After a span, Fallon turns them gently, their horses shouldering against one another. ‘You remember my wife.’ The understatement in his voice purring like a cat.
Scant metres away, her horse moving under her like weeping stone, her hands light on the reins, Arissa Fallon rides into view. Shipwright stretches a shaking hand out to Shroudweaver and grips his fingers with a fierce heat. He holds her steady, lets his arm move with the sway of the big grey dray. Her breath steadies a little. Arissa grows closer.
Shipwright watches her friend move out of the distance like a memory.
Her face is still long, sharp, scraped with iron where her hair meets her temples; lips a familiar thin line, cheeks the weathered leather that screams Hesper bred. That severe face softens like summer ice when she sees Shipwright, her heavy brows lift in delight and those spare lips slide into a smile bright as a lit knife. Shipwright feels something kindle inside her, a spark of relief on the tinder of her soul. The noise of the crowds and the smell of the city peels back like a turned page.
‘Riss?’ she says, ‘Riss?!’ Higher, louder. A name, a real name falling from her lips, word perfect. She can almost see the syllables interlocking.
She’s down from the horse in a bound, Fallon and Shroud left at her back. The cobbles under her feet could be the sand of a beach, Luss somewhere on the horizon of her mind.
Two steps and Arissa lifts her in the strongest hug, the steel of her spine softening into delighted laughter. ‘Ship, my beautiful girl.’
Her voice is husky, roughened by lack of use. She holds Shipwright in familiar places. One hand in the small of her back, one light on her neck. Arissa brushes her lips against her cheek. ‘I missed you.’
Shipwright holds down her racing heart, and squeezes back hard enough to push the air out her lungs. ‘Did you miss that?’
Arissa pulls her closer. ‘Amazingly, yes.’ She pats Shipwright on the cheek. ‘Let me get a look at you.’
Shipwright stops, turns a pirouette. ‘You see it all.’
‘You got tough, beautiful.’
She laughs. ‘I got something.’
Arissa smiles. ‘I see you’ve brought us guests.’
Shipwright looks over her shoulder anxiously. ‘Yes, a few, what do you think?’
Arissa shrugs. ‘I’d have preferred a cake, but …’
Shipwright grins.
Shroudweaver alights behind them, walks forwards with his arms open wide. ‘You’d have preferred one of Ship’s cakes? Youhavebeen asleep too long.’
Arissa grabs him by the scruff and pulls him into her arms, flashing a wicked smile over his head at Shipwright. ‘I see this one’s still a jerk.’
Shipwright nods. ‘Cute, though.’
Arissa tuts. ‘Passably pretty.’
She takes Shroudweaver’s chin and twists it each way. ‘Still not enough meat on your bones, Shroud.’
‘All part of my aesthetic, Riss,’ he smiles.
Arissa takes him by the hand, holds the other out to Shipwright, and gestures with her chin. ‘Let’s get back to that big old bull before he pounds too many heads.’
Shipwright laughs. ‘Would you deny him his fun?’
Arissa snorts. ‘Mercy on me for having married such a diplomat. I suppose a harried merchant or two is a small price to pay. Declan’s quite lively these days.’
‘I wonder why that might be?’ Shroudweaver murmurs.
Arissa sticks her tongue out at him. ‘Such a jerk. How do you endure it, Ship?’
Shipwright shrugs. ‘He’s useful when he’s quiet.’
Shroudweaver rolls his eyes disconsolately.
