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“I have an idea,” Brook said after a moment.

“Do tell.”

“Let’s stay in bed today,” Brook said.

Aisling laughed. “But the…” The awards, yes, but that’d just be frustrating for her now. And she couldn’t do her morning bakes, either. Even if she’d rebuilt her bellows and gotten someone working on the enchantment right after breaking the thing, it’d only be ready the day after tomorrow at the earliest. And by then, the market was all but finished.

Next year. Next year, she’d win it all. This year, she’d spend her earnings fixing what she’d broken in foolish frustration.

Which meant she really didn’t need to go to the awards. She was interested to see how Darra did, of course, and curious about the outcome of the airship theft kerfluffle Durae had let her in on. But…

Well, just look at her. Who could leave this? Aisling rationalized, “Anyhow, I’m almost out of jewelberries and I can’t find Arryn anywhere.”

“Arryn?”

“My berry farmer. They grow the sweetest, most wonderful berries in Everend, but I haven’t seen them since before the market started. So even if I did fix the oven, I couldn’t do much with it.”

Brook grinned. “Maybe they got married and ran off. Either way, seems like a sign.”

“Oh, now you believe in the stars.” Aisling laughed. “Next you’ll tell me you’re finding messages in the stories of the gods and goddesses.”

“If the stars and gods are telling you to stay in my bed, then yes. But the only goddess I’m interested in is you.”

Aisling grinned right back, utterly speechless, floating on a cloud of contentment.

Yes, it seemed improbable that someone like Brook would want someone like her. Especially after the ridiculous exhibition she’d been making of herself for the last few days. But Aisling wanted it too badly to argue with it when it was right in front of her. And here it was.

Brook actually giggled. “Let’s go get breakfast. And then not leave this room for a good twelve hours. Yes?”

“Yes.”

Aisling pulled on one of Brook’s shirts, which was far too long and tight across the chest, and her own outer skirt. They rushed down into the dining room, meaning to grab some food and escape back upstairs quickly.

But Brook’s father, a tall, dark, and stern-looking elf with an unmistakably noble bearing, was there behind one of the local gossip rags. He flicked his paper aside and eyed them both speculatively.

“Papa,” Brook said in surprise. “You’re usually in your sitting room.”

“Well, I didn’t hear you come in yesterday. So I assumed you’d be arriving this morning. And yet… Hello, Aisling of Copperford.”

Aisling’s cheeks heated. Then her ears. “Sir.”

He laughed. “Call me Papa. I know, it’s premature. But it’s good to see you two getting on with it.” He lifted the paper to cover his face again.

Brook shot Aisling an apologetic glance. And then they both started giggling, collecting boiled eggs, cheese, fruit, and bread in Aisling’s skirt and carrying them back upstairs in a hurry.

“They really wanted you to marry,” Aisling huffed at the top of the stairs.

“Papa says I don’t care enough about myself to find something useful to do. He thought I’d need someone to care about, I think,” Brook said quietly.

“Is it true?” Aisling asked, stomach dropping. How sad. How lonely. But beyond that, how painful to know that your family saw that in you and could or would do nothing about it.

Except insist that you marry a perfect stranger. Like it was some kind of cure-all. Or like Brook would be someone else’s problem to solve, if she married.

“Partly, perhaps.” Brook shrugged. “But the more I think on it, I don’t dislike myself. Or even not care about myself. I just don’t think of myself much. Never needed to.”

“You are a mystery.” Aisling smiled again as Brook opened the door for her.

“Not much of one,” Brook said. “Deep as a mud puddle on a hot day.”