The next morning found her on the lawn with the others having tea as a yard picnic.
"The elusive Miss Elphaba!" Tibbett plopped beside her with some fanfare. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your rare presence?"
"Galinda compelled me, I'm afraid."
"Ah. Well then, to Miss Galinda." He raised his teacup in mock salute across her to her roommate on the opposite side.
"Here, here," Fiyero seconded. "An impressive feat she's managed, indeed." His soft, honest smile warmed his already handsome face with magnetic allure. Why he would chose a falsely charming version over the genuine article, she'd never know. It was certainly the more attractive of the two.
She found herself actually returning it despite herself. Or was that the delirious happiness still bubbling inside her from the previous night just searching for a reason to escape?
"You have such a beautiful smile," he offered, but before she could reply, Pfannee snapped at her.
"Where have you been, anyway?" The ugly sulk in the pretty girl's face undid all her painted efforts, and Elphaba ignored the daggers hurled from those eyes in the far corner.
"Reading," she said in time with Nessa and Galinda. She turned to them, surprised.
"What? You're very predictable," her sister supplied.
Galinda looked down, a telltale sign of a secret if you knew her well enough, though she doubted self-involved Pfannee did.
The boys shared a look, and Elphaba clarified, "Magazines. Though I'd much prefer actual literature. Why one is forbidden and not the other, I couldn't begin to guess."
"Biscuits?" The munchkin boy passed around a tin, and when her roommate did not take one, he leaned toward her. "None for you, Miss Galinda? I thought these your favorite."
"I'm not hungry."
"Not ill, I hope."
"No. Not ill." But she did not elaborate, and he didn't press the issue. Elphaba took her hand with a concerned expression. Her friend smiled and squeezed hard. "I'm perfectly fine. Promise."
"For you, Miss Elphaba?"
"No, thank you."
"Watching your figure?" Pfannee snapped, which earned her a bemused expression.
"Yes. Because I'm the vain one of the group."
"Or in any need of watching her figure," Fiyero added quietly. Pfannee blushed, and took to glaring at the flowerbed.
"My friends, all dear or soon to be, how does the afternoon find you?" They all turned to see a tall, thin, and flamboyantly dressed man stride across the yard toward them. "I do apologize for my delay. You see, I encountered storms and enemies, and while I can dispatch one with ease, I am somewhat powerless over the other."
Tibbett stood to clasp the boy's hand. "May I present to you, Captain Crope Spaccone, swashbuckling pirate extraordinaire."
He dipped an elaborate bow, the ruffles on his shirt catching the wind. "I see I have missed the company of four remarkable beauties. I hope you gents will not be too disappointed that I plan to steal them all away from you."
"Good luck." Tibbett rejoined. They seemed old friends. Had they worked together long? Or did their similar height and easy natures bestow on them a false fraternity?
"And these beauties? Who might they be?"
Crope made a show of meeting each lady with a blustery compliment and a smarmy kiss to their hand. It should have been obnoxious, but something about the charismatic boy made the melodrama an ironic gesture. The light teasing played into his undeniable charisma, and even she immediately liked the boy.
"And this lovely lass? I'd fight the seven seas anew for a chance to kiss such a delicate hand."
Pfannee fluttered her lashes at the flattery, her prince long forgotten. With a coquettish toss of her hair, she said, "It is a pleasure to meet such an adventurous man. Please tell us all of your conquests."
Elphaba snorted. He no doubt had conquests aplenty, though none that the girls would care to hear about.
He turned to her, and blinked. "And where have you been all my life? You-"
She was surprised it had taken this long to get a reaction to her skin color. She laughed at his pause. "Have I stumped you then? No pretty words of flattery?"
"Hardly. Rendered me speechless by your beauty. Tibbett, old chap, I am definitely stealing your seat."
Tibbett obliged, dropping happily to lounge on the ground at Galinda's feet. He leaned back, tipping his head at the blonde. "I told you he'd oust me."
She peered down at him, her blonde curls bobbing to curtain them from view. Tibbett grinned up at her, and Elphaba arched an eyebrow at the easy familiarity between them. It seemed she wasn't the only one in need of confession.
"So, my angel, how long have you ladies been deprived of my presence."
After a pause, Elphaba blinked. "Oh, me? A day or two."
"You play coy well, my dear." He draped an arm artfully on the back of his chair, turning sidewise to recline. "I shall have to disabuse you of that."
She cackled at his roguish antics. "Shall you?"
"Of course, my goddess."
"So I've been promoted? And in just a few words, no less." He leaned in with a smoky smile, and she fought another laugh.
"Shall we see what a few more might do, then?"
"Tell us of your antics on the sea, Captain," Fiyero bit out, and both she and Crope turned at the uncharacteristic vitriol.
"Since you asked so nicely," he lifted an eyebrow to indicate the unusual tension, before resuming his flourishing grins. "I have just come from the Shining Sea, on my quest for…nobly gotten goods, of course."
Pfannee tittered at his wicked grin.
"We ran into some fellow associates on a quest for cursed gold, which they believed us to possess. Sadly, in error." He flourished a wrist. "An error I was forced to disabuse them of."
"Did you fight them?" Nessa's eyes round, clearly spellbound.
"But of course, young lass. I lost three good men, but I gained several more good trunks, so I consider it a time well spent."
"And these trunks were full of gold?"
Even his nod dripped with grandiosity.
"How do you know they were not cursed as well?"
"Oh, they are." He leaned in, and the others matched his angle. "But as the clever pirate I am, I traded the cursed gold for more advantageous goods."
He artfully lured them into questions that led to more spellbinding stories of his piracy, and she had to admire his storytelling prowess. His well-crafted pauses drew them literally to the edge of their seats. Every so often, he would punctuate the tale with a ribald compliment just skirting the edge of gentlemanliness, usually directed at her, as the closest woman.
"Though not as dashingly beddable a damsel as one might meet here." He tossed her a wink and resumed before she could respond.
Her eyes flicked up to catch Fiyero's surprising frown. She'd been wrong. Not everyone had been on the edge of his seat. She wondered what would make the amicable prince so dissatisfied with the preening pirate.
"You aren't listening, doll?"
She turned to him, bemused that Crope had even noticed with the others hanging on each syllable. "And?"
"Oh, I am wounded!" Her lips pressed thin in withheld amusement. "Shall I find other ways to garner your attention?" He flashed a wicked smile and snatched her hand to press kisses in a line up her arm.
She threw her head back, cackling, as he continued his bawdy assault. "Stop, sir, before I can no longer breathe."
She felt his grin in the crook of her elbow. "I admit, I have never had a lady react to my attention with quite such a reaction. Enthusiasm, certainly, but never so…rambunctiously."
He released her with a laugh of his own, and a bold leer. She gathered herself, the remains of her laughter still quaking, until over his shoulder she caught sight of a pair of dark brown eyes.
A very unamused pair of eyes.
She stopped laughing at once, but Avaric did not approach. She offered a shy smile, her mind drawn immediately to their last parting. The intensity of his expression reached her from across the yard.
She was surprised the others didn't remark on it, but they had moved on to another story from Crope.
She didn't understand his refusal to be seen, but she honored it, keeping her smile covert. He stared at her coldly.
She frowned. Had she done something to offend him? Did he regret the previous night, or perhaps blame her for whatever guilt or dissatisfaction plagued him? She knew he'd felt badly about the horse, but foal and mare were doing well. No one was the worse off. Why the guilt?
Or did he not share the sentiment? Did he regret…her?
Even as the worries swirled in her head, she refused to fidget. If he were angry, she could do little to placate him. Best to wait until they could speak.
Reluctantly, she drew her eyes away and tried to focus on Crope's story. She resolved to sneak away to the stables at the first availability, promise to Galinda be damned.
Sensing her discomfort, Crope kept his interactions more tamed. She forced a smile. And if her eyes kept dipping back to the treeline, searching for a face that had gone, she played it off as admiring the scenery.