Dradge hunched over his meal, elbows on the table, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth as though he hadn’t eaten in days. Lyara sat on a stool beside him, one leg crossed over the other, tempted to laugh—she would have, if her mother wasn’t watching. A dusty soldier in a threadbare uniform was just so deliciously out of place in this pristine white marble kitchen.
Honora walked a plate of fresh biscuits from the stone oven to the long table, her smile polite but strained. She wore a simple yellow dress, casual flowing skirt the same style as Lyara’s own, but had her hair braided against the back of her head for that constant touch of formality.
“Are the eggs seasoned to your liking?” Honora asked.
“Yeah, they’re—” Dradge started, nodding, before he seemed to notice he was talking with his mouth full. He swallowed, straightening in his seat, then cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
Honora’s brow creased as she nodded in reply, and Lyara caught herself grinning at that, too.
“You say you’re Rhowan’s son?” her mother asked. “I thought he sent his boy to the University at Drosala to study.”
Dradge froze, spoon of eggs halfway to his mouth. He nodded again but didn’t meet her gaze. “Yes ma’am, he did.”
Honora’s frown won out this time, and she even added a quiet, disapproving hmm.
“Plenty enough men read books as it is, mother.”
Dradge gave her a bit of a smile after hearing that, but Honora huffed and turned back to her wood-fired stove. “And there are plenty of women left to take in strays as well.”
Dradge glanced between the two of them, eyebrows raised, then slowly reached for one of the fresh biscuits.
Lyara kept smiling at her mother’s back as Honora tamped out the fire in the hearth. “When the tamed men hide behind their tomes, leaving the poor to die, while the untamed look death in the eye for all our sakes, which would you say are truly astray?”
Honora turned around, hand on her hip, more bemused than frustrated. “Is that what this is? Another attempt to get a rise out of me?”
Dradge frowned at Lyara, mouth full of half a biscuit, but she shook her head. “No, mother. I’m sorry. I only speak my mind.”
Honora nodded, expression softening. “Well, I suppose I won’t fault you for that, dear.” She stepped forward to push the plate of biscuits closer to Dradge. “We do appreciate your service, young man. Take as many as you would like.”
Dradge held Honora’s gaze as if weighing her sincerity, then snatched up the remaining biscuits—he shoved one in his mouth and the rest in his pockets.
Lyara grinned again as her mother’s eyes bulged. She held no animosity for Honora—she was a kind woman, strict though gentle—but sometimes the walls of her parent’s expectations pressed on her and she had to scratch at them. Same as she pushed against any boundaries, perhaps, but theirs were the most constant and readily available.
It was far worse when she was young. Although, of the three here, it appeared only she and Dradge remembered those days. Her parents should be grateful she now restrained herself to snide comments.
A knock sounded at the door. All of them turned to look, but Lyara rose and walked down the two short stairs to pull it open. Three soldiers—in clean uniforms—stood in a row on her stoop. They were all about her age, two of them probably a bit older, and the middle one smiled at her.
“Hello, ma’am,” he said with a curt bow. He had bright grey eyes and a neatly trimmed brown beard, and while bearing the fewest patches on his right sleeve, he seemed the leader of this little group. “This may be an odd inquiry, but we’re searching—” He glanced into the kitchen and his gaze fell on Dradge. “Hey!” He laughed. “What are you doing? We were beginning to think someone walked off with you.”
Dradge started to answer, but on the other side of the table Honora folded her arms and all four soldiers stopped to stare at her.
“Ma’am,” one man said, bowing at the waist, and the other two at the door followed his lead.
“Our apologies,” the grey-eyed soldier said, a smile creeping back to his face as he met Honora’s gaze. “Would you like us to collect your garbage for you?”
“Oh,” Dradge said, grinning, as he pushed himself to his feet. “Is that how it is?” Swaying a bit, but keeping his balance, he turned to Honora and slapped his right fist to his chest in a formal salute. “Ma’am, forgive me for my part in it, but your hospitality is the best I’ve received in weeks.”
Honora managed a true smile this time—demure, her lips pressed thin, but it lit up her light blue eyes. “Stay safe, all of you.”
Dradge almost stumbled down the stairs. Both Lyara and the middle soldier jumped to catch him, but he steadied himself against the wall, as though it were a matter of pride that he moved only under his own power. Lyara held the door open as he and his fellow soldiers stepped out into the street.
Dradge stopped suddenly and spun around. He pointed at Lyara, and with jaw set met her gaze. “Can I have permission to call on you?”
She smiled, stomach fluttering with foolish emotions she hadn’t felt in years. “You may.”
Dradge grinned, big and stupid, his green eyes alight with such sincere excitement. He gave her a wave, then stumbled after his friends. She watched them a moment—the other men slapped Dradge on the shoulders in congratulations—the whole time bearing a big and stupid grin of her own.
Honora sighed deeply as Lyara shut the door. “Precious daughter of mine, do you ever find it in your heart of hearts to show your dear mother even the occasional small mercy?”
Lyara laughed softly as she climbed those stairs and retook her seat at the table. “He might not even call on me.”
She grunted incredulously at that. “You were up late again, painting? All men in uniform?”
Lyara glanced down at her hands. She didn’t intend to stay up, but after she looked out her window to see what the commotion was about, she’d settled down for a few sketches before attempting to fall asleep again. She’d only painted the one of the group tossing a member of their squad in the fountain.
“It was ironic, Mother, that’s all. The harsh lighting was straight from the Lothwarde Era, the scene properly focused on the downfall of man, but all the subjects were so happy.” She smiled. “Can you imagine what Master Ribaud would say if he saw that piece?”
“I imagine he’d mourn once again the sum of firri I wasted trying to get you educated.” Honora walked to Lyara’s side and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “You should always listen to your heart, but don’t presume you have to follow it.”