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She nodded across the table, to the little teapot next to his plate. One of the matching cups steamed, half filled with hot liquid. The other sat empty, waiting for her.
Andry grinned wider, proud of himself. “I found ginger,” he said, pouring her a cup. A spicy-sweet scent wafted up with the steam. “Have you ever had it?”
In her head, Corayne saw the old cottage, a pot boiling slowly over the fireplace. She remembered her mother at the little table, one hand on her head, the other crushing a brown root into fine paste.
“Yes,” she said. “My mother would bring it back from her voyages and make me ginger tea when I was sick.”
Then her voice faltered. “When she was home, I mean. Usually Kastio would do it if we had any left.”
Andry quirked a dark eyebrow. “Kastio?”
Another memory sharpened. An old man, tanned and wrinkled, followed her dutifully into Lemarta port, his vivid blue eyes half-hidden beneath bushy gray eyebrows. He walked strangely, never quite losing his sea legs. In younger days, he even held her hand, his wavering gait making her giggle.
“An old sailor my mother press-ganged into being my nursemaid,” Corayne said fondly.
Andry’s dark brown eyes crinkled. “I wonder what he found more difficult. Minding you or being a pirate?”
“Most days he would say me,” she replied, the memory turning bitter. Her voice dropped and she forced a gulp of tea. “I left without saying goodbye.”
On the tabletop, Andry’s fingers twitched an inch. Corayne half expected him to reach over the food and take her by the hand. But he only stared, his gaze softening. His brown face, warm and kind, looked out of place against Jydi furs. But the new braids suited him.
“You’ll see him againbecauseyou left,” he said, his voice so firm she couldn’t help but believe it.
“I hope so,” she sighed, apple in hand.
While she returned to her food, steadily working through everything on her plate, he leaned back in his seat. Slowly, he nudged his breakfast away.
“I tell myself the same thing,” he muttered, looking to the tall windows. They opened out onto the ridge, the valley stretching beyond.
Corayne noted his stare.He looks south, toward Kasa.
“I’m sure the letter will reach her in good time.”
Andry shrugged beneath his furs. “I know, I trust Charlie to send it off the first chance he gets.”
“Part of me hopes he doesn’t come back,” Corayne mumbled.
Across the table, Andry raised an eyebrow in question. “Because when he returns, it will be with grave news?”
Her heart bled. “Because he probably won’t survive if he comes back.”
And neither will I, she thought, careful to keep such words to herself.
Andry stared through her anyway, as if she spoke her thoughts aloud.
“Well, you certainly won’t be making any speeches before the final battle,” he said sharply. Then he stood up from the table, somehow taller than she remembered him to be. Broad-shouldered, lean, halfway between a knight and a raider.
No longer a boy, but a man grown.
“My mother is safe in Kasa,” he added, half for himself. “That’s the best I can ask for.”
The table ran between them, a dividing wall of wasted food. Corayne eyed him over it, weighing what she knew to be true—and what she hoped to be possible.
“You will see her again. I promise you that, Andry Trelland,” she finally forced out. The look on his face made her blush, her cheeks heating against the cold air.
“For whatever my promise is worth,” she added, looking away.
His footsteps echoed on the stone tile of the hall, one boot after the other. Not around the table toward her, but back into the adjoining hall. She looked up, startled, only to find him staring from the connecting archway.
