Chapter 07 - Friends 2

Wherein two becomes three.

Luminsday came and Bosra joined Rose for a sit-down at Paragon's Cup. She had not taken a day off since starting work at the livery, but the Sovereign Knight who hired her to take care of Titan and his other three horses had left Splendor. There was a war brewing to the east, beyond the arid peaks and boggy plains of the dwarves that were King Adevald XII’s closest neighbours.

Titan had kept her busy – the good kind of busy. There wasn’t much left for her to do besides the normal chores. There was no reason to be at the livery all day, since many more patrons had left. War was good for business. All who were invested in the conflict left the city. Autumn was a good time for war, and a good time for selling wares to lonely soldiers, maybe making a deal with the stout-hearted, bearded diggers – conniving merchants themselves, most of them.

Bosra sat outside in the lee of a tarpaulin that tugged at its bindings every now and then. It sheltered the café’s customers from the worst of early fall winds. The tunes Rose played were familiar by now. Old friends, meeting again. If she closed her eyes she could see the farmstead, Risban, fields full of flowers, and herds of cattle drifting over that green sea, the wold an ever-present entity in the periphery.

When she opened her eyes again, she could tell she wasn't the only one carried off into memory by Rose’s music. More and more people had sat down on the little terrace, or just inside the shop. There were even a few urchins sitting on the roof high overhead.

Skilled, she thought, remembering what Rose had said about herself. Talented was the word she'd mentioned with disdain. Magical; that was just common sense.

Valentina slipped into the seat next to Bosra, frothy milk-rich brew in hand. "Hello again! I'm Valentina."

"Bosra."

"Just Bosra?" Valentina asked, eyeing the tattooed Highlander up and down. There was something familiar about the nearly eight-foot-tall, grey-skinned, well-toned woman. Something she couldn't place. She was almost sure she was supposed to know who the woman was, but couldn’t recall why.

"Yup. Got no other name that matters now." Bosra averted her gaze back to Rose, enchanted by the new tune the Pupper struck up.

"Alright..." Valentina put a stack of hard stock cards down on the table, akin in size to a deck of playing cards. "These just need your name, but you could use them to promote your monster-training business."

"Thanks." Bosra took the stack and looked over the topmost card. It was beautifully embossed with silvered letters. "You made them?"

"Had them made," Valentina corrected with a smile.

Bosra frowned. "What'd it cost?"

"I wouldn't know, honestly. The bill was sent to my father." Valentina had the decency to blush deeply. Breaking away from the habits that came with a life of privilege was more difficult than she’d imagined it would be.

Bosra slid the pile back to Valentina and turned her face back to the Pupper. "Ain't no charity case."

"It's not... It's not charity. It's a gift to my new friend." Valentina recovered quickly, if she did say so herself.

"Got no friends that wear thirty crown dresses as everyday wear." There was no meanness in Bosra’s brusque tone; she was merely pointing out the truth.  

"You do now." Valentina set her pretty jaw, sliding the little stack of cards back to the Highlander.

Bosra looked Valentina in the eye. The clear blue orbs reminded her of a meditation pool she’d once seen in a temple she’d raided with her crew. Shallow yet bottomless. She saw determination in those depths.

Her gaze went from the young woman to the cards. "Okay."

She took the cards and put them in her pocket. She'd write her name on them later.

"If you're my friend," Bosra ventured matter-of-factly, "no more gifts."

Valentina had just relaxed into her seat and lifted her cup. The motion halted. She blinked, then twisted to appraise the woman sitting next to her. Bringing gifts when you went to see someone was a courtesy she'd grown up with, even if she was only going over for tea at a friend’s. Although so-called friends were often more accurately described as political allies in the Effyne family's case. Arch-Dukes and Arch-Duchesses had no companionable acquaintances, in Valentina’s twenty-three years of experience as their daughter.

Bosra’s expression did not suggest she had been joking. Her angular face held tension, even at rest, giving the woman an air of general animosity.

"Can I buy you coffee?" Valentina asked tentatively. A few drinks wouldn’t beggar her.   

"No." A quick shake of the head.

"Patisserie?"

"No." Bosra gave her a dark look, before her attention turned to the musician.

"Dinner?" Now she was just messing with Bosra.

First the grey face turned, dark eyes focusing in on her own. They narrowed further. Then she smiled. "No."

"Why not?" Valentina cocked her head, butter-blonde hair falling to one side. 

"Expectations. Don’t want you to always pay. Don’t want to keep track of who pays what when."

"But you share with Rose, right?" Valentina tried not to feel slighted by this rejection.

"She’s not a princess with a frilly skirt, buying her way into my heart." 

Valentina frowned. That wasn’t what she was doing, was it? 

To change subjects, she asked: "What are you interested in then? Or better yet, whom?"  Not that it mattered to her, but she was curious about her new rough-edged friend. 

Bosra grinned. "Big blokes that make me feel pretty in a frilly skirt."

"Do those exist?!" Valentina could hardly imagine anyone being larger than this grey-skinned giantess, whose tattoos hardened the edges of her face, and contoured the bulging muscles of her upper arms.

Bosra's laugh thundered through the alley like a rock slide. Once calmed, she answered with a big smile: "Yes."

Then she turned her attention back to the Pupper, and was happy to find Valentina doing the same.

Once again, Rose joined them at the table for a brew when the evening rush started. She marvelled at how the interior had come into its own. It felt welcoming and looked rustic. The mismatched sets of tables and chairs were a design choice, if born out of necessity. The front room was whitewashed and light wood paneling rose to waist height. "Paragon’s Cup" was scrawled in big flowing letters on the wall opposite the seats, where customers passed it on their way to the serving counter. The back room was dimmer. Gently glowing amber lit the den. Loveseats and sofas created cozy spots to lounge, situated against a backdrop of dark velvet drapes that muffled sound.

Remembering Bosra's express instructions, Valentina did not get Rose a cup of brew and a slice of cake. She let Rose get them for herself. Biting her lip, she watched as Rose blew into the milky foam, the spice on top gathering at the crested waves.

She found herself at a loss for words. She kept herself from fidgeting – a lady didn’t give in to nervous tics – and could only relax when she noticed these two weren't expecting her to fill the silent void between them with babbling.

At once, all three of them broke the seal on polite reserve: "How was your day?" "Did you learn anything at school?" "What's for dinner?"

The Highlander and the Fairfields girl both laughed, and Valentina laughed with them. For the first time in her living memory, that sound felt genuine.