She turned the short sword over in her hands. Perfect weight for dagger work, she thought — this would suit her exactly. And then, without warning, she missed her mama so much it ached.
She gave the sword a small, appreciative smile.
"Buy me a dress, too."
Ian stared at her.
"I'd like a new dress," she confirmed. She beamed. "I want both. Dresses and swords."
Ian smiled fondly and agreed to it.
Which was how they came to be standing at a side door in matching dark cloaks, to the visible confusion of at least one member of the household.
"How are we supposed to sneak out?" Sophia hissed. "Where did you even get these?"
"Sneaking out is more fun," Ian said.
He is not the nerd I took him for, Sophia thought, revising everything. He's a delinquent.
"Where should we go first?" he asked coolly.
The market was bustling and full of sun. Two small cloaked figures went through it among the vendors and the shoppers, and a friendly baker called out a greeting as they passed. Sophia's eyes lit up.
Chickpea bread.
They ate it walking, and she declared through a full mouth that it was the best.
"Are you having fun?" Ian asked.
"Mm." She was, and she was also quietly comparing every stall against her memory, still hunting for the authentic one.
Later they sat in a café behind a landscape of desserts.
"Do you feel good?"
"I feel very good."
"Then it's time to buy your dress," Ian announced. "Janette's shop is the best option."
Sophia stared at the enormous plate in front of her and wondered whether all of this was his way of comforting her about the council meeting. She remembered him suggesting sweets, and her own surprised agreement, and the way he had not once mentioned the elders since.
She ate her dessert, feeling grateful, and resolved to prepare a countermeasure.
"Do you know anything about High Priest Charone's memory sharing?"
Ian considered it seriously. Most priests, he said, were swindlers. Charone's ability, unfortunately, was real. He could read memories through touch, and project them with the aid of a tool — and the most recent and intense memories showed the clearest.
Then he teased her that hers would probably turn out to be some childhood confession, and she denied it so flusteredly that she nearly upset the plate.
But it settled something for her. Charone was weaker than the wanderer she had known.
"Agh—! Please—"
A cry for help came down the street, and Sophia turned.
A man in fine boots stood over someone, shouting furiously.
He was a priest, and he was beating a green-haired boy who begged him to stop. The commoner brat had stepped on his foot, he explained viciously, in between blows, and he went on explaining it while the boy pleaded.
Ian and Sophia watched with open disdain. All priests are the same, Sophia thought. All of them, in every life.
Then the priest noticed her, and made a leering suggestion about playing with him, and her skin crawled straight up her spine.
He reached for her.
Ian stepped between them.
"Who dares block my way?" the priest snarled. "You'll be on your knees soon enough, boy—"
"I don't speak with the temple's dogs," Ian said coldly. "Get lost or die."
The priest drew his sword. "Do you have a death wish, little kid?"
Ian's blade came out glowing, and his face was grim.
"I warned you."
It took less than a breath. The priest was on the ground, and Sophia was impressed and, frankly, jealous of how cool it had looked.
Ian sheathed the sword and looked down at him. "Lousy."
He got what he deserved, Sophia thought with satisfaction.
"You're not actually considering killing him, are you?" Ian asked.
"Oh."
Her expression twisted into a gleeful, terrifying smile, and a small delighted laugh escaped her.
The priest stared up at her in terror.
"I'd like to avoid trouble," she said sweetly. "But we could at least cut off a few of the filthy pervert's fingers."
The priest shrieked. He scrambled up and fled down the street screaming for help, swearing over his shoulder that they would pay for this.
The rescued boy stood beside them in shock while they watched him go.
Sophia smiled, weighing a pouch in her hand.
"He'll come back," the boy said, panicking. "He'll bring the temple's night order—"
"Really?" said Sophia, entirely calm.
The boy waved them after him urgently. Their hideout. Follow him, now.
Ian caught her arm. "Let's go." His voice was steady, and it was meant to steady her.
Sophia beamed at him, a radiant, delighted smile, and went.
They followed the boy down a flight of stairs.
"I'm Sophia."
"Ian."
"Nice to meet you, Phil," she said warmly.
A gentle smile crossed her face. It had been such a long time.
She remembered other days: herself, older, laughing with her precious friends, all of whom she had met at Mama's home. She remembered how Phil loved to read, and how the reading earned him constant nagging. She remembered the place as endless laughter — a house that warmly took in children who had nobody.
Inside, Phil turned proudly and welcomed them to Mama's home, adding that they were free to leave once they'd killed some time.
A figure with long red hair looked up. "Phil. Have you brought guests?"
"I have!"
Sophia's heart went over hard in her chest, because she had missed her mama — her master — more than she had let herself know.
Mr. Mama, a muscular man with a braided red beard, struck a pose and welcomed them to sit down and rest.
Long ago, on those stairs, a younger version of her had asked Phil why Mama was called Mama.
"I mean," she'd said, "why Mama and not Papa?"
"Mama is Mama," Phil had said.