The wind was a cool, damp breath from over the Sedges, carrying the scents of the marsh, fertilizer, and must through the crisp winter air. The North Wind, Dalliance knew. How he knew, he couldn’t have said, or even what, inside the broader atmosphere, ‘North’ signified, but this was the North Wind and it wanted him to sll this.
He was learning to enjoy his new class, though the throbbing tended to bring his mind back around to the dream that was not to be. He’d always liked the breeze, but now it seed to draw his attention more and more. The awareness was subtle, certainly not a new sense or anything. Just. He liked the wind, however difficult working with Topaz on the topic was proving.
He had a godmother, and she was willing to claim him in front of people.
Dalliance found himself whistling on his way down the hill. He wasn’t very good at whistling, but he knew one tune that he’d learned on a market day in Galton the previous year.
It had been a hot day, with a full sun blazing in a cloudless sky, no god-islands between him and the sun’s scorching face.
The grand plaza of Water Street simred, and though Dalliance wasn’t sure what was normally found, on market day it was crowded with row upon row of flimsy wooden stalls with cheap canvas shades, ready for use by the first cors. He rembered setting up jars of pickled vegetables and baskets of fresh ones, watching as Ma used a thaumic token to transfer the mana from people's souls so the family would be able to pay the taxes later. A peddler with a bicycle-pulled wagon ca by and sold them spun sugar-wrapped cherries that cracked when he bit into them. And then afterwards, his father took him to eat the best food he’d ever eaten in his young life.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
That was the first day that Dalliance realized the depth of difference between the city and the country. The Rathers would put a big spread on the table, and you’d eat until you were full: cornbread, beef stew, steak on feast days, fresh vegetables, fresh fruit. But that was when he had his first fish ever. As it turned out, Dalliance liked fish. It was unlike anything he’d ever had: lemon, which he didn’t often have, and black pepper, which he did, on tender, flaky at smothered in butter right before plating, served in a baked pineapple with mint chutney. It had been such a success that young Dalliance had thought to ask his mom if it would be possible for her to recreate that dish at ho, and that was when he discovered the sad truth.
"Oh, honey," she told him, "you only get good fish in the capital." And it was true. Lake trout had been seeded intentionally in the fish pond at Tolbotton, husbanded with care, and were popular with the locals, but when he tried them, he hadn’t liked them. It wasn’t the sa. The sweet, flaky, pink delicacy was out of reach.
It had been an absolute shock for Charity's cook to pull that sa slab of pink flesh from the ice chest and grill it with lemon and pepper, much like he rembered.
By the ti Dalliance made it back to the Best estate, he was of two minds whether to be cheerful for having had that amazing food once again, or ticked off that he couldn’t have any more.
Reviews
All reviews (0)