that. “I know hundreds of songs, or I can make one up, if you’d prefer.” She drummed her fingers against the lute. “Give me a topic?”
“A topic?” asked Bob.
“What should the song be about?” asked Verity.
He had seemed like a serious boy, in a way that appealed to Verity, like a small, uncertain person, but after a moment of thinking he broke out into giggles and looked at her with a soft smile. “Farts,” he said, almost at a whisper. His eyes had lit up.
Verity considered this and strummed the lute once, finding a melody and devising some couplets.
My melodies are works of art,
But can’t compare to when I fart.
My girlfriend calls me ‘pretty lass’,
But makes a face when I pass gas.
I’m very smart, they don’t dispute,
But I displease them when I toot.
I charm the children of the class,
They giggle as I pass my gas.
When someone looks at my caboose,
I smile at them and let one loose.
My group of friends I’ve often thinned,
Because I love to break some wind.
When dungeons feel so grim and bleak,
I give out a one-cheek squeak.
I feel the pressure near my rump,
And then I give a mighty trump.
And when I’ve eaten too much corn,
I need to blow my bottom horn.
It went on rather longer than she had intended, and toward the end of it, she had gathered an entire collection of giggling kids. It was a very different crowd from the ones she normally played to, and it was fun to let the song hang for a moment of anticipation so they could get excited for the second half of the couplet. By the second half of the song, they were trying to anticipate the lyrics, poorly, and there was more laughter from them whenever Verity came in.
She finished the song with a flourish, and the children looked at her expectantly, so she started a new song, this one not at all about farts, but rather comparing the children to crops. She would strum the lute and ask them their names, then try desperately to find a rhyme, which sometimes required cheating with a slant rhyme or just switching their name to some other place within the lyric so it didn’t need to be rhymed at all.
The second song led to a third, and then to a fourth, and Verity realized that she could end up singing for them for the entire day. For the fifth song she sang about two rival princesses that ended up falling in love, and for this one, she wove magic into it, excitement and wonder. She wasn’t sure whether bardic magic was strong on children, but there was a way she could see it washing across their faces that didn’t happen with adults. Perhaps children were simply less restrained in showing their emotions.
When she finished, she gently put her lute away. “Now, I enjoyed singing songs for you, and will do it again sometime, if you’re all good.”
“Thank you,” said Miss White. “Class, please give a round of applause for Miss Parson.”
It was one of the smallest, cutest rounds of applause that Verity had ever gotten, with tiny hands enthusiastically slapping together. It was just about the furthest thing from a concert in Dondrian as you could possibly get.
There wasn’t that much of school hours left, so Verity and Isra got to sit with the children for snack time, which was sliced tomatoes with salt and black pepper, along with slices of bread with yellow butter. The children gobbled it and Miss White tried to keep them from making too big of a mess, but the mess seemed expected, because there was an entire stack of napkins and a washbasin with a stepladder propped up next to it. Verity watched the children as they went about their business. They were small, but they had learned to wait in lines and take turns mostly without a fuss.
When the children left, some of them with older brothers or sisters, others walking on their own, Verity was given hugs, and promises were extracted from her: she would come back, she would sing more songs, and she would let them braid her hair.
“You didn’t use the animals at all,” said Verity, once the children had left and it was just Isra and Miss White.
“No,” said Isra. “They like animals, but I’ve shown them off one too many times, and it’s hard to control an animal when there are so many small hands trying to touch them.”
“Help to clean up?” asked Miss White.
They did. The room was surprisingly clean, Verity had thought, though the small tables needed to be wiped down, the chairs needed to be put up, and there was still some putting away. Verity had helped to clean up the tavern more than once, when Cynthia was short-handed, and it was no different than that. Tomato juice and bread crumbs had spilled onto the floor, and these were mopped up and cleaned in the small sink. It was the sort of thing that Verity wouldn’t have dreamed of doing a year ago, even when she had thought about children of her own. That had been a different life, and if there ever had been partnership, and children, they’d have been raised largely by maids.
“I do think the fart song was a bit much,” said Miss White. “But I appreciate the help, and the children loved it.”
“It was our pleasure,” said Isra.
They made some arrangements for later, and Verity stood off to one side, not wanting to commit to that, not until she knew how Isra was feeling about them having been together. They hadn’t really talked, because the children were always wanting their attention. The time had flown by.
They walked home together — or to Isra’s home, or Mizuki’s home, or whatever it actually was. It felt like old times.
“We never really talked about children,” said Verity.
Isra gave a little laugh. “Add it to the list.”
They walked together again for just a little bit, silent.
“What list?” asked Verity.
“The list of things we didn’t talk about,” said Isra.
“Ah,” said Verity.
There was silence again. “And that we still haven’t talked about,” said Isra. She hardly wore her headscarf anymore, only really on temple days, and her curls bounced free as they walked. The new look, which wasn’t even all that new anymore, had taken time to get used to, and there was still something that Verity missed about the old Isra.
“Do we need to talk?” asked Verity.
Isra pursed her lips. Her eyes were on the road. “Do you like children?”
“I don’t know,” said Verity. “They get in your space more than I’m comfortable with. They’re very … touchy. But they are cute. I wanted to say ‘in a few years’, but …” She had no idea what to follow that with. It would require a serious relationship of some kind, the sort that she’d never been in before, except with Isra. She couldn’t conceive of getting into a relationship like that while still in Pucklechurch, mostly because the options were so limited.
“We’re both single children,” said Isra.
“Only children,” said Verity.
“Right,” nodded Isra. “Thank you.”
“It’s no problem,” said Verity. There was another pause in their conversation. At least they were talking again. “You had said you wanted to be a mother, some time back. I had never really — we should have talked about it then, maybe.”
“Maybe,” shrugged Isra. “Incidentally, I think then I said I’d seen a herd of children, which is the wrong way of saying it, but also, I realized that what I’d actually seen was a teacher with her — herd does feel like the right word, when there are so many. Flock? I had somehow got it in my head that these fifteen or so children all belonged to this one woman, as though she’d had a litter or something.”
Verity nodded. “Understandable.”
“Is it?” asked Isra with a little laugh. “You’re so nice about it, but it is ridiculous.”
“No, no,” said Verity. “You saw these women from time to time with fifteen or so children, and you had never gone to school or really known that much about it, so —” a laugh escaped her, “So you just thought that this was a woman who,” another laugh, “who had a lot of children, fifteen of them all at once, just a whole litter of children, and you,” she bit her lip, “you accept that as one of those things that,” she shook her head and couldn’t help herself from laughing. It was funnier because she was trying to be serious. Isra seemed to take it in good cheer though. “I mean, you know that women only have two nipples, right? Even for a sow, that would be a lot.”
“They could feed in shifts,” said Isra. “Look, I can’t say that it made a whole lot of sense, but I did figure it out on my own. I think at the time I was just hoping that I would have one of the smaller litters, because it did seem like a bit much.”
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“Well, I think you’ll make a fine mother,” said Verity. It made her feel warm to say it.
“And you don’t think the same of yourself?” asked Isra.
“I don’t know,” said Verity. There were complicated feelings lurking below the surface, and she didn’t want to prod at them at just that moment. She had enjoyed being with the children, and with Isra, and didn’t want to dredge up anything unpleasant.
“I think you’d make a great mother,” said Isra. “So long as you had someone to counterbalance you.”
“Counterbalance?” asked Verity.
“Someone less serious,” said Isra. “Less prone to melancholy?”
“I sang a song about farts,” said Verity, rolling her eyes.
Isra gave her a light punch on the shoulder. “You know exactly what I mean. Serious, studious Verity, that’s the sort of thing where, for a child, I think that maybe it wouldn’t be as good.”
“Hrm,” said Verity. She kicked a small rock on the path, sending it into the woods.
“My own father was like that,” said Isra. “Not cold, but always easier to relate to when we were doing things together. Hunting, trapping, gardening, housework, teaching me to read, it was all easier for him than the other things. I’ve been talking about it with Hannah.”
“Ah,” said Verity. “And you think that’s the sort of mother I would be.” It made her feel slightly uncomfortable, though she didn’t disagree.
“I don’t know,” said Isra. She shook her head, and Verity watched the bounce of the brown curls. “We’re eighteen years old, we’re not static creatures that will never change. At least, according to Hannah. Maybe she doesn’t know.”
“I’ve been talking to her too,” said Verity. “She does think people can change, and I suppose the clerics would know. Most of what she says isn’t about changing though, it’s about … finding that balance inside of yourself, or creating it.”
Isra nodded. “Can I say that I’m glad we’re not a couple? Is that rude?”
“It is rude, a bit,” said Verity. And it did hurt, but she felt it too. “I hope we’re both better off for it.”
“You could move back into the house,” said Isra. “It would make things easier.”
“I might,” said Verity. “I worry it would be too … familiar.”
They reached the house. Verity had been anxious that Isra would ask a question about mating, and how they both felt about that, and she wasn’t sure that she had any good answer to it. She missed it, obviously, and if Isra had propositioned her, she would almost certainly have said yes, but there had been a growing feeling, especially after the last dungeon, that she needed to understand herself better.
Isra didn’t ask though, so they were spared the conversation.
When they came into the house, the living room was a disaster, piled up with dungeon things. The couch had been pushed to one side, and Mizuki was draped over it, flopped down. Her head was in Alfric’s lap, and he was stroking her hair.
“Don’t touch the needle,” said Mizuki. She gestured toward a small silver needle laying on the floor. “Makes you drunk.”
Alfric let out a sigh. “Just tipsy,” he said.
“Unless you get poked twice,” said Mizuki. She harumphed. “I’m not making dinner, hope brunch was enough.”
“I’ll cook,” said Isra with a glance at the kitchen. “Why would you prick yourself with a needle?”
“Testing,” said Mizuki, not moving from Alfric’s lap. “Glorious testing.”
“Are your fingers green?” asked Verity.
“Testing, I said,” replied Mizuki.
“Why would you poke yourself with the needle twice?” asked Isra.
“Oh no,” said Mizuki. “They don’t seem to understand the word ‘testing’ anymore. Do you think that’s what the quill did? Because you wrote down ‘test’, and —”
“Shh,” said Alfric, still stroking her hair. She quieted. It wasn’t clear to Verity how much of a joke any of that had been.
“We could put the needle on a stick,” said Mizuki. Her words were exaggerated and slow. “So it’s a tiny spear. Drunk monsters.”
“I’ll figure out dinner then,” said Isra. She turned to Verity. “Are you staying?”
“I think so, yes,” she replied. “I need to practice though.”
Isra nodded, and they went their separate ways.
It was, Verity reflected, possibly the last time she would ever play the lute she’d gotten from Grig. Among the hundred lutes they’d pulled from the dungeon there was surely something better, though she had no idea what her dream lute would look like. With the finger flute, she would be able to play all kinds of exotic arrangements of strings with relative ease, and as she thought of that, she realized that she hadn’t shown her extra fingers off to the children. There was always next time, she supposed, if there was a next time.
She sang a song about children, pushing herself on the complexity and taking in pieces from old symphonies to play with. It was good practice, more than the simple things she could improvise, and it felt good to push against her limits like that, stretching the fingers to places they hadn’t been in a bit too long. She thought up new lyrics, and wrote them down in her little book, which was getting quite full of songs. It would be better to get a book with its own lines for the music, and she thought that she might do that once this one was full. Between her songs, Hannah’s religious meditations, and Alfric’s dungeon reports, there would be three extremely different reflections on the dungeons.
She did write down the fart song, or at least what she remembered of it. Alfric had told her that she should take the book that scribed their words around with her, so she could copy lyrics from it verbatim, and she was starting to agree.
A half hour later, dinner was ready. There was no sign of Hannah, but they didn’t ask in the party channel, in part because she might be occupied with other matters. Mizuki had only sobered up a bit, though slumped in front of her food, and Alfric seemed somewhat tipsy still. He ate slowly and with little coordination.
“It’s very good,” said Verity, after she’d taken her first bite. Isra had made a somewhat simple meal of chicken, potatoes, and asparagus.
“It’s wonderful,” said Mizuki. “I hate cooking.” She had only taken a single bite.
“You don’t hate cooking,” said Alfric. “You’re just drunk.”
“We’re sure that this isn’t some other poison?” asked Verity. “Because if you’ve poisoned yourselves —”
“Nah,” said Alfric. “I know this feeling. And it’s clearing, slowly, for both of us.”
“I can confirm, actually,” said Isra. “Did you just forget about that?”
Alfric blinked, slowly. “Right.”
“It’s alcohol,” said Isra.
“Drunk monsters!” said Mizuki.
“We’ll get you to bed early,” said Isra. “You can sleep it off.”
“You know, I actually like the taste of wine?” asked Mizuki. “And to get poked? And just feel like this? Not really a fan of it.” She had hardly eaten anything and was picking at it with the Anyspoon, which really wasn’t the right utensil. “I think I’m off wine.”
“Now now,” said Verity. “Let’s not make any drastic decisions.”
“If I have a hangover I’m going to kill that needle,” said Mizuki.
Verity ate, and then when she was finished, helped Mizuki up to her room. It was sometimes amazing just how small and light Mizuki was, for all the raw power at her fingertips. As they went up the stairs, Verity was doing most of the work, and she sang a small song to boost her own strength. When they got to Mizuki’s room, she flopped down into bed.
“Too early for bed,” said Mizuki. “I’m fine.” Her expressions were slow and exaggerated.
“Just rest,” said Verity. “I’ll get you some water. You’ll be fine in … how many glasses do you think it was?”
“Felt like four,” said Mizuki. “Almost all at once. Huge glasses. Five.”
“Right,” said Verity. “We’ll get you taken care of, you’ll be in fine spirits.”
“I’m hungry,” said Mizuki. “I need to get started on dinner.”
“Isra made dinner, you ate almost nothing,” said Verity. “I can bring your plate up.”
“It was a joke,” said Mizuki. She let out a barking laugh. “Gods.”
“Did you want that plate?” asked Verity.
“Yes, please,” said Mizuki. She let out a sigh and seemed like she was going to move, but didn’t.
Verity got a glass of water from the tank in the kitchen, then picked up Mizuki’s plate. Alfric had eaten his full meal and was laid out on the couch, and Isra was talking to him. She gave Verity a quick nod, then turned back to Alfric, who seemed to be going on about potential uses for the silver needle. He was loose, not drunk, but he never had terribly much wine, and it was nice of Isra to stay with him while he shook it off. Verity expected that he’d be back to normal in another hour.
When she got back upstairs, Mizuki had fallen asleep, so Verity rubbed her back, gently, and laid both the plate and the glass of water on the side table. There had been precious few times in her life when she’d taken care of someone, and it felt good. Taking care of the children, for all that she’d done anything, had felt good too. Her mind kept going back to the idea of motherhood, and what that would be like.
“Keep rubbin’,” said Mizuki, who was apparently not entirely out.
“My mother always said that I would understand her better when I had a child of my own,” said Verity.
“I’m twenty-two,” said Mizuki.
“Hush,” said Verity. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” She made to pull away.
“Nope, keep rubbin’,” said Mizuki. Her face was half against the sheets.
“A part of me thinks that she was right,” said Verity. “I actually am very good at playing the lute, and I doubt that I’d be nearly so good if I hadn’t spent so very much of my childhood on it, if my mother hadn’t set me in place and forced me through it. I can’t imagine doing that to a child though, not one who hates it. Perhaps I’m soft. Maybe I’ll understand when I have children.”
“Maybe one of the lutes,” said Mizuki.
“Hrm?” asked Verity.
“To help you get pregnant,” said Mizuki.
“Ah,” said Verity. “That … would be the kind of entad testing that could go very wrong.”
“Feed me,” said Mizuki.
“I’m not doing that,” said Verity.
“Come on,” moaned Mizuki. “Just some chicken in my mouth.” She opened her mouth, the corner of which was half-pressed against the sheets, and she stuck out a pink tongue.
“I’m going downstairs,” said Verity. “Sit up, drink some water, get some rest, you’ll be right as rain in not too long.”
“I’ll remember this,” said Mizuki. “Next time you’re drunk. No chicken in your mouth, missy.” She let out a sigh.
There was a knock on the door, and Verity got up from the bed. She thought that if Mizuki was going to puke, it would have happened already, and that she was capable of teasing and joking was a sign that she was sobering up, though she really should have had some water.
When Verity came down the steps, Isra was already at the door, which was already open.
It was Cate, the Seeker of Secrets from Plenarch, again.
“Twenty thousand rings each,” Isra said. Verity desperately hoped that this wasn’t the start of their conversation.
“Done,” said Cate. “I’m to understand that Alfric has an account at a bank in Plenarch, and will transfer the money there. We can wait for me to take possession until you have some confirmation, which will take quite some time, or we can have me take possession now, with my assurance. Obviously I would prefer the latter.”
“They’re larger,” said Isra. “Can you feed them? Keep them?”
“I can,” nodded Cate.
“They fly,” said Isra. “You can keep them contained?”
“Yes,” said Cate.
“But also make sure that they fly free?” asked Isra.
“I’m well-equipped to hire a druid, if there’s need,” said Cate. “I solemnly promise that I’ll take good care of them.”
“Are we sure about this?” asked Verity, hoping that she wasn’t imposing.
“It was discussed,” said Isra, glancing back. Her demeanor remained frosty. “I was charged with finding a good price.”
“And I have not attempted negotiation,” said Cate. “Sixty thousand in total, for the three of them. They’ll be kept together, obviously, if they like each others’ company.”
“They do,” said Isra.
Cate reached inside her long robes and pulled forth a small box made of birch wood, which couldn’t possibly have fit in there and still kept her austere silhouette. She placed the box upon the ground and opened it up. Inside was a swirl of white mist.
“They’ll fit through here?” asked Cate, gesturing at the box’s dimensions.
“Barely,” said Isra. “They have grown.” She stared at the box for a moment. “They’re in the bathtub upstairs. They pile in there, because they like how the cool enamel feels. I’ll bring them down.”
That this was done without going upstairs herself went without saying, and the three dragons were soon making their way down the stairs, nails clacking against the wooden steps. They had grown, becoming less cute in the process. They weren’t quite adults, but the eyes were smaller relative to their heads, and they had the sleek look of predators — though they still ate herbs, and Isra thought they always would. Verity thought of them as being three large cats, though they now towered over Tabbins, who was himself an oversized and overweight cat, and one who would still scurry away from them.
It felt like there should have been more ceremony to it, but the dragons slipped down into the open box, one by one, consumed by the mist. Their orderliness about it was Isra’s doing. They were careful never to call it mind control, but in moments like this, it was hard not to think of it as that.
“Very well,” said Cate, once all three had slipped in. She closed the box. “I can stay for a bit, if you’d like to talk.”
“Are they safe, in there?” asked Isra.
“Incredibly so,” said Cate. She lifted the box and slipped it into her robe, where it seemed to disappear.
“We don’t need to talk,” said Isra. She glanced at Verity, then back at Cate. “I think it’s better if you just go.”
Cate nodded. “Thank you for your business then. I’d say that it was a pleasure, but it’s been one of the more protracted bits of waiting I’ve had to do recently, so I’ll only say that I’m pleased it’s settled.”
“The money, sixty thousand rings, through the banks,” said Isra. Her voice was stern.
“I’m a woman of my word,” nodded Cate. “And I’ll take my leave, unless you dig up another treasure or monster.”
Verity tried to be pleasant about it, but there was some bitterness in the air as Cate departed, and when it was over, Isra went into the dining room to sit at the table.
“I didn’t like that,” said Isra when Verity came in.
“We didn’t need to,” said Verity.
“They were going to grow more,” said Isra. “Two years to full maturity. We would have had trouble with them in the winter. They were eating too many herbs, bales of them, which we’d need grazing land for, or all of the growthstones, which were meant for funds. Without me, they would have been a problem. They were a problem, because we kept needing to have someone come over to watch them when we went off for a dungeon. And we did agree.”
“It needed to be done,” Verity nodded.
“We didn’t tell her their names,” said Isra.
“I think she knew, from one time when she came over,” said Verity. “She’s been incredibly persistent.”
“I thought she would negotiate more,” said Isra. “Or say that the price was too high.”
“Regrets?” asked Verity. She wondered if the price really had been too high. Isra might have set it there, hoping that Cate would walk.
Isra frowned. “No regrets.” She was silent for a moment. “I never had pets. I had animals that I knew, that I had relationships with, but they weren’t pets. I wasn’t responsible for them. I liked having the dragons. They were cute.”
“When they would lap up their tea,” nodded Verity.
“When they’d have a new herb for the first time, the way they’d sniff at it,” said Isra.
“Wrestling in front of the fireplace,” said Verity.
“Sleeping in the bathtub,” said Isra.
“That was considerably less cute when I needed to take a bath,” said Verity.
“You should have been born a druid,” said Isra. “That’s where your life went wrong.”
Verity laughed, but it was something to consider.
There was a knock on the door. Isra and Verity looked at each other, then went to answer it together. Of course they thought that it would be Cate, back on some business, maybe to return the herb dragons, which could be a bit unruly when they didn’t have Isra influencing them. It was too soon though, and instead of Cate, it was Mizuki’s wizard friend, Kell.
“Is Mizuki home?” he asked. There was hope written on his face.
“Home, but quite drunk,” said Verity. “I don’t think she’s in a fit state for company.”
“Drunk?” asked Kell. He looked up at the position of the sun, which had yet to set.
“Entad testing,” Verity explained, which she somehow thought was riotously funny.
“Ah,” said Kell. “Can you tell her that I stopped by? Are you all busy tomorrow?”
“We’ll tell her,” said Verity. “Our dungeon was a success, by the way.”
“I know,” said Kell. “Marsh said. I wanted to give my congratulations.”
“Thank you,” said Verity, but after a moment she realized that he meant he wanted to give his congratulations to Mizuki. “I’ll tell her you came.”
“Thanks,” nodded Kell. He knocked against the door frame, frowning for a moment, then looking up. “Can you tell her that I need to see her? Just some life choices that I need to make. It can wait a day or two.”
“I could run and get her,” said Verity. “Or have you go on up. She’s really not in a good state though.” That was the proper thing to say, when someone was indisposed.
“It’s fine,” said Kell, sighing slightly. “I shouldn’t have come unannounced, I know better.” He looked behind him, down the path that led away from the house. “Sorry, I won’t take up more of your time, I just wanted to hear about the dungeon firsthand, and — I’ll have it from her later.”
“If you need someone to talk to, I’m available,” said Isra.
Kell looked at her. “I — I appreciate the offer. I’ll be off though, and leave the two of you alone.”
For a moment he looked like he wanted to stay, but then he gave them a bow and trotted off down the path, taking his slingshot from his pocket as he left.
“I wish he’d come in to talk,” said Isra.
“Why?” asked Verity. It felt callous as soon as she had said it, but she resisted the urge to claw it back with honeyed words.
“I don’t know,” said Isra. She shrugged. “Just a feeling. Maybe it’s dealing with the children, but I feel like I have advice to give and help to offer. He needs more than just Mizuki and Vertex as his friends. I wish that when I had been alone, someone would have seen that and invited me into their home.”
“I’m glad we’re friends again,” said Verity. “Not that we ever weren’t, but — you know.”
“I do,” nodded Isra. For a moment it felt like they might hug, but then it didn’t happen, maybe because it would have brought up too many feelings to have their bodies pressed against each other. Instead, Isra looked toward the house. “Maybe we should do some work in the living room, or I’m worried that we’ll never get it back.”
“Alright,” nodded Verity. “Let’s get things ready for lute testing.”