A few clouds drifted lazily across the afternoon sky. They were too sparse to threaten rain just yet, and sunlight still filled the courtyard. The academy’s enormous canvas umbrellas remained furled around their poles.
Students poured through the western gates as their afternoon classes ended, spreading across the courtyard in search of food, friends, or somewhere pleasant to do absolutely nothing for a while.
Lynne had only just stepped clear of the crowd when a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind.
“Lynni!”
Lynne’s face lit at once. She clasped the familiar hands resting over her stomach and tried to look over her shoulder.
“Cecily!”
Cecily squeezed her more tightly.
“Lively as always,” Lynne added with a giggle.
Cecily was still dressed for weapons training. She wore a white gambeson over fitted leggings, though her helmet and sword were nowhere to be seen. Her red hair had been pulled into a neat ponytail, which bounced behind her whenever she moved.
It was currently moving quite a lot.
“What dost thou fancy eating today?” Cecily asked.
Lynne looked upward and placed one finger against her lips.
“Hmm. I know not. What would please thee?”
“Maison & Mare.”
Cecily was already pointing toward the restaurant beneath the maroon awning.
“Again?”
“Thou didst ask what pleases me.”
“Desirest thou not to essay elsewhere for once?”
“No,” Cecily said cheerfully.
She took Lynne by the hand and began pulling her toward the restaurant.
Lynne smiled but offered no resistance. There was little point. Once Cecily had decided where she wanted to eat, changing her mind required either divine intervention or the restaurant burning down.
Possibly both.
They stopped outside Maison & Mare and searched the thinning stream of students for June.
“How were thy lessons?” Lynne asked.
Cecily groaned.
“Boring.”
“I thought thou hadst fencing today.”
“I did, but Professor Bahadur has started from the beginning of the curriculum again because of all the new students.”
“Oh.”
“It was fascinating when I was a child. But now all these great burly boys watch him twirl a weapon around like a baton, and they’re all—”
Cecily widened her eyes and parted her lips in an exaggerated display of childlike wonder. She looked as though she had just witnessed Professor Bahadur pluck the moon from the sky and spun it on his finger.
Lynne covered her mouth.
“Professor Bahadur teaches a fascinating class. For many of them, it may be their first time seeing anything like it.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s interesting.”
“Not after thou hast seen it a hundred times. Eventually, it becomes stale.”
“Didst thou at least have the opportunity to spar?”
“I did,” Cecily said, drawing out the words.
“Then what was amiss? I thought thou didst love sparring.”
“There was no one of note.”
“What dost thou mean?”
“They were all bollocks.”
Lynne laughed
“Surely thou can not mean every one of them.”
“In truth, I miss having June in my class.” Cecily looked over the crowd. “Where is she?”
Lynne searched among the students emerging from the northeastern passage.
“Oh. I think I see her.”
“Where?”
Cecily placed both hands on Lynne’s shoulders.
Lynne had just enough time to brace herself before Cecily pushed down and launched herself upward, using Lynne for support as she tried to see over the crowd.
This was not the first time she had done so.
It was unlikely to be the last.
“Oh! There she is.” Cecily raised one arm. “June!”
June looked toward them from across the courtyard.
For a moment, she simply stared at Cecily, who had somehow managed to place nearly half her weight across Lynne’s shoulders.
Lynne could not tell whether June was annoyed to see them or merely disappointed.
Either way, she came over.
Cecily dropped back to the ground and immediately hurried to meet her. She caught both of June’s hands and began pulling her toward Lynne.
June made the small, sharp sound of disapproval Lynne had heard from her a thousand times.
Lynne had always found it endearing.
Despite her protest, June did nothing to prevent Cecily from dragging her along.
“We’re eating at Maison & Mare,” Cecily announced.
“Again?” June asked flatly.
Lynne laughed.
“Yes,” Cecily said. “They have gilthead. I need to eat it while it is still in season.”
“You always say that. Next season it will be something else, and you will drag us back here again.”
June continued to follow while saying this.
Cecily still held her hand, but Lynne suspected June no longer required the assistance.
Maison & Mare occupied an entire section of the academy’s outer wall. Its modest entrance concealed how far the restaurant extended, passing beneath several stone arches before opening onto a broad balcony overlooking the sea and harbor.
The three girls took their usual table outside, beneath a red-and-white striped umbrella.
Cecily immediately opened the menu.
June rested her cheek against one palm and gazed toward the sea.
Even at ease, Lynne sat straight-backed, her hands folded neatly before her. Her mother had corrected her posture so many times during childhood that sitting improperly now required conscious effort.
“Right.” Cecily pointed at the menu. “If I order the daurade royale grillée aux fines herbes, Lynni can have the dos de filet de daurade poêlé. Then we can share.”
Lynne looked at the menu.
The words did not provide her with a great deal of assistance.
“And June can have the daurade au four.”
“What is daurade?” Lynne asked.
“Fish,” June said without looking away from the sea. “It is always fish.”
“It is not merely fish. It is gilthead.” Cecily placed one hand proudly against her chest. “Imported directly from yours truly, Massilia.”
“You are going to eat half our food and then complain that none of it is as good as your mother’s.”
Cecily gasped.
“I would never. I share equally.”
“It is remarkable how much food fits inside such a small person,” June said.
“I require proper nutrition. I’m still growing.”
“Does your stomach extend into your legs?”
Cecily gave her an offended look.
Lynne covered her smile with one hand.
The waiter arrived before Cecily could defend the proportions of her internal anatomy. She ordered for all three of them, pronouncing each name with a fluency Lynne could not have imitated if her life depended upon it.
Once the waiter had gone, Lynne turned toward June.
“How were your classes?”
“Boring.”
“What didst thou have?” Cecily asked.
“Transition and Concordance.”
Cecily considered the name.
“That does sound boring.”
“What is it?” Lynne asked.
June shifted in her chair, taking a moment to arrange the words.
“It teaches movement between separate disciplines. If the transition is fast enough, it appears you are drawing from both at once.”
“That sounds very interesting.”
“Does it?” Cecily asked.
“No,” June said.
Lynne shook her head, still smiling.
“Yes, it does. Do either of you ever pay attention during your lessons?”
“No,” Cecily said.
June hesitated.
“…No.”
Cecily immediately wrapped one arm around June’s shoulders.
“See? June and I are no pedants or clerks. We are noble knights destined for glory.”
She delivered the declaration in an exaggeratedly regal accent.
“I am not like you,” June protested. “I still have perfect marks.”
Cecily pulled her closer.
June’s expression suggested severe irritation, but she made no effort to escape. Lynne had known her long enough to catch the little betrayals: the brief curve at the corner of her mouth whenever Cecily embraced her, caught her hand, or leaned against her.
June was very good at pretending to tolerate affection.
She was not quite good enough.
“What did they teach you in Transition?” Lynne asked.
“To switch faster.”
“What does that mean?”
June sighed and reached for the glass saltshaker.
“I can bring my magic into a focused, meditative state. Then I see everything moving slowly.”
She placed the salt in the center of the table.
“This is one discipline.”
Cecily lowered her head onto her folded arms.
June picked up the pepper beside it.
“I can also draw the energy inward with my breath and settle it in my core. Then my body moves faster, and I can strike harder.”
She placed the pepper beside the salt.
“This is another.”
“I see,” Lynne said. “And you are learning to combine them.”
“No. Not combine. Switch.”
“Requirest thou an entire class for that?” Cecily asked without lifting her head.
“I already know how to switch. The difficulty is—”
June raised one hand, then snapped it sharply downward.
“It is difficult to explain. One moment, everything is slow. Then I change, and suddenly everything is moving normally while my body is faster.”
Her brows drew together as she searched for the proper word.
“It is disorienting.”
“Oh?”
Cecily lifted her head.
The boredom had vanished from her face.
Lynne knew that expression.
Cecily had stopped listening as a student several sentences ago.
Now she was listening as an opponent.
“How disorienting?” Cecily asked.
“It does not matter if you know,” June said. “You still would not be able to touch me.”
Competition immediately brightened Cecily’s eyes.
“Thou arrogant little pedant!”
Before Lynne could intervene, the waiter returned carrying three plates.
The scent of grilled fish and herbs reached the table first.
Every trace of violence left Cecily’s face.
“Oh.”
Her entire attention dropped toward the food.
The waiter placed a whole gilthead before her, its skin grilled crisp and golden around the edges, scattered with herbs and thin slices of lemon.
Lynne’s fish had been pan-seared and arranged over vegetables. June’s arrived baked with onions and tomatoes.
Cecily immediately leaned across June to inspect it.
June planted one hand against her forehead and pushed her away.
“No. Bad. Stop.”
“I’m not going to eat it.”
June pushed her more firmly.
“Yet,” Cecily added.
“You have your own.”
“I only want to see how they prepared it.”
“Must you examine it from a thumb’s breadth away?”
“I am at least three and a quarter away.”
“Three and a quarter what?”
Cecily ignored the question and turned toward Lynne.
Lynne politely cut into her fish.
Then she noticed Cecily staring at her knife and fork.
She stopped.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Thou art watching me.”
“One bite. I merely want to know if thou dost fancy it.”
“I feel rather strange when thou watchest me eat.”
“Please?”
Lynne shook her head, but took a bite.
The fish was light and tender, with a crisp edge and enough butter to make almost anything taste impressive.
“Oh. That is very good.”
Cecily beamed as though she had personally caught, prepared, and served it.
June quietly took a bite from her own plate.
Cecily immediately turned toward her.
June chewed without expression.
“Well?” Cecily asked.
“That is fish.”
Cecily stared at her.
“Just fish? Hast thou any understanding of what a masterful delicacy gilthead bream is?”
“I don’t like fish.”
Cecily let out an exaggerated gasp and clutched her chest as if she was reaching for pearls she wasn't wearing.
“Thou deservest not! Give it to me.”
June moved her plate beyond Cecily’s reach.
“I am still going to eat it.”
“Then give me a taste.”
“You haven’t touched your own.”
“I have plenty of time.”
Cecily reached for June’s plate.
June caught her wrist.
For several seconds, they struggled silently across the table until June finally surrendered a small portion in exchange for peace.
It purchased approximately half a minute.
Before long, Cecily had finished most of her meal. Lynne and June ate at a far more reasonable pace.
“Let’s trade,” Cecily said.
Lynne passed her a portion without comment.
Cecily looked expectantly at June.
June continued eating.
“June?”
“No.”
“We were supposed to share.”
June looked at Cecily’s plate.
“What do you have to share? Bones?”
Lynne laughed.
“You may have some of mine as well, June.” Lynne politely stated
“Stop enabling her.” June responded.
“Why art thou so greedy?” Cecily asked.
June’s gaze lowered to Cecily’s gambeson.
“Says the girl wearing both her and Toriya’s dinner.”
Cecily froze.
She slowly looked down.
Several small stains had appeared across the white fabric.
“Ah, no!”
Lynne took the linen provided with the silverware and dabbed at Cecily’s jacket. She wiped away one mark, then noticed a small spot beside Cecily’s mouth and cleaned that as well.
“It should wash out rather easily.”
“You do this every time,” June said. “Change your clothes before you eat.”
“It takes too long. Whenever I change, the two of ye go somewhere else without me.”
“Yes. Because we are normal and do not eat at the same restaurant every day.”
“Thy tongue is simply not sophisticated enough to appreciate the exquisite tastes of the Mare Nostrum.”
“You will complain as soon as we leave that it was not as good as your mother’s.”
“I will not.”
June stared at her.
Cecily’s confidence weakened.
“It isn’t bad this time,” she admitted. “Although it is lacking fennel.”
June closed her eyes.
“Every time.”
“I am not complaining. I am merely comparing them. My mother uses fennel, and it maketh the dish simply perfect.”
Cecily always talked about the gilthead.
Or what was in season.
Or which herbs had been used incorrectly.
Or how a dish would have been prepared differently in Massilia.
But somehow, regardless of what she ordered, the conversation always found its way back to her mother’s kitchen.
Lynne wondered whether that was the true reason Cecily brought them here so often.
“One must wonder,” June said, “why you do not simply try a restaurant serving food your mother never made.”
“Because there is no better cuisine.”
Cecily turned toward Lynne as though she had been appointed the final authority on the matter.
Lynne smiled politely and took another bite.
She had survived enough arguments between her friends to know when neutrality was the wisest course.
“You have the culinary tastes of a child,” June said.
“Take that back.”
Cecily reached across the table.
June placed her palm against Cecily’s forehead and held her at a safe distance while Cecily flailed uselessly in her direction.
Lynne continued eating.
Neutrality remained the wisest course.
By the time they left Maison & Mare, the flood of students from the afternoon classes had thinned into smaller streams. Some remained beneath the courtyard trees or around the fountain, while others had begun drifting toward the dormitories.
The clouds overhead had thickened.
Sunlight still broke through in pale patches, but much of the earlier blue had disappeared beneath gathering grey.
Cecily looked upward as they stepped out from beneath the maroon awning.
“They’re going to unfurl the umbrellas only after it starts raining.”
Lynne glanced toward the clock tower.
“What have ye both planned for the rest of the day?”
“Nothing in particular.”
Cecily stretched her arms over her head. Her gambeson creased around her shoulders.
June’s attention shifted past Lynne, toward the northern side of the courtyard.
For the briefest moment, something changed in her expression.
Her gaze held there.
Then her face became still.
“I must return to my dormitory.”
She turned and began walking toward the southern gates.
“Already?” Lynne asked.
“The dormitories are the other way, June,” Cecily called after her.
June did not respond.
Perhaps she had not heard over the noise of the courtyard.
Or perhaps she had simply chosen not to.
Cecily watched her go.
“That was strange. Where deemest thou she’s truly going?”
“Perhaps she needs to collect some books before returning to her room.”
“Maybe she realized she was walking in the wrong direction but was too embarrassed to admit it. Now she is doomed to wander outside until it rains.”
Lynne giggled.
“I would ask whether you wanted to take a walk with me, but I am beginning to think it truly will rain.”
“I should wash my jacket before it stains.”
“Lynne!”
A boy’s voice rose from beneath the northern arcade.
He stood among the remaining students, smiling and waving one hand high above his head so she could see him.
Lynne’s face brightened the moment she recognized him.
Then he took another step.
He was favoring one leg.
Worse than before.
Her smile vanished.
“Lynne?” Cecily said.
Lynne was already moving.
Cecily barely had time to step aside before she hurried past her.
“Stop walking like that! You’re going to make your leg worse!”