Lester returned to consciousness with the slight throb of a headache, surrounded by a familiar shuffling of hooves and musk of horses. He blinked in the low light, vaguely recalling the night before; cheerful crowds, the golden statue, the dog, fainting kids, company and drinks, and…oh. 

He pushed up into more of a sitting position and looked towards the barn door. Sunlight pushed through cracks in the wood, clearly illuminating honeyed beams and chipped off-green paint, a place he hadn't expected to see again. The small stables of his hometown inn. The very same place he and Keenin had entered on their last day. They had intended to steal something for a bit of copper, but instead overheard enemy soldiers planning murder and arson. 

Lester let his eyes slide shut and breathed in the cool, sweet air. He was back beyond the corn fields at the river where little flowers sprouted from moss. The frayed pink ribbons of his sister’s dress crinkled as she poked a stick among the riverbed rocks to scare crayfish from hiding. 

“I don’t think Aunt Lilian likes me,” she said. “And being a proper lady is boring. I don’t know what to say. How am I supposed to know what fashion is in or what so-and-so named their baby? I wish I could stay here with you and Papa. Papa is still good at his letters and numbers.”

Mother had been good at sewing, but now Lester’s pants were frayed at the hem and his father was sleeping till noon. His aunt would be over there now yelling at that man.

A horse nibbled his hair. He lifted a hand to rub its velvety muzzle and ruffled his own hair to dislodge bits of hay. Shuffling and banging can be heard outside now. The barn door swings open, causing Lester to raise a hand to block a blinding ray of sun. 

“Who-who the heck are you?!” 

Lester holds out a hand, offering a handshake. “Lester.”

“The heck.” The stablehand, whom Lester has never met before, seems to come out of his initial shock. He points the tip of his pitchfork. “Scram. Now. Or else.” 

Lester changes his gesture to a palm-out hold. “Wait a minute. I can pay.” His free hand pulls back the edge of his jacket, revealing a coin purse and sword under the white of his jacket. 

“Eh. Hmmm. You didn’t retch in the hay, did you?”

Lester grabbed the top of a stable wall to lift himself up as the nearest horse reached again for his hair and the one across stonily eyed him. Lester looked left, then right across the ground, then to the stablehand. “Nope.”

The stablehand glared a while longer, then stepped in to snatch up a pail and retreat to fill it. He heard water sloshing around the corner. Lester felt a weight as a horse rested its head atop his. He scratched its nose. “Well, I would love to stay, but people like me need to keep moving. Somebody has to take commissions in these small places. Isn’t that right…” He looked at the name on the door, “Miss Lady, eh.”

The name gave him pause. His sister had insisted on using that name. 

Lester dipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out a charcoal stick he used for drawing. He dipped it briefly in a water trough, bringing it out dripping with black, and gently combed the charcoal over Miss Lady’s muzzle. The disguise of an unknown horse might earn him a second. 

“Shall we go for that ride?” he told the mare. 

He dropped the charcoal into the hay. Pulled on riding gloves from his jacket pocket to cover his stained hand. Unlatched the stall. No time to hitch up, he mounted the mare bareback. 

Lester pulled out a handful of coins from his coin purse, not bothering to count. Some slipped and plunked to the dirt as he pressed his thighs, urging the horse to walk forward. He came up beside the stablehand who was working the water pump and hadn’t bothered looking his way until a splash and clang into the bucket caught attention.

“Wha-what?” He glanced between Lester and the money now in the bucket, eyes finally resting on the glitter of wealth. “So much,” he whispered. 

“Timmy,” a man called out to the stableboy.

Before the boy could turn back to him, Lester was trotting the horse down the road out of town. Lester soon urged his mount into a gallop. Trees and patches of flowers rushed by. He passed a familiar statue and slowed the horse, trotting them back to the statue of Baytu. It had definitely started because of this. For good measure, he dismounted and rested a hand on its liken-scaled head. No effect. 

He suddenly remembered the once comforting weight of his father’s hand on his messy head of hair when he was introduced as Orm’s, his father's son.   

“I’m sorry,” Lester said. “But I don’t miss you anymore.”

A soft step and jingle followed by a smack of lips tearing up grass reminded him that someone may still come looking for his new mare. 

***

Presently, Lester led his mare, Miss Lady, through the clamoring streets.

Grit crunched under his polished boots. Colored shutters were pushed open overhead and sheets fluttered in the wind. Workers were sweeping the stoops and scooping piles of horse manure dropped along the road. Children chattered excitedly. Lester kept one hand on his coin purse. 

He was trying to get to the map posted in the center of the market lane. The smell of cinnamon conjured a memory of the first bakery he visited with Dia. A shine at one of the tables caught his eye and he drew closer. A vase inlaid with shards of glass- greenery and nettles spouting from its narrow lip. The table itself was set with candles surrounded by foliage. It has been a long while since he brought souvenirs. 

"Are you looking for something to set the mood?" the woman at the table asked.

"What?"

In his thoughts he had not noticed, but the woman was also pretty. The long braid of her hair was heavy with flowers and her dress was layered with shades of pink silk. Nothing like the cotton clothing of the woman back home. Certainly not like his leather-accented Natsuka. 

“You look like the type who has a girlfriend waiting back home,” she continued. “She might like a scented candle. And you might like one too.”

“Oh… uh” Lestor trailed off.

He felt his face grow hot with embarrassment. He was used to the compliments for his white coat and decorative boots, but not assumptions about his romantic life.

"I-I was looking for-

“Young man. You are in the way,” the stern voice of a woman stated.

This woman’s grey hair was curled into a loose bun, her face was freckled, her skin tanned from spending long hours in the sun, and her blue and red sundress looked like a patchwork of flowered fabric.

"Em-i-ly," Lestor managed to find the name that matched her face.

He hardly remembered, er, recognized her. She had just been some unmarried, freckle-faced woman wandering the fields. Occasionally, she had left food out for orphans like himself. 

“Oh. Did your research I see. Trying to get through me to my niece. So what’s your name this time?”

Lester picked a candle from the table at random, not wanting to stay in such an awkward position with a person who didn’t recognize him. 

“I’ll take this one. That’s all.” 

“Really?” Emily scrutinized. 

“It’s four copper sir,” the niece dutifully replied. “Please don’t mind my aunt.” 

“Well, as fun as it would be to have a motherly figure to mind,” Lester said, counting his coins. “I have work.” 

He dropped the coin on the table, made a small bow to Emily as he addressed her as “Mam” and drew his horse onward. He finally came to a slow stop at the signpost centered in the market. 

They didn’t even know him. 

Not the innkeeper. Not Emily. And perhaps not anyone in all of Stonefield. For better or worse the past had moved on and he was ok. Just ok. His hand touched the rough wooden sign over the depiction of a gryphon. His ever-constant home away from home. The good old Gryphon Inn. There was always one. 

The familiar broken dialogue of street children drew his attention.

“Not even six copper from that old man who lost his cat. Ain't my fault the beast was dead upon finding,” the boy mumbled.

The boy, around seven years old, was squatting in an alley near the market examining coins while a ragged dog kept company. A wood sign propped against the brink wall read: finder of lost things. The store beside the alley promised sweets. Its teal siding and pedestals of chocolate made him recall the bright walkways of Meladona, and who he had left there. Nadia had nagged him all year long to come here. He owed her. Lester led his horse to the boy. 

“Do you mind watching my horse for extra coins?” Lester asked. “Half paid upfront.” 

“Course I can, mister,” the boy smiled and held out his hand. 

*

The tingle of a bell announced his entrance to the shop. Lester found the least crowded display and picked up a box at random, flipping it to read the description on the back. 

“I recommend the six-pack hazelnut fill for birthdays. Does your girl prefer a bitter or creamy flavour?” a man asked. Judging by the teal vest, he seemed to work there. 

“Wouldn’t girls like creamy chocolate?” Lester argued.  

“Not so. The rich have made bitter truffles their special treat. But of course, anything uncommon has been the overall preference.”

“Maybe, but I don’t need the expensive stuff.”

His eyes wandered across the displays and saw a large, round ball of chocolate with a stick in the center. He could visualize Nadia carelessly sitting high up on a windowsill while taking bits of the chocolate on a stick. He wanted to see that. 

“What about that one?” he pointed

“You mean candied apple. Usually people buy it for children.”

He imagined his younger self and Keenin. A genuine warm smile crossed his expression and he held up a hand showing three fingers. “I’ll take three.” 

The shopkeeper laughed softly and placed the candied apples into small paper bags. “Yes, I suppose there is sweetness enough in ordinary things.” 

Lester noticed a stack of small cards for writing notes and plucked one before counting his coins and exchanging them for the goods. 

He carried the bags out and sat on a bench outside to write his note: 

Dear Nadia,

I have decided to take your advice and visit my hometown. Perhaps I will see where my sister has ended up. Don’t work yourself too hard while I’m gone. If anyone asks, I’ll be back in two weeks time. 

Your partner in crime,

Lester

He knew that it wasn’t enough. Not the words nor their time together, but that was life. Either you accepted that or you overworked yourself. The shop assistant had come out to set out samples of candied orange peel surrounded by blossoms. The sounds of an argument were starting to pull his attention.

Lester stashed the card in his pocket and looked up to see the boy holding his horse was speaking with a woman in a black lace many-skirted gown that cinched tightly around her waist and bodice. She stroked the horses’ white muzzle while keeping a possessive grip on the reins. The boy seemed to be barely keeping it together as Lester approached to reclaim his possession.

“Oh, for me?” the lady asked, eying the bags of confections when he approached. 

Lester tossed a bag to the unwashed boy, along with coins that thud to the dirt by his feet, more hastily and messily than he would have preferred. He peeked inside the bag. “Wow thanks,” he expressed before hastily collecting the coins and retreating. 

The woman smiled as though she had not seen the clear insult. Her cheek stretched over a faint scar and she smelled of musty flowers, the very Relocine flower that he detested most for inducing headaches while herbalists claimed it was calming. 

“May I purchase this horse?” she asked innocently. 

“I don’t know,” Lester said, holding out a hand for the return of his property. “Do you intend to apologize to my sister for it?”

“Your sister.”

“Of course,” Lester stated.  

The woman innocently passed the reins. But placed a hand over his.

“It’s just. This horse reminded me of my beloved Winnie. I was hoping for a familiar face on my birthday. What if you came together?”

“I think you misjudged our relationship,” Lester told her, tugging his hand away. “I am not the proper escort for a lady. Nor was I looking for company.” 

“Wait, please,” she said, grabbing hold of his sleeve. “I can’t go back alone. You’re a knight, aren’t you?”

Ugh, he thought. Both she and the musty smell were bothering him. Yet he did look back. It would have been wrong to assume that she was not in trouble.

“What is the problem?” he asked indifferently.

Please don’t let it be that she needs a boyfriend or the fulfillment of a stupid request.

“I think my father is trying to kill my mother,” she said. 

“Truly? Are you sure it is not a bad argument between them? A misunderstanding?”

“She divorced my father three years ago and is only visiting for this party. She wouldn’t even believe that I never sent her the invitation.”

“And why not get the city guards?”

“Guards aren’t going to test for poison or spy on a closed room. And anyone would spot them. The guest would think I’m the one going overboard. Please. I can pay.”

“When you put it that way,” Lester said. “A man can hardly refuse.”