The Frostbeards were cordial as always when Rurik opened the door, and before Cerys could so much as tell him why she was there, he invited her in.
"You'll have to bear with us, though. We're just in the middle of preparing lunch," Rurik said, as he led her through the bright and airy hall. The walls were painted a comforting shade of magnolia, both more subtle and more refreshing than Falkrun's disagreeable taste in yellow.
As she strode in tow, following Rurik as he led her through to the kitchen, past numerous framed documents hanging upon the walls. From what she could gather, they were certificates of some sort. She felt it safe to assume they were bakery-related.
The hall gave way to a generous kitchen, filled with the cloying scent of freshly baked cakes with a hint of vanilla and cinnamon. Thoradin stood behind the counter, cutting sandwiches into triangles, though he looked up as Rurik entered, Cerys right behind him. With a nod to Cerys, he inclined his head towards Rurik in curiosity.
"Look who popped in for a visit," he said. Thoradin barely had time to look up before Rurik followed up his own statement. "It's Miss Jones!"
"So it is," Thoradin said. "Have you had lunch, Miss Jones?"
"I…" Cerys paused. Come to think of it, she could not remember eating anything all day. "I don't believe I have."
"Don't you worry, we'll sort you out, Miss Jones, won't we dear?" Rurik asked, glancing to Thoradin who simply nodded and went back to cutting sandwiches. "This way then, Miss Jones." Rurik led Cerys back into the hall, and through another door, into a well-furnished sitting room. She took a seat upon the settee, and leant her back against the peacock blue blanket draped over the back of the seat. Rurik sat opposite.
A few moments later, Thoradin wandered in and set the plate of sandwich triangles down onto the walnut table, before taking a seat beside his husband.
"So how might we help you, Miss Jones?" Thoradin asked.
"Help yourself," Rurik added. "Are you feeling better after your little fainting spell at the Summer Fete?"
"That was months ago," Thoradin scoffed. "If she was under the weather, I doubt she'd be up and about like this," he added and the two of them turned their gaze to Cerys, somewhat expectantly.
"I'm fine. It was just exhaustion from the heat," she said, desperate to avoid getting into the whole conspiracy surrounding the filth fever, lest she sound downright insane.
"You've got to be careful, really. We've had some incredibly warm summers the past few years," Thoradin says.
"I wonder how Falkrun copes. She's from Icewind Dale, isn't she?" Rurik asked, turning his attention back to his husband. Thoradin nodded.
Rurik's eyes lit up in amusement and delight. "Oh, deary me! You've got flour on your face!"
Cerys looked up to glance at Thoradin's pockmarked cheek. Rurik wasn't wrong. She hadn't noticed. Though, come to think of it, she'd avoided eye contact with just about everyone for most of the day. Thoradin scoffed again, and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. He managed only to smear the flour across his dark skin, but Rurik said nothing more.
"It's funny that you should mention Falkrun," Cerys said, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. She raised her hand. It hovered near the tray of sandwiches and Rurik nodded eagerly. With a great deal of hesitation, she picked one up and took a bite, savouring the flavour.
"Why is that?" Thoradin asked.
"Is she alright? She's not hurt, is she?"
Cerys shook her head. "She's fine. I actually paid her a visit this afternoon to ask for her assistance. Unfortunately, she was unable to help."
"Anything we can assist with?"
"Oh, it's nothing important… She only mentioned that she was a baker before she turned to curries."
"Not just any baker," Rurik said. "Honestly, as far as cakes are concerned, damn girl could run circles around us," he said, a warm smile spreading across his cheeks. Cerys found it odd how supportive Rurik seemed of Falkrun, when - from speaking to Falkrun - Cerys had been certain she and the Frostbeards were mortal enemies. "She used to bake the cake for the Pig Agility prize, but… I don't know what she did to Arveen. Either way, the two had a falling out of some sort. Falkrun lost the Pig Agility gig, and damned near all of her business."
Cerys' eyes narrowed. "Do you know what the falling out was about?" Cerys asked.
"I'm not clear on the details," Rurik said.
"We try to steer clear of that sort of drama," Thoradin added. "It's... bad for business."
"Of course," Cerys said. "So… the cake. It's a prestigious honour, from what I understand." Rurik nodded, his ever-present smile widening. "It must be hard, though. No one sees the cake until it is unveiled alongside the winner. You bake this beautiful cake, and no one can see it until only moments before it is devoured."
Thoradin chuckled. "A sad part of the job, for sure."
"Do you ever show any of your friends?" she asked.
"Hoping you'll get a peek at next year's before the winner is announced?" Rurik asked and laughed. Cerys forced a smile.
"Shandri always sees the cake before it's unveiling, of course. And this year, Mr Jassan got to see it, because he lent one of his tins to us," Thoradin said. "That's about it, though."
"Oh, we've had help from Falkrun on a few occasions," Rurik said. "She still helps out. I think she enjoys knowing that the town is unknowingly appreciating her work."
"Why doesn't she just sell cake? People clearly enjoy it, and no one wants her…" Cerys paused to shudder. "No one wants her curry. She'd do better selling cake, surely."
"Pride, mostly."
"Did she help out this year?"
"No, not this year. She said she was too busy trying to keep the Fireforge afloat."
Cerys nodded in understanding. "Well… Thank you for the sandwich. I should be getting back to work, really," she said.
"It was wonderful to see you," Rurik said. "Though, I was sad to hear about things not working out between you and Mr Vargoba, I'm delighted to see you with Mr Astorio - he's ever so handsome."
Cerys choked. "I'm sorry?"
"Don't you think, Thoradin?"
"Well, he's not my type - too tall - but I can certainly appreciate the appeal."
"Dear gods, is there anyone in this town who is not attracted to Diero?" Cerys muttered under her breath.
Both Rurik and Thoradin burst into fits of laughter.
"Dundragon. There's a woman you'll never see batting her lashes at your dear Mr Astorio, Miss Jones," Thoradin said, sliding his arm across his husband's shoulders. Rurik leaned into him. Insipid. Cerys did her best to keep the sour expression from taking over her features. Raising her brows, she pulled herself to her feet.
"Well… thank you for the… I'm just repeating myself. Hopefully, I will see the two of you soon."
"Absolutely - feel free to pop in whenever you feel like it, Miss Jones. You're always welcome here," Rurik said, and Thoradin nodded in agreement. "Oh, and if you do want to know about Falkrun's drama, just make sure Captain Dundragon doesn't find out you've been sticking your nose into Falkrun's business," he added in afterthought.
"Thank you for the forewarning," Cerys said. "I'll see myself to the door."
"You take care of yourself," Thoradin said.
Nodding, Cerys brushed her skirt down, and headed into the hallway. She was at the door when she heard Rurik remark something about her being ever such a lovely girl. Freezing in place, she was half-tempted to go back and remind him of her age, but she supposed it wasn't worth the effort.
Rolling her eyes and sighing, she headed back out into Secomber.
Cerys took a deep breath. She had hoped it would help her summon the courage to open the door before her, but the sight of Diero's office door had elicited more fear than she had expected, and so instead, her fingers rested limply upon the wood.
Closing her eyes, she clenched her jaw and sighed, shaking her head. That's when the door opened to reveal Diero, his discomfort worn upon his features.
"Cerys," he said.
"Can we talk?" she asked.
"I just want to say that I'm incredibly sorry. I shouldn't have grabbed you - it'll never happen again, I swear."
Cerys sighed. "That's not what I came here to talk about," she said.
Diero's throat shuddered as he swallowed. Blinking a few times, he sighed and stepped aside to allow her entrance. "Of course," he said, gesturing for her to step inside.
He closed the door behind her, before stepping around her and sitting himself down in his armchair before gesturing to the settee across from himself. She didn't take a seat. Avoiding his gaze, she folded her arms and wet her lips.
"So… what did you wish to speak about?"
"I have a new lead in the filth fever case," she said. Diero's brows rose in curiosity as he nodded for her to continue. "Falkrun Fireforge used to bake the cake for the Pig Agility, until she and Ms Evenwood had a falling out of some sort. It ruined Miss Fireforge's business. I spoke with the Frostbeards, and they seem to think they're friends with Miss Fireforge, however… when I spoke to Miss Fireforge, she seemed less than friendly."
"So you think Falkrun Fireforge poisoned the cake to frame the Frostbeards?"
"It's certainly possible. Her falling out with Arveen Evenwood has led to a decline in her business, but she didn't mention that at all. She seemed to blame the Frostbeards. Her business is doing so poorly, she can't take even a couple of days off, for fear of losing her home. She says they knocked her out of the competition."
Diero's eyes widened in delight. Cerys wasn't sure why he would be happy about hearing of a potential murderer, but he was pleased and that was clear from the way he laced his fingers together as he leaned back in his chair.
"And that, my darling Miss Jones… is what we call motive."
Cerys nodded. "Now, the Frostbeards said Falkrun has helped them on the cake for several years, but not this year. I think that sounds-"
"Entirely too convenient, yes. Plausible deniability. If the cake was poisoned, it couldn't possibly have been Miss Fireforge, and it must have been the Frostbeards, and considering she didn't assist them this year, there's no way for her to have known about any such illicit activities," Diero said, looking almost impressed. "If you're right, then that's a very clever move on Falkrun's part."
Cerys nodded. "Well… she is a skilled mage from what I hear."
"That, she is. It takes a smart woman to learn magic like that. How very interesting," he said, then he sighed. "Unfortunately, Cerys… we can't prosecute her on suspicion alone."
"I understand that. We need more proof."
"And it's not going to be easy to obtain. You see, there are a few people in this town who are… let's say beyond reproach," he said. "Falkrun Fireforge is rather high up that list. You'd have an easier time bringing charges against Ciara Dundragon, herself."
"What are you saying?"
"If we have evidence, it must be irrefutable, because there are people in this very courthouse who would see both of us hang before allowing us to bring a charge against Falkrun Fireforge."
"She seems to believe the town hates her," she said. "Ms Evenwood ruined her career. How does she still have a job at the courthouse, if there are people here protecting Miss Fireforge."
"Have you ever heard the saying 'keep your friends close'?"
"You seem to be implying Ms Evenwood has enemies within the courthouse."
"Oh, I'm not implying anything."
Cerys brushed a rogue strand of hair from her face, and watched Diero closely, though he said nothing more. "Well, that's all I came to say," she said, turning towards the door.
"I want to talk to you, Miss Jones. I want to talk to you about the other night. I waited at home for as long as I could, I've been there all morning, hoping you'd come back. I'm glad you came in today… I just want to talk to you."
Cerys seized up. Staring at the back of the door, she shuddered. "I know," she mumbled. "I know you do… and I appreciate that, but…" Sighing, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "We have so much going on that there are more important things to consider, such as adequate protection for our expedition to Unicorn Run."
"So that's why you were talking to Falkrun. Hopefully, now you'll avoid her."
Cerys shook her head. "If anything, now I am certain I want her to come with me. You said it yourself - we need proof, beyond doubt, that she did it. We're not going to get that by avoiding her," she said.
"I…"
"Now, if you'll excuse me. I need to speak with Ms Evenwood." She turned back to the door again.
"Then will I see you later?" he asked. "Please. For dinner."
"I'll consider it."
"I'll cook roast. No pepper."
Cerys fought the smile tugging at her lips. She almost failed, but then she recalled her discussion with Shandri from that morning and nausea overwhelmed her.
"I'm not hungry," she muttered, and made a swift exit from Diero's office. She resisted the urge to stand outside his door, listening in, and somehow managed to force herself to walk down towards Arveen's office.
The door was open, and Arveen was sat upon a cream armchair, knitting a blanket with rose pink wool. She looked up at the sound of Cerys and smiled. "Is everything alright, dear?"
"I was wondering if I might speak with you about something?"
"If it's about Diero, I'm sorry - I don't know where he is. He's been out all morning, I'm afraid," she said.
"No, I found him in his office."
"Oh, well then… by all means," she said, and beckoned Cerys in with her hand. Cerys obliged and stood awkwardly in the doorway. "So what might I assist you with?"
"It's… it's actually about Miss Fireforge."
Arveen's usually pleasant features soured immediately, her brow furrowing. "What's she done now?"
"Oh, nothing. It was only that… I was over at the Frostbeards' house and they mentioned they'd not always had the privilege of baking the cake for the Pig Agility. They said it used to be none other than Falkrun Fireforge's job," she said. "I was considering hiring her services, but I wanted to make sure she isn't going to cause any issues."
"Well, she is," Arveen said so bluntly that Cerys flinched. "Did you hear what she said to poor old Mara? She said to dear Mara that she would reduce her risk of a heart attack if she only ate better - right after Mara's husband had just died! Of a heart attack, no less!"
Cerys took a deep breath. "Is Mara's diet particularly bad?"
"Of course not!" Arveen snapped. "She eats perfectly well, and so getting such a silly remark from a woman who baked cakes for a living, no less, is nothing short of outrageous!"
"Of course," Cerys said, though she was more confused than anything.
"Well, of course I told everyone I know what a nosey, good-for-nothing, second-rate baker she is," Arveen muttered. "Now she thinks she can make a living on curry? Hah! Who even likes curry? That's the problem with dwarves, Miss Jones. They think - just because they've been alive for so long - they know everything about everything. Then, they come to our dear Secomber from miserable places - like Icewind Dale - and try to infect us with their misery!"
"Right." Arveen looked at her, as if expecting her to say something of value. Cerys faltered in the silence. "Drizzt Do'Urden lived in Icewind Dale."
There was more silence. Silence, in which Arveen stared at Cerys as if she'd just said something incredibly stupid. Cerys felt heat rushing to her cheeks.
Continuing as if Cerys had said nothing whatsoever, Arveen launched into another tirade. "And furthermore, pardon me for not taking life advice from someone who doesn't even want to live," she added in a laugh. "Obnoxious woman, she is."
"I think I'll go speak to Mara," Cerys said, trying to smile. She managed only a grimace as she backed away, pulling the door to behind her, the quiet tapping of knitting needles filling the void in the conversation. Once safely away from Arveen, Cerys took a deep breath and turned her back to the door. She'd have to remember never to mention Falkrun in conversation again.