Paladins of the Pickle Goddess

I looked over my shoulder. All I saw was the dark of the night, a set of guards, and the faint circling of a seagull above. When I turned back, the housekeeper was still staring at me. I lowered the crab as it snapped at my wrist.

“Sorry,” I said. “You must be thinking of another Ferrers.” I squinted, trying to remember. “I- my great uncle, maybe? Augustus?”

Who else had died of the pox? It had been too long, and I’d never dealt well with the elaborate accountings of who knew what, the layers upon layers of social connection. After all, what did they all know of me?

“No,” she said. “You. You’re the one that married Baron Something-or-other, didn’t you?” She scratched at her face. “Ah, yes. Vindex, wasn’t it?”

I stared at her. She stared at me. “You’re looking very well,” she hurried out. “You know, for being dead.”

“Who told you I was dead? I left a very long letter.” I coughed. “Also, it wasn’t- the marriage should have been annulled.”

“Of course not, Lady Vindex. Although I suppose, since he was widowed a week after the wedding, no one ever thought about it one way or the other.”

“I consider it annulled,” I said. Just the thought of him sent a shudder down my spine, like she might summon him. He could stroll in, staring vacantly, at any moment. I leaned in. “At least call me Elysia.”

“Of course,” she said. “My lady.” She fiddled with her apron. “I’ll just, ah, go summon Lady Sylvia.”

“I’ll wait here,” I said. The guards and their swords suddenly seemed much more inviting. Apis hadn’t made a sound since she’d recognized my name. Stupid. Why had I expected my mother to actually read any letter of mine? Andrena, if you want to send in a fleet of bees, I wouldn’t mind the help.

The housekeeper paused, partway in the door. “Only,” she said. “Well, the household’s getting ready for a meeting tonight, and I wouldn’t want you to miss the Lady-”

I stepped inside, putting the crab back into my pocket. For a moment I thought Apis might stay out on the doorstep. That this had finally tested his loyalty- the reveal of the difference between us. He met my eyes, gave me a bemused smile, and followed me inside.

I tried not to feel too relieved. It meant nothing. He was hardly helpful, anyway.

Inside, it was a chaotic haze. A swishing of robes was the only warning I had before I needed to step out of the hallway, Apis putting a steadying hand on my elbow as the Lord stomped past. “My sword of state!” He said. “Where is it! I know I put it somewhere!”

“How am I meant to know where you keep your sword?” That was Sylvia, through and through. Her voice sounded deep and throaty, from the top of the stairs. “Gods below know you don’t let anyone else touch it. The loss is yours alone.”

“I left it right on the hook! You haven’t been letting the boy touch it again, have you?”

“The boy is your son. If he thinks he can be heroic with a sword, it’s certainly not a notion of mine.”

I cleared my throat. Neither the Lord or his Lady bothered to look down at me. The housekeeper might have noticed my bearing, my name, but here, in the middle of the haze- as the Lady Sylvia hung an elaborate necklace over her collarbone- I felt the truth. My mother hadn’t needed to kill me with the pox. I’d gotten rid of Lady Vindex the instant I’d stepped outside of the city gates.

I couldn’t help but smile at that. Some names needed to stay dead. “All of you!” I yelled. “Are you going to say hello, or not? You’ve got guests.”

They all stopped, at that.

Even Apis dropped my arm. I held up the crab, still dangling. “Hello, Sylvia. I brought a house-gift. I thought we might have a talk.”

She was a vision on the stairs. Perfectly arrayed in a floor-length dress, jewels sparkling and climbing up her wrists like strangling vines. She stepped down the stair, let out a cut-off noise of surprise, and stopped moving. Her husband, always slow, stared over at me, then up at her. “Did we forget to pay again?” He said. “I’m tired of all of these fish-women coming by.”

“The pox,” she said.

“Not you too,” I said. “Does no one read their correspondence?”

I was starting to come around on Celeres. At least the goddess of the post might actually make sure my writing was delivered. If I prayed twice, would she make sure the recipient opened it?

I looked around, smiled. The crab was still dangling. “Lovely home you have.” It was larger than mine would have been. There was a time when Sylvia had been smug about that. Now she just stared down at me, mouth opening and closing.

Behind me, Lord Julien opened a closet and rummaged. “It’s not here either,” he said. “Curse the gods and the rolling of the world! Where is it!”

“All this time,” said Lady Sylvia. “Your husband still mourns for you! He’s never taken a second wife!”

“That sounds like a personal problem on his part,” I said. “I certainly didn’t tell him I was dead, either. In fact, I’m sure my mother offered him several equally willing substitutes as soon as I was a decent distance out of the city.”

I’d realized my place soon enough. The Baron had come over to meet me just before our wedding. I’d sat in my parents home, trussed up and nervous. There had been little cakes, speckled with sesame seeds and a little under-baked, although he wasn’t clever enough to notice.

He hadn’t even looked at me. He’d accepted the gift of refreshments, nodded at the introductions, and sat down. There had been no effort at conversation. He had been silent, staring out the window. He’d commented once, when a bird had landed upon a twig outside.

I had realized it then, staring out at that fat sparrow.

When it came down to it, the scions of nobility were like food arrayed at a great feast. Dukes, they were the roast, the ugly lords and barons carved pieces of bird. Prettier girls were a berry sauce. The Lady Sylvia was an imported cheese, better in small quantities but matching especially well with mild courses. There were well-baked rolls, girls that carried politically active peppercorn sauces of solicitors and military men, and the calming chowders of souls who dedicated themselves to the temples.

I was the turnip.

No one ever wanted to have a turnip, really, but they were consistent. Reliable. Grew easily and provided you with nutrition. From a common family, no matter how large they grew or how high their leaves stretched. If you tried, you could still taste a little of the dirt on each piece.

Of course the baron hadn’t bothered speaking to me. Who would waste effort on a turnip?

I had gone through with the wedding, of course, since I didn’t want to disappoint my mother and she’d already bought all of the jewelry. But I’d left as soon as I could.

I could still remember kneeling before the statue of Andrena that now was surrounded only by ash, eyes closed and dressed for my wedding. I don’t care what you do with me. Just don’t make me stay with him.

Now I watched Sylvia and couldn’t restrain myself from sighing. “You can’t actually believe he misses me. We met twice.”

“The heart is a strange thing,” she said. Apparently finally recovered from her shock, she descended the stairs, moving slowly to make sure her earrings chimed with every step. They must have cost a fortune. For some reason, I found myself remembering speaking to Amatus earlier. Better nobles to kidnap, back then. “Besides, his position is much changed. He’s no longer just a Baron. I know you never much cared for land management, but I’m sure he’d take you back now that-”

“Sylvia!”

We both paused at that. In my distraction, the housekeeper swiped out, grabbed the crab. The Lord Julian had a new expression. I hadn’t realized he was capable of it, but he looked- worried. Or perhaps he just had indigestion. He’d swept back into the room, having been walking about for most of our conversation. I was rather irritated I couldn’t continue to simply ignore him.

“Yes, dearest?” The Lady Sylvia had perfected her mild smile, perfect for husbands and nobility and irate customers. Another reason I had run to work behind a stove, instead.

“The boy,” he said. “He’s not here.”

For the second time, I watched the Lady Sylvia pale. “You’ve checked-”

“Yes,” he said. “Behind the house. On the roof. In his room. The root cellar. Even that little path down to the harbor he thinks we don’t know about.”

Her hand went up to her mouth. “Not even in the kitchens?”

“The guards said no one saw him leave,” he said. “But his window was open. And-” He gestured to the closet.

The Lady Sylvia swore creatively. “But the dinner is starting in an hour!”

“He wanted to go to that festival,” muttered the Lord Julian. “I’d bet he’s arguing with the guards on the bridge.”

“Oh, no.” Lady Sylvia’s hand flew to her mouth.

“What now?”

“That book on boat-craft,” said the Lady Sylvia. “I thought it only a foolishness-”

“Right,” I said. “So he went to try and cross the Always.” I thought of the smug boy next to the Lady Sylvia, and found I had a little hope for the upper crust after all. Maybe they could get properly crunchy, poorly-kneaded as they were. “You need to go to the dinner, yes, Lord Julian?”

“It’s the Lord’s-”

“I’ll go with Lady Sylvia and find your son. Easy as that. Yes?”

Before he could say anything else about it, I took the Lady Sylvia by the arm and turned around, leaving easily through the front door. Even harried by the long train of her dress, Sylvia made good time. We were all the way down the stairs before she managed to object. “This- it isn’t-”

“Do you want your son back, or not?”

Apis was quick behind us. The swords of the guards clanked. There was a breath where I thought she would object- say that she didn’t know me. That she would leave it to the guard. That she wasn’t willing to go on one more adventure.

She put up a hand and said, “The Lady is right. We’ll go find my son. Expect us back in a little more than an hour.”