Interlude: The Council of the Hearth
By the time Lysa finished lacing her faded blue dress, her quiet curiosity regarding the canvas satchel had hardened into a calm determination. She refused to remain a secret kept strictly within the confines of the curing shed, insisting Callis escort her immediately to meet the women who shared the burden of his survival.
Callis felt the whole crooked scaffold of his life begin to creak at the prospect of colliding his carefully separated worlds. He possessed no desire to mix the volatile personalities of his lovers, but the resolute warmth in Lysa's eyes left him entirely incapable of denying her request.
They navigated the freezing, snow-dusted thoroughfares of the lower lanes together. Callis walked shoulder-to-shoulder with her through the bitter morning air until the looming timber roof of The Stag & Ember appeared through the grey mist.
Callis pushed open the solid oak door leading directly into the private kitchen, stepping out of the winter chill and into the radiating heat of the cast-iron stove. He felt a surge of nervous relief upon finding both Mara and Yselle already occupying the warm space, sharing a quiet morning meal before the tavern and the forge fully demanded their labor for the day.
The unannounced arrival caused an immediate silence to fall over the room as the three women locked eyes to take careful measure of one another. Lysa stood near the threshold, her hands nervously twisting the fabric of her skirt as she took in the unfamiliar territory of the tavern's back rooms.
Yselle slowly lowered her mug of ale to the scarred table, her pale eyes narrowing in sharp assessment as she leaned forward in her chair. Mara stepped deliberately away from the cast-iron stove to evaluate the sudden intrusion into her sanctuary, wiping the flour from her hands onto her canvas apron.
Her dark eyes swept over Lysa’s plush curves and the unmistakable flush still lingering on her cheeks, reading the physical evidence of the previous night with practiced ease. Mara bypassed any territorial rage or demands for explanation, choosing instead to shift her commanding gaze directly toward Callis as he lingered nervously by the door frame.
“You brought a guest into my kitchen before the hearth was swept, Callis,” Mara said, her voice smooth as warmed honey and twice as dangerous. She raised her hand to point a firm finger toward the rear exit leading to the frost-bitten alleyway. “Yard. Firewood. Yselle and I will receive Lysa properly.”
Callis did not dare to argue with the dismissal, recognizing the sheer danger of defying the woman who controlled the household. He quickly retreated out the back door into the freezing morning air, leaving his new companion to the mercy of the tavern.
He spent the better part of an hour shivering in the snow-dusted courtyard, swinging the iron splitting maul with a frantic energy to stave off the winter chill. He imagined raised voices and slammed mugs echoing through the timber walls, convinced the morning would end in disaster.
He pictured Yselle’s chair scraping back aggressively and Mara’s silence turning sharp enough to cut bread. He remained unable to fathom how the aggression of the forge could possibly coexist with the soft warmth of the curing shed without tearing his precarious life apart.
When the back door finally creaked open, Yselle stood framed in the threshold. She leaned one muscular shoulder against the doorframe, her mouth curved in a lazy, dangerous smirk as she delivered her brief summons. “Drop the maul, Callis. You’ve been summoned.”
Callis stepped cautiously back into the overwhelming heat of the kitchen with snow melting in his dark hair and pine pitch sticking to his leather gloves. His boots slowed on the floorboards as he braced himself to face the aftermath of their confrontation, fully expecting to find broken mugs and Mara’s silence sharpened to a blade.
Instead, he found the three women comfortably clustered around the scarred table, sharing a fresh loaf of sweet bread. They passed a steaming pitcher of spiced cider between them with the easy familiarity of lifelong friends, completely lacking any of the hostility he had anticipated.
Mara poured Lysa another cup of cider while Yselle lounged back in her chair, laughing under her breath at something Lysa had just quietly confessed. The soft domestic harmony of it scrambled his exhausted brain.
As Callis hesitated near the threshold, Lysa leaned closer to her new companions, dropping her voice into a conspiratorial murmur that barely carried over the crackling stove. He strained to catch the exchange, missing most of it before Lysa distinctly uttered the phrase “kept me awake until dawn” with a scandalous lack of domestic shame.
Yselle threw her head back in a sudden bark of genuine amusement, slapping the scarred wood with her heavy palm. Mara tapped the rim of her ceramic mug against her lips, her dark eyes narrowing as she shared a quiet, knowing look with the other two women.
Lysa covered her mouth with one hand, flushed and bright-eyed in the hearthlight. Then all three of them turned their unified attention directly onto Callis.
He stopped breathing for half a second.
Mara smiled sweetly. Yselle patted the empty timber bench beside her. Lysa’s soft gaze held no apology at all.
The crooked scaffold of his life had not collapsed under the pressure of the morning. It had been inspected, reinforced, and claimed entirely by committee. Callis stepped toward the table with the grim understanding that his lovers had formed a council over bread and cider, and he had just become the first item on the household ledger.