Cameron To Candy

Marcus rose before the bells, tugging on his coat in the dim light while Candy still slept.

The ledger on his desk had been an ugly thing last night, with columns bleeding red ink despite the four hundred coins Candy had clawed back from the Ministry fine. The numbers didn’t lie: he was still losing ground.

This wasn’t a surprise. He’d been losing money even before the oral apology fine. It was only a matter of time before they’d run out. Hopefully Candy would stick to her promise of following his lead, even after she’d retroactively given the oral apology. They hadn’t talked about it yet.

Today’s meeting with Lord Trevane, one of the wealthiest nobles in the outer satellite towns, might change that. If the land deal went through, it would keep him above water for a few more months.

He needed this. Not just because of Candy, though. He’d been outmaneuvered on his foreign contracts of late. The city-state of Bellefemme had been making some very odd, unforeseen deals over the last year. Increasingly so. It was troubling on a number of levels.

He stepped out into the crisp morning air and headed for the stables. The old bay mare, kept only because he’d managed to cancel her sale at the last minute, greeted him with a nudge. Selling her had been the sensible choice when they’d needed to pay the fine, but damn if he was going to ride in a hired carriage today.

Her name was Hearthwind, a sentimental leftover from his cavalry days. Marcus swung into the saddle, grateful for the familiar creak of leather, and set off at a steady trot along the horse lane.

Paddlewick was already awake. Other riders moved in the opposite direction, offering curt white-knot salutes as they passed. In the marketside district, women were stopped at the edge of the cobbles, producing permission slips from husbands or fathers before crossing into the square. The watchmen checking them barely looked up from their folders.

He passed the public park, where the chess tables were already full. Chess was one of the few constants across the Cone’s civil realms; Marcus had seen it played from Gearford in the south west all the way to Altara in the east, though he’d never been sure whether the beastlands bothered with it.

On a bench near the fountain, a knot of teenagers hunched over a worn Seven Seals board. The hybrid board-and-card game had been around for decades, part strategy, part luck. You played either as Guardians, trying to defend the seven Demon Locks, often called seals, or play as the demons and try to breach them. Win as a demon by breaking four of the seals; win as a guardian by sealing five of the seven, the first three being required.

It was a childish premise, in that everyone knew the real seals, the ones that separated the demon realms from their own mortal realm couldn’t be broken, but he could remember whole afternoons lost to the game with Greg and Cameron. The primary game goal was always the same, but editions varied over the years, altering gameplay just slightly. The set they’d grown up with had been the Second Circle Deceivers edition, themed around the level-two demons famous for outrageous lies. The flavor text on those cards had been the best part, nonsense like: Marjoraxe the Green-Tongued: The King controls the weather, that’s why it only hails on red roofs! or Alax Jeerghast: Those widows? Paid actors. Their husbands never died! Or Marcus’ personal favorite Don Gildenfat, The Trumpeter: Tear down the wind-mills! They kill the sky-whales. Everybody knows that!

Some players had made a hobby out of collecting every card in a set, chasing down misprints or banned flavor text like treasure. Marcus remembered Cameron trying to talk Greg into pooling coin for a rare “Black Snow” card, and losing the argument when Greg spent his savings on meat pies instead.

Now, watching the teenagers laugh and argue over card plays, Marcus found himself thinking… Candy’s birthday was coming up. Both of them, in fact; her real one, and the assigned one the Ministry had scheduled five days later so it wouldn’t match Cameron’s exactly. At least they’d kept it close. Maybe she’d still appreciate the nostalgia. He’d heard there was a new deluxe edition out, with embossed demon sigils and updated art. It might be worth finding a set.

Marcus let the memory sit with him for a moment as Hearthwind’s hooves clopped over the cobblestones. Then the road curved toward the city gates, and the business ahead pulled him back to the present.

***

The knock came just as Candy was about to lie.

One leg over the arm of the fainting couch, half a mug of lukewarm chicory tea in hand, and a very practiced “why yes, I just finished scrubbing the skirting boards” expression locked and loaded for when Marcus got home.

The knock wrecked it all.

She didn’t move at first. No one ever knocked here unless it was Mrs. Prim, and Mrs. Prim didn’t knock so much as announce herself. A second knock, followed by a sing-songy voice through the door:

“Hellooo there! Awfully sorry t’trouble ya, sweetpea, but I think I got somethin’ that belongs to you!”

That got her off the couch. No one misdelivered parcels in Paddlewick. The Ministry’s Routing Office made sure of that. A package landing at the wrong door was about as common as an unscheduled whipping; it happened, but someone lost a pension over it.

She cracked the door, and there she stood: a vision of painful friendliness and legal-limit cleavage. Wide smile, a periwinkle apron straining against generous curves, and hair done up in a honey bun high enough to store government secrets. She held a small wrapped parcel in one hand and a wicker tray in the other, covered with a checkered towel.

“Oh good, yer home!” the woman beamed. “I was startin’ to think the lil’ fella lied t’me. Said you’d be back from Harmony Class by now.”

Candy blinked. “Harmony Class?”

“Oh heavens, I meant Obedience Refresher!” She rolled her eyes with the exaggerated bounce of someone who’d made the mistake herself. “I’m still gettin’ used to the schedule here. Came down from the northern stretch of Paddalwick, y’know, real borderland stuff. Windy, big birds, long vowels. Got married last spring and we settled near the volcanic mines, but John's work pulled us south to the aviary cliffs... and then here!”

The woman passed the parcel to Candy with a wink. “This showed up at our place by mistake. Not ta sound vain, sugarplum, but I think the delivery boy mighta done it on purpose. Caught him peekin’ right down my ruffle trim.”

Candy looked her over. That was not hard to believe. Susie gave a playful shrug that made everything bounce.

“Boys’ll be boys, you know?” she said with a grin.

Candy smirked. “Oh... do I ever.”

The joke slipped out before she could stop it. It caught her off guard; honest laughter, hers.

“Well!” the woman declared, shifting the tray up. “Since we hadn’t had a proper howdy yet, I thought I’d come ‘round with a little welcome nibble. I brought the biscuits…” she flipped the towel to reveal a dozen perfectly shaped, sugar-dusted cookies with tiny pastel sprigs, “...and I was hopin’ maybe you’d have the tea?”

Candy hesitated. Marcus would absolutely approve. He was always pushing her to meet the neighbors, so that in and of itself was a reason to say no. But also, screw Marcus.

“Sure,” she said slowly. “I’ve got the tea.”

Susie’s eyes lit up. “Oooh, goodie!”

Candy led her in with the awkward grace of someone hosting against her will. She moved a few plates off the table, waved toward a chair, and busied herself at the kettle to avoid having to offer small talk too soon.

Susie Cropley, meanwhile, settled in like she’d been invited to high tea with the queen. She lowered herself with a contented sigh, set the cookie tray on the table with practiced elegance, and started looking around like a woman who could assess a home’s entire vibe based on the positioning of its potholders.

“Oh my stars, what a darlin’ little space,” Susie cooed, eyes flitting to the trim. “I love a gal who keeps her copperware on display. So practical. So pretty.”

She paused a beat, then added with a warm wink, “Just like a good husband, right? If he ain’t shiny and hangin’ within reach, what’s the point?”

Candy let out a short, surprised bark of a laugh.

“Tea’ll be ready in a sec,” she said, mostly to fill the silence. “Hope Obedience Earl is fine.

"Sure is sugar. Oh, if you have it, maybe a sprig of encourge-mint¹Encourage-mint - a plant with mood-altering properties. Anyone who ingests it cannot help but feel encouraged and to encourage others. I could use an extra pick-me-up!"

"Oh so that's how you stay so perky," Candy teased.

"Ha, well, my secrets out." Susie laughed.

"Oh, and please don’t judge the cups. We broke the matching set.” Candy explained.

“Oh, honey, I insist on mismatched teacups. Means there’s a story. Mine’s cracked from the time John forgot our wedding soup on the stove and I threw a shoe. True love, right?”

She grinned like a woman with absolutely no regrets.

Candy turned to grab the cups, and that’s when Susie glanced at the rune node.

A faint purple shimmer glowed under the pantry shelf. Shaped like a teardrop. Standard-issue Domestic Conduct Monitor, version 2.4. Current Ministry-grade. Obvious if you knew where to look.

Susie didn’t flinch. Didn’t even pause. Instead, she leaned closer to Candy with a conspiratorial grin.

“Oh, you’ve got the 2.4 model A? Poor thing. Our house is still on a 1.8, so I get a bit more leeway, if ye know what I mean.”

“Lucky duck” Candy replied.

Susie chuckled, then tilted her head. “You all right, love? You’re rubbin’ at your temple.”

Candy paused. She hadn’t noticed she was doing it. “It’s nothing. Just a headache.”

“Well, sugarplum, that won’t do.” Susie dug in her apron pocket and produced a small paper twist. Inside were a few glossy brown pellets, faintly iridescent. “Beetle pills. Old northern trick. Grind their wings, bind ‘em with willow dust, and poof—headache gone. Works faster than a husband rememberin’ your birthday.”

Candy hesitated, but the throb behind her eyes made the choice for her. She tipped one back with a sip of tea. Bitter, earthy. Almost metallic. Almost immediately, the pounding eased.

“Better?” Susie asked, all innocence.

“Yeah,” Candy admitted. “Actually… yeah.”

“Good girl.” Susie gave her a wink, as if they’d just sealed a harmless secret between friends.

“Your accent,” Candy said suddenly, pushing past the good girl phrasing, “I hear the northern Paddlwick, but I swear I hear a little PlumPudding in there too. Or, maybe Bellefemme?”

Susie laughed lightly, as if delighted to be caught. “Oh, well, yes, back when we were engaged, John’s work took him to PlumPudding for a year. And I know they’re our rivals, but we did pop over to Bellefemme now and then for a few of their festivals. Their many, many festivals,” she said with a laugh. “I suppose I picked up a thing or two. Oh, but the markets in PlumPudding! You’ve never seen such pastries. Some were even enchanted to change flavor based on your mood! Seriously, they could change halfway through eating them!”

Candy nodded, accepting it without much thought, and helped herself to another biscuit. A moment later, Susie turned toward the window with a delighted gasp.

“Ooooh, sugarplum, is that a honeysuckle trellis? I could just die. My goodness, you don’t see that sort o’ trim south of Beltforge. Where’d you find the sprigs?”

Candy glanced over, momentarily thrown. “Uh… Marcus’s aunt is a bit of a garden nut. She planted it a few years before I moved in.”

“Well, I’d count that a blessing! That kind of sweetness? It draws hummingbirds and husbands. Tuggin’ at the soul in equal measure.” She gave a dreamy sigh and helped herself to a cookie. “Mmm. Too much lemon? Be honest.”

Candy sat across from her with a steaming pot and two misfit cups, one floral, one with a chipped ministry motto.

“Actually... no,” she admitted, sipping cautiously. “It’s good.”

“Well hallelujah,” Susie beamed. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me since the border checkpoint lad told me I had ‘ideal posture for a lady of my dimensions.’”

Candy raised a brow. “Let me guess… he was also eighteen and blushing like a sunburned cherub?”

“Uff-da, exactly! You ever notice how the younger the boy, the bolder the comments? Meanwhile, the older ones just scowl like they’ve forgotten what boobs are for?” She sipped her tea, then added matter-of-factly, “Don’t get me wrong, I love bein’ worshipped, but not by someone who can’t vote.”

Candy chuckled and leaned back. For a moment, she let herself breathe. The room didn’t feel like a prison. The tea didn’t taste like resignation. And this woman, who by all rights should’ve been too perky to live, was kind of... fun? They clinked their chipped cups.

“To mismatched teacups,” Susie declared, “and findin’ friends where you least expect ‘em.”

Candy nodded.

“Cheers,” she said, then took a long sip.

And for a minute... she didn’t feel watched.

***

Lord Trevane’s office smelled faintly of beeswax and polished mahogany. Morning light struck the glass cabinets where silver-plated quills and ledgers were lined like trophies.

The meeting had begun with the usual pleasantries. Trevane asked after Marcus’s horse, then recounted his own morning ride. “Still training the dog,” he said with a short laugh. “And my wife, come to that. So far the dog’s learning faster.”

Marcus smiled politely, letting the joke pass.

“Women, eh? Useful when they know their place. Mine’s fond of chatting at the wrong time.” Trevane wagged a finger, half in jest. “I tell her a good wife doesn’t speak before spoken to. You have to set that expectation early, you see.”

Marcus inclined his head. “Naturally.”

Only then had they turned to business. Numbers, parcels of land, and expected return. Trevane asked about market fluctuations, and Marcus answered smoothly, each calculation ready at hand. The discussion went better than Marcus dared hope — cordial, numbers in range, no unnecessary posturing.

“Solid work,” Trevane said at last, leafing through the portfolio again. “It’s all here, and I like what I see. But…” He closed it and tapped the cover with one ringed finger. “I’ve had one other offer.”

Marcus kept his expression neutral.

“I’d rather go with you,” Trevane went on, “but I’m not in the business of ignoring my options. Take this.” He slid the portfolio across the desk. “It’s their numbers. See if you can match or lower them. If you can, we’re in business.”

Marcus picked it up, tucking it under his arm. “Alright. When should I let you know?”

“Two days. Then come to my house, it’s easier than dragging you back here, and we’ll finalize things over dinner.”

Marcus nodded.

“Oh, and bring your wife.” Trevane smiled faintly, as though it were an afterthought. “I like dealing with family men. Sets my mind at ease. The competition is all unmarried, you see.”

That explained the extra warmth Marcus had noticed in his tone. It wasn’t just the work; Trevane saw stability in a ring on a man’s hand. Marcus didn’t argue with it.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “She’ll be delighted,” he lied.

Meanwhile, Susie was still talking, something about a neighborhood committee and the upcoming garden inspection day, when Candy realized she’d somehow agreed to hear more about it tomorrow.

Susie grinned. “We meet every month at the tea hall. All the ladies from the row. You’ll love it.”

Candy forced a polite smile. “Oh, sure. Sounds… lovely.”

Privately, she decided the only thing worse than a neighborhood tea meeting would be having to sit through one of Marcus’s business dinners.

Naturally, she was about to be dragged to both.

***

The enchanted lanterns along the lane were just beginning to glow when Marcus guided his horse up to the gate. Their yard was clipped and square, the hedge kept to regulation height, the flagstones scrubbed clean enough that even inspectors rarely lingered. He swung down from the saddle, opened the iron latch, and led the gelding through.

The stable sat tucked against the back wall of the property, two full stalls and a smaller guest bay. Once, both had been filled. He had sold the second mount not long ago, one of the quieter casualties of Candy’s fines and missteps. Now only his chestnut gelding remained, ears flicking as Marcus slid the bridle free and rubbed its neck.

He forked hay into the manger, pumped fresh water into the trough, and checked the level twice. The horse nosed him in thanks, already lowering its head to eat. The other stalls sat swept and empty, waiting for guests who never came.

Marcus dusted his palms on his trousers, hefted his satchel, and crossed the yard toward the back steps. The warm glow of the kitchen windows met him, along with the weight of the day pressing down on his shoulders.

Inside, Candy was already setting cups out.

“So,” Marcus said, loosening his collar as he hung his satchel on the stand. “How was your day?”

“I met the new neighbor,” Candy replied. “A parcel got misdelivered, and she brought it by.”

Marcus frowned. “Misdelivered? I haven’t heard of that happening since 2039. The post runs like clockwork.”

“Yeah, well,” Candy said dryly, “given the age of the delivery boy and the size of her cleavage, I think I know why it went astray.”

Marcus gave a short laugh, then sobered. “Careful. Even a silly joke like that could get someone sacked here.”

Candy shrugged. “Point taken. Oh, I think I might have accidentally agreed to go to a neighborhood meeting.”

Marcus laughed. “Well, that’s good. Wouldn’t kill you to get involved with the community here.

“Ha! We’ll see about that. So, how was your meeting?”

“Well enough,” Marcus said. “If I can match the numbers, Trevane wants to go with me. I think I can do it. I’ve got two days to hammer it out.”

“You’ll manage. You’re good with this kind of thing.”

“Thanks. But if I do land it, we’ll have to go to his house for dinner. Sign the papers there.”

“We?”

“Yes. He likes dealing with family men. Says it puts him at ease. So, he said bring the wife.”

Candy groaned. “Make an excuse for me.”

“I would, but we really need this one.”

“Why? I thought we were doing better. We got the four hundred back, didn’t we?”

Marcus shook his head. “That was just a bandage. We’re still losing money, Candy. Slower, yeah, but still losing. And Bellefemme’s been undercutting me, with strange deals that don’t even make sense. I’ve already lost two contracts that way.”

“So this is it? We need this one?”

“Yes.”

Candy sighed. “Fine. I’ll come for one evening.”

“Good. Though you’ll need to be careful with Trevane. He’s old-fashioned. Chauvinistic even by Paddlewick standards. So don’t speak unless spoken to. And if Alissa or Vivian wanted to do your hair beforehand, it wouldn’t hurt.”

Candy snorted. “Can I spit in his soup if I’m the one serving it?”

“Only if he doesn’t notice.”

“Perfect. I’ll wear a bow and a sign that says ‘For decorative use only,’ then strike a pose for two hours. I’ll just sit like a statue, smile, not move, not breathe. The best statue impression you’ve ever seen.”

“That’s the spirit,” Marcus said, heading toward the washroom. He tossed the words over his shoulder with a grin. “Just sit there and look pretty.”

Candy’s eyes widened and her jaw clenched in fury. She turned to give him a scathing rejoinder, but realized he’d already gone. It pissed her off. Not the sexism, but the fact he’d managed to leave on such a good line.