The Spare's Empire

[lum]

The kitchen has always been the warmest place in her home.

Even during winters, when the wind came howling down from the north and rattled the shutters of the townhouse. Or when the rest of the household was still asleep and the stones of the corridors retained the night’s chill.

The kitchen was warm because the ovens were always burning, and the copper pots were always steaming. And also because her mother complained alot whenever someone had left the backdoor open for too long.

“Close it.”

Like right now.

The girl froze. She had sneaked one hand inside the bread basket, her tiny fingers already wrapped around a piece of honeyed bread.

Her tail, which had been lazily curling behind her, went perfectly still.

When she turned her head she noticed her mother standing on the other side of the kitchen, arms folded.

The girl smiled, but when her mother rose an eyebrow, said smile became smaller.

“I… I was hungry…”

“It’s not breakfast yet.”

“I… I know…”

“So you came down here to eat before breakfast, and it’s not the first time.”

“Y… yes…”

Her mother sighed in theatrical disappointment. “You, little lady, are clearly your father’s daughter.”

That made the girl grin again.

Her mother tried not to smile.

She failed however.

“Come here,” she said while holding out a thick strawberry.

The girl approached cautiously, like a mouse towards cheese.

“But first…,” her mother suddenly reached out and wiped a smear of honey from the corner of her mouth with her thumb.

“I knew it! And now I want that strawberry!”

“Hm, wouldn’t this spoil your appetite?”

“No, mom, I promise it won’t!”

“You said that yesterday too.”

“That was beans, mom. But I ate all of my breakfast.”

Her mother looked doubtful. “You ate nearly all the honey cakes…”

“They were breakfast.”

“They were supposed to be dessert.”

The girl looked genuinely puzzled.

And then, “Wh… why would you make honey cakes for breakfast if they weren't breakfast?”

Her mother stared at her for a moment.

Then she laughed.

It was a warm laugh. A proper laugh.

The kind that made the little kitchen feel even warmer.

The girl liked her mother’s laugh.

She liked almost everything about mornings.

But most of all?

She liked being allowed in the kitchen!

[lum]

Technically those honey cakes…? Technically she wasn’t supposed to touch anything.

Technically, she had been told many many times before that the kitchen was a working space for adults, and thus not for little girls who were supposed to be learning their letters and their sums.

But nobody, not even her mother had ever managed to keep her away for too long.


Her mother turned back to the stove.

“Go upstairs now. You have lessons soon.”

“With father, yes. But can I help you first?”

Her mother glanced over her shoulder.

“What do you intend to help with?”

The girl looked around, indecisive.” Uh… everything?”

“That is not an answer.”

“Heuuh… I can stir stuff?”

“You can sit.”

“Or... I can cut vegetables?”

“You can sit.”

“Can I-”

“You can sit down, right now.”

The girl sighed dramatically and climbed onto a wooden stool near the preparation table.

Her bare toes didn’t reach the floor.

She watched her mother work.

Her mother’s hands worked quickly. They always did. She thought her mother was the most graceful person she has ever known. Despite the heat, despite the noise, despite the constant demands of a rather busy household and business, her hands always seemed know what they were supposed to do. And her mother, so it was told, was an excellent cook. She knew how to make things taste good just like the sun was good at being warm.

“Are you watching again?”

“Ehh.. uh.. yes?”

“You’ve been watching me make stew for three days in a row.”

“I.. I just want to know how.”

“You already know how.”

“N… no I don’t!”

“Alright then, peel those for me.” She handed her daughter a knife and motioned at some potatoes.

The girl immediately brightened.

Her mother pointed at her though.

“Careful now.”

“I know I know!”

“Just keep your fingers away from the sharp end. Oh, and don’t try to make them all the same size this time.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re eight.”

“Almost nine! And that doesn’t explain why I can’t!”

Her mother laughed.

The girl began peeling.

For several minutes there was only the comfortable sound of work. Then, the backdoor opened again and a gust of cold air entered the kitchen.

“Close that door!” Her mother’s voice came instantly.

“Aaand good morning to you too…”

The girl looked up as that voice belonged to her father.

He stood in the doorway, rubbing his hands together against the coolness of a seemingly early fall. He was already dressed for the day, in his typical dark merchant's coat and black polished boots. His hair was still slightly untidy, suggesting that he had either risen very early or had not bothered to make himself presentable. Yet.

The girl immediately abandoned her work.

“Father!” She jumped from the stool.

“Careful!”

Too late. The stool collapsed and collided with a full basket of apples. Those rolled over the floor while the girl ran across the kitchen and threw her arms around her father's waist.

He staggered half a step.

“Well then,” he looked down at her, “I see I’m welcome.”

“Yes, but you’re late.”

“I am?” He looked over at the clock.

“Yes, for my lessons.”

Her father looked from the clock to his wife and back down. Instead of pointing out that she was rather expected upstairs, he just smiled. “I believe you are right. But first you pick up those apples.”

As the girl went to work, her mother moved over, kissed her husband and then rearranged his hair.

“Breakfast?” she asked, “I have some honeyed bread… normally.” A glance at her daughter.

The girl’s ears perked up and she looked between the two. Her cheeks reddened.

Her father burst into laughter.

“I suppose I’ll have some another time.”

She loved how her father smiled.

And for a moment, there was no world beyond that kitchen.
No merchants waiting at the front door. No ledgers and no servants carrying messages.

Just breakfast.

[lum]

Her father reached down touching one of the tiny bumps on her head.

“You’ve been growing.”

“I have not!”

“You have. I can see it.”

“Mom??”

Her mother glanced at them. “Mm… she has.”

The girl looked betrayed.

Her father laughed. “Well, come on then, … -little- lady.”

“Do I have to?”

“Eh, you wanted your lesson.”

“I also wanted honey cakes.”

Her father faintly smirked, then nodded gravely. “Ah, I see. Then I fear your education has already begun…, right here, at th-”

Her mother pointed a spoon at him.

“Don’t encourage her.”

“I would never.”

“You are encouraging her -right- now.”

The girl giggled looking between her parents.

Then her father motioned her to follow him and she went up the stairs for her lessons.

Her mother was standing over the stove, briefly watching them go before she carried on with her work.

And the kitchen went on being warm.


The study was considerably colder than the kitchen.
And she disliked it.

But it wasn’t just the cold itself. The study also smelled of things that meant she was expected to behave properly. Leather, dust, and that faint bitter smell of whatever father and his clients time to time drank. She was here now to work with ink and parchment, and to wield a quill with excellent grip and appropriate cornering angles.

“Sit.”

She climbed into the chair opposing his seat at his dark wooden desk.

Then her father sat down behind the desk and opened a ledger.

“What did we learn about yesterday?”

She thought about it.

“That merchants lie.”

He stared at her.

“That… is not what I taught you.”

“But you said that. You said that merchants lie.”

He cleared his throat. “Ah… yes, I did say that.”

“See? I remembered it!”

He leaned back, a moment thoughtful.

“Very well then, let us see if you remember the rest.”

He offered her a little problem that involved three crates, different weights, prices in more than one currency and transport costs. Then he observed her solving it, which didn’t happen without effort, but she did came close. However, there was one number in the ledger that didn’t make sense, and she looked up without a word.

He smiled. “Never ever be afraid to tell someone that something doesn’t make sense.”

“Even to someone important?”

He nodded. “Especially then.”

Her father closed the ledger.

“That will do for today.”

The girl looked from him back at the ledger.

“B… but I almost had it!”

He smiled. “I know you did.”

“So… I could finish it?”

He nodded at her. “I know that too.”

She looked up at him with suspicion.

“Th… then why can’t I…?”

“Because if you finish every problem I give you this quickly, I’ll have to step up and have to try and find you harder exercises.”

She considered his answer, then nodded firmly. “That sounds good.”

He smiled and rose from his chair.

“Now come along. We have a visitor.”

“A merchant?”

“Yes.”

“Someone here in Waterdeep?”

He stopped halfway toward the door and looked at her.

“Well, we are in Waterdeep, aren’t we?”

She blinked. “Oh, I just thought maybe…”

“What? That we’d step onto my ship and sail out?”

“Eh… no…”

“No indeed. And besides. You like the kitchen too much.”

“I do!”

“I know!”

He opened the door.

She climbed down from the chair and followed him.

[lum]

The corridor outside the study was already starting to fill with the sounds of the household waking properly. Footsteps moved across the wooden floorboards below. Someone was carrying a crate. Somewhere, a servant called for another pair of hands. Also… the smell of breakfast had spread beyond the kitchen now, mixing with the colder smells of the house.

Her father walked quickly and she had to hurry to keep up.

“Father?”

“Yes?”

“So who is the visitor this time?”

“A man named Master-”

He stopped.

His daughter nearly walked into him.

He looked down at her.

“And before you ask, no, you may not interrupt us.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were thinking about it.”

She blushed a bit.

Her father sighed. “Come here.”

She stepped closer.

He straightened the collar of her dress and gently brushed a stray strand of hair away from her forehead.

“There, that is better.”

“Why do I have to behave and look ok?”

“Well, because we’re receiving a guest.”

She looked down at herself.

“But it’s just a dress.”

“Indeed,” he smiled. “You don’t need expensive things to make a good impression.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Your semblance and attitude is both important. You need to be clean, but also attentive and polite.”

“Even when people lie to you?”

He smiled. “Even then.”

She nodded solemnly.

“And what else?” he asked.

“Don’t interrupt?”

“Yes, and we don’t interrupt.”

He glanced a moment in the direction of the dining room.

“And we don’t steal honey cakes either.”

“You steal them all the time too, father!”

He scratched his neck. “Erhmm… those are for visitors.”

She looked up at him. “Nice try. And stealing isn't part of making a good impression.”

He chuckled softly. “No,” he agreed. “And your mother would appreciate if we didn’t.”

She giggled.

They reached the stairs.

Before going down, her father paused.

“One last thing.”

“What?”

“If he asks you a question, you answer it.”

She looked puzzled.

"Most people think children should be seen and not heard."

"Do you?"

He smiled.

"I think children should speak when they have something worth saying. Today, if our guest asks you a question, answer it honestly."

Then they went downstairs together.

[lum]

The front hall was already alive with activity.

One of the servants hurried by hauling a crate of ledgers. Another struggled with a roll of important carpets almost twice his height and called out for assistance to his buddy. Someone had left open the double front doors as a crisp autumn air rolled in along with distant sounds of Waterdeep awakening.

Already wagons rumbled over the cobblestones outside. Vendors discussed their wares, and somewhere farther away a couple of seagulls protested loudly over the harbor as trash was being removed.

Her father scarcely noticed as they took a left and went toward the front office near the street. Down the hallway waited a man.

“Good morning, Master Harl.”

“Ah, good morning to you as well, sir.”

“Did the wagon from Daggerford arrive?”

“Right after dawn he did.”

Her father nodded. “Excellent.”

He motioned to follow. Every servant he passed greeted him with genuine respect rather than fear. He greeted them by name.

And she noticed that. Her father always remembered names.

He showed them into the large front office and whispered to her : “Curious?”

She shook her head.

“Maybe a little.”

He smiled. “Good enough. And remember.”

“Polite, listen before speaking because people always tell you more than they mean to.”

For the briefest moment, he looked almost surprised.

Then an unmistakable smile spread across his face.

"Did I teach you that?"

She shook her head and then went in as well.

Master Harl was a broad-shouldered man in his fifties, dressed in a travelling cloak still carrying the scent of road dust. His beard was carefully trimmed despite the journey, and a silver ring bearing the emblem of his guild rested on one thick finger.

Her father offered his hand to him.

“Master Corvin,” their visitor nodded as he clasped her father’s forearm.

Only then did the visitor notice the little girl standing beside her father.

His eyebrows rose ever so slightly.

"Well now."

He inclined his head.

"And who might this young lady be?"

The girl glanced at her father.

He gave the smallest nod.

She straightened almost imperceptibly.

"I am Lilium," she said, giving her name with all the seriousness an eight-year-old could muster.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Harl."

"The pleasure is mine."

He looked toward her father.

"You've been teaching her."

"I've been trying."

"I can see that."

Her father gestured toward one of the chairs. Then turned to Lilium.

"Would you do us a favor?"

She nodded eagerly.

"Would you ask Cook whether he might spare some tea for our guest?"

"I can."

"And?"

She thought.

"...I'll… ask politely."

“Excellent.”

She disappeared from the room.

The merchant watched the door close behind her.

Then he chuckled.

"Remarkable child."

Her father did not answer immediately.

Instead, he looked at the closed door with unmistakable affection.

"Oh I know."

[lum]

Just like her father she greeted the servants and she stopped like maybe three counts because one of the stable boys had found a kitten. But other than that she moved through the building rather swiftly. A basket of honey bread was conveniently located on her path.

She was however careful enough not to run.

Running indoors was how children lost their teeth her mother had insisted.

She had never understood the connection, but… she had decided not to test the theory.
However, halfway to the solar room she nearly collided with Mara, one of the maids.

"Easy there, little mistress."

"Sorry!"

Mara balanced the basket of fresh linens on one hip.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"Father needs tea."

Mara smiled.

"Of course he does."

Mara fixed Lilium’s hair and waved her off.

Lilium smiled and moments later reached the upstairs. She went into the solar room. Cook was there and just stirring a pot as he turned around.

“Ah, Lilium. Your father sent you.”

She blinked. “How did you know?”

He smirked, “"Because if you wanted tea, you'd have tried making it yourself."

Lilium folded her arms.

“I would have done a good job.”

“I’m sure you would have.”

She blushed a little. “... eventually.”

Cook reached for a small tin and opened it. Immediately the room filled with the scent of dried bergamot and black tea.

Lilium leaned forward.

"This one?"

"This one."

"Not the one in the blue tin?"

"The blue tin is from Amn."

"And this one?"

"Tethyr."

“Why does father like the Tethyrian better?”

Cook smiled as he measured the leaves.

"Because it reminds him of the first caravan he ever led as a bodyguard.”

Lilium frowned.

“I never heard that story.”

“Perhaps he’ll tell you in time.”

She looked at the tea. "So how can it remind him?"

Cook poured hot water into the pot.

"Because people remember with more than their noses."

Lilium thought about that.

She wasn't entirely sure she understood.

As she was standing there Cook sniffed dramatically.

"Hmm."

Lilium blinked.

"W-... what?"

"You've stolen honey again."

She instinctively covered her mouth.

"How do you always know?"

He tapped the side of his nose.

"Because I've worked in catering business longer than you've been alive."

She frowned then.

"But I brushed my teeth."

"Yes. With mint."

"...Oh."

Cook chuckled as he reached for the tea caddy.

"Don't worry. I won't tell your mother."

Lilium brightened.

"Really?"

"No."

She groaned.

[lum]

Cook handed her the polished silver tray.

Which… proved to be considerably heavier than she had anticipated.

“Careful.”

“I am!”

“No, you are trying to be.”

She frowned and looked down at the tray.

The porcelain cups rattled ever so slightly.

Cook adjusted the balance with practiced hands.

“There. That may help.”

She inhaled… exhaled.

And the rattling stopped.

Cook smiled. “That is better.”

Lilium looked pleased with herself.

“And before you are off, remember.”

“Remember what?”

“The tea is important…”

She nodded.

Cook motioned her to the door as he continued, “... but the guest is even more important.”

She frowned looking down the stairs a little unsure.

“Even if the tea spills?”

“Yes. Even then.”


The girl had no idea of the number of lessons she had absorbed today, but she made it safely back and with her elbow she nudged the office door open.

That silver tray suddenly felt twice as heavy.

Master Harl was saying something about river tolls, but both men looked up as she entered.

Her father smiled at her without pausing the conversation.

That had to mean she was doing this correctly!

She crossed the room carefully. Not too quick, not too slow.

Just as her mother had shown her.

She stopped beside the visitor. Cook had told her guests came first.

With all her ‘might’ she lifted the tray offering him the first cup.

Master Harl accepted it with both hands.

"Thank you… Lady Lilium."

Her ears twitched. Nobody had ever called her that before.

She glanced instinctively at her father.

Her father didn’t correct Harl and silently allowed her to enjoy it, even as they weren’t nobility.

Instead, he simply smiled.

And for reasons she couldn't quite explain, that made her stand just a little straighter.


"Tell me, Lilium... have you ever left Waterdeep?" Master Harl asked before sipping his tea.

She shook her head.

“No, sir.”

“Not even to Daggerford?”

She shook no again.

He smiled at her. “Well, maybe you should. The world is much larger than these walls."

She thought about that.

Larger than Waterdeep? That seemed impossible.

“How large?”

“How large is what?”

“How large is the world?”

Master Harl laughed.

"My dear, I've crossed half the Sword Coast, and I still hear stories of places I've never seen."

She goes very quiet.

She wouldn’t live long enough to see the entire world?

It was as if she realized for the first time there were places beyond the city that her father talked about in his ledgers which were further away than she could imagine.

But on a map they had all looked so close together!

To her, cities, forests, oceans and mountains were all just names that until now had only existed as words on parchment.

Well.

Until now.

[lum]

The building had settled into its usual rhythm later on the afternoon. And Lilium had quietly slipped back into her father's study.

She stood before the great map on the wall. Carefully, she reached up and touched the tiny painted dot beside the word 'Waterdeep'.

Then her finger wandered south. To Daggerford.

And farther below. To Baldur’s Gate.

Meanwhile in her head she did some math. Counting travel days instead of miles.

She smiled.

The world suddenly seemed far bigger than it had that morning.

Her finger kept wandering.

“... Amn…”

“... Tethyr…”

She smiled when she reached that name.

“Tea…”

She leaned closer, her eyes squinting at the dot that said ‘Castle Tethyr’.

So that's where it came from. Had to be.

And suddenly the tea wasn’t tea anymore. It came from a place. A real place like Waterdeep. Now she wondered what it looked like.

Once more she took a step back, beholding the tiny painted lines stretched between the dots and the names.

The roads…

In her head said lines turned into journeys, and into time.

Her gaze shifted to the lower part of the map again.

Somewhere along those lines, her father had once walked.

She sighed.

To him this map must look less like parchment, and more like memories.

Lots and lots of them.

One day hers too.


She slipped from the study before anyone could discover she had been there and wandered to the warehouse.

Entering that place it smelled nothing like the kitchen.

For instance, there was no fresh bread. No stew.

Instead it smelled of rope and timber, and of burning lamp oil and spices.

A stack of wool bales leaned against one wall, while barrels taller than her stood neatly arranged beside them.

She walked further until she reached the crates. Each and every one of them carried labels she couldn’t entirely read yet as some were in foreign languages. The crates also carried strange marks in red and blue, or white and yellow, and some carried evidence of the journey they had seen so far. She could almost see how they had been handled and treated on their journey.

Her hand brushed one of their surfaces.

To everyone else these were shipments.

To her… these were stories waiting to be told and to be unpacked.

“Those came by ship.”

Lilium jumped slightly as Porter entered the place behind her.

“From where?”

“Chult.”

“Is… is that farther away than Tethyr?”

“Oh yes, much farther. You want to see what’s inside?”

She nodded rapidly.

Porter smiled and opened a crate, fetching a carved wooden elephant from it.

Lilium looked quite interested.

“People live there who make these?”

“Of course.”

“Are there also children there?”

“Why wouldn’t there be?”

Lilium’s gaze shifted to another crate. “Can you…”

“Certainly.”

He handed her a polished seashell almost as large as both her hands.

She held it to one ear.

"...It sounds like the sea."

Porter smiled. “Some say it does. This one comes from the Trackless Sea.”

From the next crate Porter fetched a tiny brass bell from Lantan.

It gave a sharp, melodic chime like a bright, metallic heartbeat against the quiet walls of the warehouse. It vibrated surprisingly long after she stopped moving it.

She wasn’t interested however in the value of these goods.

She was interested in the stories behind them, and how they got here.

[lum]

The little brass bell chimed softly as Porter placed it gently back in the crate.

“I really like that one,” Lilium admitted.

“So do I.”

“Does it really come from Lantan? I saw it on the map and it’s really far.”

Porter nodded, “They made it there.”

Once again she traced a single finger over the tiny engraving around its rim.

“So somebody made this.”

“Yes, I believe the Bottlesocket family did.”

“... and then someone moved it on a ship…”

Porter smiled, ”Yes, on the Coral Princess.”

“... and then that ship came here where somebody brought it to us.”

“Aye, the Firehands moved it here.”

“... so, do you think I can keep it?”

Porter laughed soft, “I don’t think that was the merchant’s intention.”

She considered that.

“It travelled a really long way.. I wonder how many people seen this and…”

"Everything worth having usually has to come from far way,” a familiar voice sounded from the doorway.

Lilium turned around.

"Father!"

He stood leaning lightly against the frame, his merchant’s coat already removed, watching the two of them with quiet amusement.

"I wondered where you had disappeared to."

"I… I was learning."

"So I see."

Porter inclined his head. "Begging your pardon, sir. I thought the young mistress might enjoy seeing a few of today's arrivals."

"And was he right?" her father asked her.

Lilium nodded enthusiastically.

"There are children in Chult!"

Her father blinked.

"I should certainly hope so. Otherwise they’d stop making things.”

She hurried over to him, barely remembering not to run indoors.

"And they carved the elephant! And someone sailed all the way here! And the bell came from Lantan and—"

She stopped to catch her breath.

Her father smiled.

"One discovery at a time, little lady."

She pointed toward the crates.

"Can we go there someday?"

He followed her gaze. “Where to?”

“To... to… to all of it!”

He smiled.

"That's quite an ambitious itinerary."

Lilium looked from one crate to another.

"I want to see Chult."

She pointed again.

"And Tethyr."

"...And Lantan."

Her father folded his arms.

"Those are three very different journeys."

"Have you been there?"

He nodded once.

"I've seen Tethyr. It-"

"And Lantan?"

"Only its harbor as we di-"

"Chult?"

He smiled.

"Not yet."

Lilium looked genuinely surprised.

“So… there are places even you haven’t seen yet?”

“I’m afraid there are more places in the world than I have seen.”

She frowned.

"Even for grown-ups?"

He chuckled.

"Especially for grown-ups."

“Fortunately for children, books can have them go to places long before they actually do.”

“Books....?”

Then, a dreadful realization crossed her face.

“Oh… oh, right, -those- books…”

“Yes. The ones you still have to read.”

[lum]

Books were the carts and the ships taking the reader anywhere. At least that is what her father claimed.

However…

She looked up at him.

"If I read three chapters..."

"Mm?"

"...could I come with you to the docks tomorrow?"

Her father looked thoughtfully at Porter.

Porter immediately found something fascinating about the ceiling.

"Three chapters?"

Lilium nodded vigorously.

“Properly. And I get to decide which.”

She sighed.

“Okay. Properly, and you say which.”

He smiled.

“Alright, we’ll see then.”


By the time evening settled over the house, the bustle of merchants, servants and deliveries had slowly faded.

Somewhere below, someone laughed.

A final door closed.

The familiar creak of footsteps crossed the landing before disappearing again.

Lilium sat cross-legged upon her bed, a thick book resting in her lap while a single candle flickered on a little table beside her.

That first chapter had taken her longer than expected. The second had been easier.

Now she was somewhere near the end of the third.

Her lips moved ever so slightly as she read.

“... and then the caravan crossed the hills by sunset…”

She paused, went back a line and read it again.

“... by sunset where they made camp.”

"There."

She smiled to herself.

That one hadn't beaten her.

A finger traced beneath the next sentence as she carefully sounded out another unfamiliar word.

She frowned. “The… es… esca… hmm…”

“Escarp… escarpment.” She read the rest of the sentence and then frowned.

That didn't sound like a place anyone sensible would build a road.

She made a little note in the margin of a scrap of parchment lying beside her.

Ask Father

Then she continued reading.

Outside her window, Waterdeep had grown quiet.

But inside her mind, the caravan kept moving.

The candle had burned lower than she realized. Wax pooled around its base.

She looked at the remaining pages.

Only a little farther.


Her mother was making one final round through the upper floor before retiring herself. As she passed Lilium's room, she slowed. A thin ribbon of warm candlelight stretched beneath the door.

She smiled and called softly through the door : “Still awake?”

Nothing but silence.

Carefully, she pushed the door open just enough to peek inside.

The candle beside the bed had burned almost to its end, its tiny flame flickering beside the sleeping little figure beneath the blankets.

When the woman moved closer she noticed how one arm rested protectively across the open book, and how Lilium’s cheek pressed against the final page as though she had simply decided to rest her eyes for a moment.

She tilted her head to read the scrap of parchment lying beside her daughter.

Ask father.

She couldn't help but laugh under her breath.

"So you really did read them."

She stepped quietly towards the bed. Gently lifting the book from beneath her daughter was a challenge in itself. Lilium murmured something entirely unintelligible and instinctively reached for the book as though it were the railing of a ship.

The woman smiled and whispered, “Tomorrow then,” and carefully pulled the blanket over her daughter’s shoulders.

Her mother leaned down and kissed her gently on the forehead between the bumps that one day would become horns.

"Sleep well, little explorer."

[lum]

Those horns, once little bumps hidden beneath unruly curls, had now begun to curve proudly from her head. And said curls, once a rather chaotic texture, had turned into slightly more manageable hair thanks to the proper styling techniques of her mother.

Her horns were still too small to impress anyone. They were, however, just large enough to catch on ropes.


“Ow…”

Lilium rubbed one horn while disentangling herself from yet another coil of dock line.

A nearby sailor laughed.

“Again, little mistress?”

“It attacked me!”

“What? The rope?”

“Like it knew what it was doing.”

The sailor laughed again.

Lilium answered with an impish grin.


The harbor smelled of tar, wet timber, salt, fresh fish and a hundred spices from places she'd only read about years earlier. Back then there had been just books, and her father’s wall. At the time that had been enough.

But after her first visit at the docks and her father’s business…?

Well, nowadays it was enough to say her world came to Waterdeep’s harbor every single morning.

“So… six crates from Tethyr… four barrels from Mintarn and… hah! A bell crate from Lantan!”

The sailor chuckled. “Your father knows his business.”

Lilium smiled back at him. “He knows quality. That’s why some of these goods will keep arriving here.”

“For profit too, likely.”

“Of course! Otherwise father wouldn’t be a merchant!”

“Aye, fair enough.”

Lilium looked around a moment.

Dockworkers shouted as another vessel eased against the pier. A little further away crates were lowered into waiting wagons. Above her a pair of gulls argued noisily over an abandoned fish head.

Then, almost without thinking, her eyes searched the quay.

Something was missing…


She craned her head.

“... has mother not come yet?”

The sailor glanced toward the street.

“I haven’t seen her all morning.”

“Huh? That’s odd.”

And to her, it was.

Her mother almost always came to the docks whenever a shipment of fresh spices arrived. She claimed merchants couldn't be trusted to tell cinnamon from cassia without someone who actually cooked.

Lilium grinned to herself. How often hadn’t her mother proven them wrong?

She looked at the street too.

Perhaps she’d simply been delayed. Food crisis at the business, or something.


Her father looked over the manifest one final time before folding it neatly beneath his arm.

"Lilium."

She looked up from the stack of marked crates. “Mm?”

“I have a small errand, if you like to.”

Her eyes brightened. “I am!”

He smiled. “I know.”

He reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a neatly folded letter, sealed with dark green wax bearing the simple mark of the trading house.

She accepted it with both hands. “Delivery, to whom?”

"This one is for Master Edrin, the shipwright on Ship Street."

She nodded.

“It’s the building with that crooked chimney.”

“Okay, and after that?”

He considered for a moment.

"If the baker on Snail Street still has those oat rolls your mother likes..."

He left the sentence unfinished.

Her smile widened. “So she still hasn’t figured out his secret ingredient.”

Her father chuckled. “Or she takes pleasure in enjoying someone else’s innovations.”

“Okay, and then I come straight back.”

“Straight back, yes.”

She grinned.

"...Unless I get attacked by another rope."

He winked. "I'm afraid the streets are somewhat safer."

[lum]

Waterdeep never seemed to stand still.

The docks gave way to broad streets crowded with fishmongers, wagon drivers and laborers whose voices mingled into one great, familiar hum. The city itself was divided in several wards, but the borders weren’t really physical anymore as most of the interior walls had been torn down since long.

There was still a distinction on who lived and went were, however.

The nobility of the city was old and powerful. Most of the grand walled villas and sprawling estates were primarily located within the Sea Ward and the North Ward, both at the northern side of the city. The Dock Ward and the Trades Ward were where she spent most of her days, and where her father conducted most of his business.

Lilium walked with surprising confidence.

She knew which alleys Father preferred. Which crossings to avoid when wagons were unloading. Which merchants liked to chat long enough to make a ten-minute errand last half an hour.

The fishwives already knew her.

One called as she passed, "Your father still buying every decent barrel before anyone else can?"

She nodded. "He says it's because he plans ahead."

The woman smiled. "I'll wager he does."

Further along, an elderly cooper raised a hand. “Morning, little horns.”

She touched one absent-mindedly and narrowed her eyes a tad. "They're getting bigger."

"They'd better stop before I have to widen my doorway."

Lilium laughed and waved.


To her the city felt... familiar now.

When she was younger it had seemed impossibly large. But nowadays she knew where Ship Street bent toward the harbor. She knew which fountain always had children climbing its edge.

And she knew -exactly- where to buy her mother's favorite oat rolls.

She paused outside the bakery from which warm air drifted through the open door carrying the scent of fresh bread, toasted oats, butter, and… a hint of honey.

It made her mouth water. Nearly enough to produce excessive saliva.

She pushed the door open, already planning an explanation why there might be one roll missing by the time she returned.

The little Lantan bell above the door announced her arrival before she could.

A warmth, similar to her mother’s kitchen, wrapped around her instantly.

It wasn’t just the brick ovens’, but also from rising dough, roasted oats and melting butter.

When she looked over at the counter she noticed how flour lazily floated through the air, the pale dust caught in rays of sunlight pouring through the storefront glass.

"Well now," came a cheerful voice. "If it isn't Master Corvin's greatest customer."

Lilium turned her head.

“Uhh.. I’m not?”

The baker’s wife laughed. “No?”

She shook her head with complete sincerity. “Father pays…”

"Ah…" She wiped her hands on her apron, "...then I suppose you're merely his representative."

She considered that and then nodded. “Yes, that sounds more important.”

“It most certainly is,” the woman said with a smile as she reached beneath the counter and produced a tray of freshly baked oat rolls.

"They've only just come out."

Lilium inhaled dramatically deep.

“I can tell.”

The woman tapped the side of her nose.

"I imagine you can smell them from halfway down the street."

Lilium blushed a little. “Huh… maybe…?”

The woman chuckled.

“So, how many?”

Lilium answered immediately. “Six-”

“Six?”

“Huuh.. no… seven I mean.”

The baker’s wife smiled knowingly. “One for the road?”

Lilium looked scandalized.

“I would never lie…”

“I didn’t bring up anything about lying.”

Lilium hung her head. “Father asked for six, but could you please wrap seven as I haven’t eaten yet and still have some errands to run.”

The woman laughed so hard she had to steady herself against the counter.

"You're your father's daughter."

Lilium frowned.

"I thought people usually said I was Mother's."

"Oh, in all the ways that matter, you are."

She wrapped seven oat rolls in brown paper and tied the parcel neatly with twine.

Then, after a brief glance toward the street to make sure Lilium wasn't looking too closely, she slipped an eighth -a smaller one- into the bundle.

"There."

Lilium narrowed her eyes.

"...That's heavier."

"It must be the twine."

Lilium stared at her.

The baker's wife smiled innocently back.

[lum]

On the streets she learned just as much as in her father’s study. She understood they were a vital organ of every city. Without them no transportation of people and goods. It was as simple as that. Empty streets asked why there was no business.

And a single lantern in the darkness? Sometimes trouble hangs a lantern so you'd stop looking at the shadows.

Father’s advice.

She never forget about that one.

As she turned toward Ship Street, the warm smell of fresh bread slowly gave way to tar, fresh-cut timber and the sharp scent of pitch.

And the cheerful chatter of the market was replaced by the steady rhythm of work. Hammers struck nails. Saws bit through oak. And somewhere out of view, a man shouted measurements that disappeared beneath the groan of a crane lifting a mast into place.

Lilium smiled.

To most people this was noise, but to her it was the sound of something being built.

Briefly she touched the letter safely inside her satchel and continued down the street.

This corner of Waterdeep had become almost as familiar as the kitchen at home.

Sometimes she wondered whether her father had walked these very same streets at her age, carrying messages for someone else, and dreaming of places far far beyond the harbor.


The yard behind the house announced itself long before she reached its frontgate.

Pulleys squealed as heavy beams swung through the air. Thick ropes creaked under the weight of fresh-cut timber. Sharp echoing clangs indicated a blacksmith was on the site as well, likely hammering out iron bolts or anchor chains.

Above it all came the constant chorus of working men, some calling out coordinates for the timber they were heaving. Their voices overlapped with the clatter of tools and equipment.

The sound of the tidal water lapping against the wooden pylons disappeared beneath the industry.

Lilium paused for a moment.

She liked this place.

Well, it wasn’t tidy and it wasn’t quiet. But everything and -everyone- out here had a purpose. Every plank, every rope, every hammer strike and every bolt brought a customer closer to the sea.

And from there…

… closer to the rest of the world.

She smiled to herself before slipping through the open gate.


But Lilium had barely taken five steps into the yard before a broad voice rolled across the noise.

“Hold it right there!”

Startled, she stopped immediately.

From her left, a large man emerged from between stacks of oak planks, brushing sawdust from his leather apron. His beard had gathered nearly as much of it as his sleeves, and one sleeve was rolled to the elbow, revealing forearms that looked as though they'd been carved from the same hard timber he worked.

His eyes drifted to the satchel at her side.

“I take it you’ve come here with business? And you’re not sneaking in?”

Lilium nodded. “I have a letter from Father, to be delivered here.”

He held up a hand before she could retrieve it.

“First I like to see if you’re paying attention.”

“Huh?”

He folded his arms and looked around the yard. Then he pointed toward the unfinished vessel resting upon its supports.

“What will happen next there?”

Lilium followed his finger.

The hull stood proud upon its cradle, its keel complete and much of its curved framework was already in place. Nearby lay great bent timbers, each marked with charcoal, while several builders measured them against the growing skeleton.

She looked. Really looked.

After a few moments she pointed toward the stack of curved beams.

“Those.”

“What? Those beams?”

She nodded. “They’re not all the same.”

“No?”

"If they were for repairs, you'd have made several alike."

The man’s eyebrows rose slightly.

She motioned. “Each one curves slightly different.”

Her eyes traveled along the ribs already fastened to the keel.

"They're waiting for those."

A nearby carpenter glanced over his shoulder.

"I think the lass passed.”

The large man said nothing, his gaze steady on Lilium.

"So..." Lilium continued, "...you're fitting the next ribs before you start laying more planking."

An apprentice looked over. “How did ya know that??”

Lilium grinned. “Books.”

The large man in front of her wasn’t satisfied yet though.

"And those?" he asked, pointing toward a neat stack of timber beneath a canvas awning. “What are they?”

“That one’s oak.”

“Just by looking at it?”

“And smelling. It doesn’t smell like pine.”

The man gave nothing away.

“Okay okay, the rings are tighter. It means the wood is expensive. Good for the bones of a ship.”

Then Master Edrin barked a laugh.

“I bet your father told you that.”

“He did.”

Master Edrin finally extended his hand to receive the letter.

Only now did Lilium remove the sealed letter from her satchel and place it carefully into his waiting hand.

He looked at the seal before smiling at her.

"I believe you've earned the right to deliver it."

She smiled. “Thank you, Master Edrin. And thanks for the test.”

“Oh, but life will always test you.”

[lum]

The walk home felt shorter now.

Perhaps it was because her belly was no longer empty.

That smell of fresh oat rolls however still lingered beneath the paper parcel tucked beneath her arm.

The afternoon sun had begun to lean westward by the time she arrived. The front hall bustled as always. Servants carrying ledgers crossed paths with hasty merchants. Maids balancing bolts of cloth carefully stepped aside for messengers burdened with armfuls of correspondence. Upon entering she overheard somewhere deeper inside, someone was arguing over the number of barrels that had actually arrived from Daggerford.

She smiled. Everything sounded exactly as it should.

She wandered to the kitchen first.

“... Mother?”

Cook looked up from the chopping board.

“Ah, you’re back?”

“Yes, I was done at the docks and delivered a letter for Father.”

Then she lifted the parcel triumphantly.

"And I got oat rolls."

Cook sniffed dramatically.

"I'd be disappointed if you hadn't."

Lilium looked around.

"...Where's Mother?"

Cook paused only for a heartbeat before returning to his knife.

“Hmm. Upstairs.”

“Oh, is she making something there?”

“No…”

Lilium blinked.

“... uh… but… then why is she upstairs and not here?”

Cook scraped chopped herbs into a waiting pot.

"Because your mother allowed herself an afternoon to rest."

Lilium frowned.

“-My- mother?”

Cook smiled without looking up.

"Every mother gets tired once in a while."

She considered that. To her it just seemed so odd.

Then she nodded slowly.

"Okay… I'll take her the rolls first."

"I think she'd like that."


The upper floor felt strangely quiet.

Usually, around this time of day, her mother would already be downstairs checking supper, tasting sauces, or gently reminding someone that onions browned better with patience than with enthusiasm.

Instead, Lilium found the bedchamber door standing slightly ajar.

She knocked gently.

“Come in.”

Her voice sounded warm as usual. Perhaps a tad more quiet than usual.

“Mother?”

Lilium pushed the door open with one shoulder, balancing the paper parcel in both hands.

Her mother sat in her rocking chair beside the window with a blanket across her lap. A book rested open beside her, though it seemed she had spent more time looking out at the city than reading.

Strange…

As she entered sunlight painted soft golden lines across the entire room.

"There you are," her mother said, smiling.

“I’ve been looking for you, mother.”

“As have I for you.”

Lilium frowned.

“But, you weren’t in the kitchen.”

“And you weren’t at the docks.”

“Eh, no, I was running errands.”

Lilium stepped closer and held out the parcel.

"And I brought these!"

Her mother's eyebrows lifted.

“Oat rolls?”

Lilium leaned closer and lowered her voice conspiratorially.

"...I think the baker's wife put an extra one in."

"Oh?"

Lilium nodded solemnly. "But I don't think she charged Father for it."

Her mother smiled knowingly and then studied her daughter’s face.

“Huh? What?”

“So, seven oatrolls? And you haven’t eaten all this time?”

Her daughter blushed heavily. “Uuh.. uuh…”

That earned a genuine laugh.

Her mother opened the parcel and handed her an oat roll.

Lilium then climbed onto the edge of the bed close to her mother.

For a little while neither of them spoke.

They simply looked out through the open window while Lilium quietly ate her oat roll.

Far below, Waterdeep carried on exactly as it always had.

After a time, Lilium asked quietly, "Were you not feeling well?"

Her mother shook her head.

"No."

"Then why are you resting?"

She reached over and gently brushed one of Lilium's dark strands of hair back behind a horn.

"Because sometimes..."

She searched for the right words.

"...the clever thing isn't working harder."

Lilium listened.

"It's knowing when you've done enough for one day."

It wasn’t particularly something her mother would say.

It sounded like her father though.

But what could she say? I just like it better when you're downstairs?

As if her mother had read her mind, she leaned over and kissed the top of Lilium's head.

"I'll be back in the kitchen tomorrow."

Lilium accepted that answer without another thought.

Of course she would.

Since, tomorrow always came.

[lum]

That morning arrived with rain.

Not the heavy kind that sent people running for shelter, but the gentle yet continous drizzle that painted Waterdeep’s rooftops silver and left the streets smelling of wet stone and fresh earth.

Lilium sat by the window, listening to the familiar sounds of the household and business below as the city slowly woke.

She overheard how someone laughed.

Then a pan clattered.

Someone apologized right after.

She smiled.

Rain or no rain. Mornings were the best.

Especially at home.

She slipped down from the windowsill, dressed quickly, brushed the unruly curls that refused to obey her for more than a few moments, and paused before the little mirror hanging beside her wardrobe.

That girl staring right back at her looked… different.

Not dramatically. No… just older.

Her horns now swept gently backward from her brow, polished smooth from years of her mother's careful hands guiding combs around them.

She thought her face had grown longer, and her shoulders looked straighter.

Lilium turned her head one way. Then the other.

“Hm…”

She was still herself. Just… a next version.

A knock at the door had her startled.

Quickly she buttoned up her blouse.

“Y... yes?”

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Mother.

Lilium grinned to herself.

“Mhmm.”

“Good.”

A pause.

“... may I come in?”

She blinked. Why did her mother suddenly ask that? Usually she just…

“Uh… of course.”

Her mother stepped inside carrying no tray, no basket, not even her apron dusted with flour.

Just herself.

Lilium searched for her mother’s hands. They were empty.

For a moment her mother simply looked back at her.

Lilium tilted her head. "W… what?"

Her mother laughed quietly. "I was only wondering where the little girl went."

Lilium folded her arms. "I'm still here?"

"I know,” her mother said as she stepped closer, "... yet every year she becomes just a little harder to find. But she remains beautiful."

Lilium felt her cheeks warm as her mother gently adjusted a stray curl that had gone rogue.

"Mother..."

"What?"

"You say that every time."

Lilium looked away, pretending sudden interest in the rain beyond the window.

"...Father says beauty isn't nearly as important as character."

Her mother smiled. “He is right you know.”

She gently tapped a finger against Lilium's chest.

"But he always forgets one thing."

"What?"

"Kind people rarely notice they're beautiful."

For once Lilium couldn’t come up with an answer, so she simply settled for the hug her mother offered.

Outside, the rain continued to fall softly against the window.

Inside, neither of them counted time.



The moment Lilium stepped into the corridor, she knew something was different.

Mara, who was usually humming while carrying fresh linens, suddenly became very devoted to dusting off a nearby bookshelf when she saw Lilium.

"Morning, little mistress."

"Morning."

"...Sleep well?"

"I did."

"Good." Mara smiled far too brightly.

Then hurried away before another word could be exchanged.

Lilium watched her disappear around the corner.

"Huh… strange."

She continued downstairs.

Master Harl, friend and colleague of her father, nearly walked straight into her carrying a stack of ledgers.

"Oh! Beg your pardon, Mistress Lilium."

"Morning, Master Harl."

"Lovely weather."

She looked toward the rain beating against the windows. "Is it?"

He followed her gaze. "...No."

He cleared his throat. "I meant... it’s a kind of nourishing weather."

Before she could ask what that meant, he had already continued on his way.

Lilium frowned thoughtfully. People seemed so odd today.

She turned to the large door at her right.

Ah! The kitchen! The kitchen would likely answer her questions.

But instead, as she pushed open the door, it only created more questions.

Cook stood over the largest stove, sleeves rolled to his elbows, stirring three enormous pots that all had heavy lids resting firmly on top.

Not merely lazily resting.

Each lid had been tied down with clean linen cloth as though guarding state secrets. Secured as hell. And more importantly…

Out of her reach!

Lilium looked from the doorway.

"...Cook?"

He looked over with suspicious casualness. "Morning."

"What… are you making?"

"Breakfast. And later for outdoors."

She stared at the three sealed pots.

“Why?”

"Because people generally eat breakfast in the morning."

"I meant..." She pointed. "...why are the lids tied down?"

Cook glanced at the pots.

"Oh. That. Steam."

Lilium slowly folded her arms. “Hah…”

She then nodded, not entirely convinced.

While Cook stirred one pot with exaggerated concentration, Lilium took a cautious step towards the nearest lid.

Cook didn't even look up as he said, "I wouldn't.”

"Why not??"

"Trade secret."

She frowned. "You don't have trade secrets."

"I do today."

Lilium narrowed her eyes. "...You’re being… suspicious."

"I've been called worse."

Before she could investigate further however, footsteps entered from the hall.