The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 24: Under the Gallows, Part 1

 Ammas found Carala roaming the kitchen, looking for a functioning hearth where they might brew seretto tea. If he feared her voicing regret over their dalliance, he need not have worried: she greeted him with a warm smile, gliding her hands over his shoulders and stretching up to kiss his mouth tenderly.

Already she had dressed more completely than he had. "It's a necessary skill," she had said to Casimir the morning after they reached Gallowsport, arriving at their breakfast table looking far less disheveled than any of the men. "One can't pass as a commoner if one still relies on handmaidens." And she had winked at the boy, who laughed, though he hadn't really understood what a handmaiden was. This morning she looked to be in even better spirits, dark as the work ahead of them might be.

"Did you bring leaves? I suppose Barthim might have some when he gets here."

"He might," Ammas agreed, smiling softly. "But we can't brew them here. I think it'd be unwise to have smoke rising from the chimneys."

Carala clucked irritably. "Of course, how foolish of me. Perhaps we might stop at a tavern on the way to the harbor."

"I'm not sure you'll find a Gallowsport tavern that serves seretto tea," Ammas said, laughing now. Carala beamed at him, but her expression soon turned grave.

"Ammas," she said, stepping a little away from him. "Is it -- do you wish we had not -- "

He touched her hair, tilted her face to his, and bent to kiss her. With a sigh she relaxed against him, her fingers going to his neck. The woodland scent was weaker this morning, but she carried other aromas that spoke of what they had done. 

"I'm glad," she whispered against his lips. "Whatever happens next -- I am glad."

"I am too," he murmured.

They stood together for a long moment, and if not for the imminent arrival of their companions that simple embrace might have become much more. So with regret on both their parts they stepped back from each other, Ammas returning to the cellar to retrieve his robes and the airy spirit. Carala remained in the kitchen, where there was at least a countertop built against the walls where she could lay out a simple breakfast for them. 

Idly plucking at a hunk of waybread, Ammas stepped out into the courtyard, the front doors opening with a protesting squeal. Rowancroft Street was mostly empty. By the time Carala joined him, the now-familiar shape of Barthim's cart was trundling up to the front gate, with the man himself in the bucket, the wood-and-canvas cover raised above the passenger wagon. With no small amount of pique, Ammas had to admit that Barthim had been right to purchase the blasted thing. It had made their trip from Vilais to Gallowsport entirely free of incident.

Ammas crossed the overgrown courtyard, motioning for Barthim to join him at the main gate. "I would have thought you would have been dealing with this already, Ammas," the bouncer said pleasantly as the two of them went about undoing the heavy chain that bound the gates shut.

"I had other business to attend to yesterday, as I think you know," Ammas said, plying the lock with his twinhooks.

"Did you," Barthim said drily, raising his eyes to Carala and offering her a friendly wave.

Ammas ignored this. He wondered if guilt was written all over his face.

As they wrenched the gates open, Casimir appeared from the back of the wagon, going to Ammas with a grin and offering him some cinnamon cakes he had procured at the Steadfast Shield, the barmaids having taken quite a liking to him. "Never knew Munazyri boys could be so polite!" they had cackled. Ammas despaired of their instant knowledge of where one of their party had come from, but he supposed there was nothing to be done about their accents, and no one knew accents like a Gallowsport tradesman. Fortunately no one had recognized Carala, or himself.