The Cursed Heir

Chapter Twenty-One

"I'm telling you, something big is going on. Two months ago, I couldn't get this much flour—wheat flour—for gold or graves. And now it's cheap enough for a song," Wynne said, broad arms pummeling a mass of dough into submission.

"You telling me you've been stretching the flour out with sawdust all this time?" Cassie asked, tossing a small ball of dough from hand to hand as she watched Wynne work. "I thought your rolls were a bit grainy, but I figured it would be rude to say anything."

She easily dodged the pinch of salt Wynne threw at her, smiling as it rained harmlessly against the back wall of the baker's shop. She had been keeping Wynne company as she worked on her doughs for the next day, as James had taken over her afternoon stable chores to help Elliot learn his new responsibilities.

"Never satisfied, you lot," Wynne grumbled to her dough.

"Empty bellies will do that," Cassie said. "Speaking of which, when will this be ready?"

Wynne poked the dough before sprinkling more flour over it. "Tomorrow."

"Figures." Bread was never ready as quickly as one was ready to eat it.

"I saved some walnut loaf for you," Wynne said, pointing with an elbow to a cloth under the counter.

Cassie poked around until she found half a loaf of bread, studded with walnut pieces. "Have I mentioned how much I value our friendship?" she asked with her mouth full.

Wynne smiled at her dough. "Only when you're eating my food."

"I'd be lost without you."

"Or at least hungrier."

"Or at least hungrier," Cassie agreed enthusiastically, attacking the bread again.

It was not something they discussed often, their friendship, and the precarious edge of silence on which it balanced. Far easier for them both to keep it lighthearted, to keep it about bread.

"So what I'm hearing is, less sawdust in the loaves?"

"What you're hearing is less stress about how many blueberry rolls you consume on a weekly basis."

"If it stresses you out, imagine how Aldine feels about having to let my dresses out again."

She lowered the bread, the bite in her mouth suddenly tasting of ash. Cassie could not stand to be in the sewing room, to endure its silence where there had once been sunlight and chatter. To see Aldine sewing, alone, where once there had been another pair of hands, eager and capable despite their small size.

"I miss her, too," Wynne said quietly, looking at Cassie. Understanding so well the shift in her mood, her thoughts. "All the time." She tilted her head in the direction of the fountain. "I see the children playing out there, and hear them, and all I can think about is how she should—" Wynne broke off, a tear splashing onto her worktable. "All the time," she repeated in a whisper.

Cassie picked up the unbaked dough again, squeezing it flat and folding it back on itself, bits of it beginning to stick to her fingers. "Me, too." All the time.

"I keep hoping it will get better," Wynne sighed. "But losing someone so—I don't know how you're managing, Cassie."

"Poorly." The grief never felt any smaller, and wasn't it supposed to? One day, wasn't she supposed to wake up and feel it less?

"Do you think it would have been better if you'd never come here?" Cassie looked up sharply, but Wynne's question was innocent. "If you'd never known her before losing her?"