#muzzi pastries

[titaitalia2024]

An assortment of very fine shortcrust pastries, designed to satisfy all tastes.  Made according to ancient family pastry recipes. Unique in their simplicity. Everything starts from the pastry, stuffed by hand one by one.

Small pastries for great moments to share with those you love or to enjoy in satisfying solitude. At any time of day, the Muzzi pastry shop is always appreciated.

[rcreveal]

Rainy Day

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56711314

Summary:

This bit of Ineffable Husband fluff was inspired by MetalMiez's "Accidental Sleepover" https://archiveofourown.org/works/56628781

with the lovely idea of Aziraphale as a cozy warm sunny rock perfect for a serpent formed someone.

Work Text:

Sheets of rain blurred the image of Whickber street through the windows of Aziraphale's shop. These sorts of afternoons were wonderful since they tended to make most foot traffic turn into Nina's coffee shop or really any of the cozy restaurants in the neighborhood. Aziraphale was settling down on the couch with a huge mug of tea and a favorite Jane Austen book when the doorbell jangled as it opened with an unwelcome gust of chill wind and the very welcome sight of Crowley with treats.

“Got ‘em!” Crowley held up a pastel cord wrapped box triumphantly.

“Oh you shouldn't have!” exclaimed Aziraphale, eyes twinkling, as he eagerly took the box from Crowley, brushing his fingers.

“Dear boy, did you get chilled?” Aziraphale paused in opening the much coveted box of pastries.

“‘S nothing,” deflected Crowley, “Go on,” he sat on the other end of the couch eagerly watching Aziraphale take up a brightly colored macaron. Watching the angel enjoy something delicious was still one of his favorite things. Crowley could ignore getting a little cold for that.

Then Aziraphale paused, looking away from the rosy orange disks sandwiched around who knew what delicious interior, “You're all wet, didn't you take the Bentley?” Aziraphale asked.

“Couldn't find parking,” Crowley grumbled, following the orbit of the pastry towards the angel's lips, anticipating his exclamations of delight.

Now, worse than pausing, the angel was putting the box on the table. Crowley, no longer moving, was getting colder and colder.

Aziraphale looked at him in amazement. “ You couldn't find parking…”

“Yeah, it's apparently a really, really popular place!” Crowley was feeling strangely muzzy, that must be why he said out loud, “Miracles didn't even work…had to wait in line…”

Looking dumbstruck, Aziraphale closed the distance between them on the couch. Touching Crowley’s cold cheek and noting how chill Crowley's lean leg was against his, the angel exclaimed,

“Dear, you're freezing ! Let's get you into a nice warm bath!”

With Aziraphale's hands on his cheeks, Crowley sighed as he leaned into the heat, then he mumbled plaintively, “Don' wanna bath. Wanna watch you eat!”

Sluggish thoughts spinning slowly, Crowley managed to think, Aziraphale radiated coziness, like a perfect rock that sat all day in the sun. Crowley wanted nothing more than to watch him eat and…

Pop

A little muffled implosion found Aziraphale looking down at coils and coils of cold gleaming black snake spilling over his hands.

“Oh my dear boy,” crooned Aziraphale, lovingly gathering up Crowley into a tidier knot. The angel scooched back to his side of the couch, tucking Crowley into the front of his shirt while supporting the chilled snake over his heart.

Aziraphale murmured, "As you wish,” biting into a beautiful macaron, letting the crisp meringue infused pastry melt on his tongue while savoring the sparkling tartness of the passion fruit filling.

Humming with pleasure, Aziraphale settled back into the couch, pulled the pastry box onto his stomach, and picked up his book.

Waving his fingers at the door, the shades dropped down and the “Very closed” sign guarded the door.

Crowley fell asleep in a cocoon of warmth, the steady beat of the angel’s heart under him, rocked by the rise and fall of his breaths, tickled by the rumbling of the angel's pleased murmurs with every bite of pastry.

After finishing his book, Aziraphale peered down at the coils of serpentine contentment sitting on his chest. Crowley was so endearing asleep like this, but Aziraphale could think of a more comfortable spot for them both. Careful not to let Crowley slide down, Aziraphale rose from the couch with all the stealth of a parent draped with a sleeping toddler and headed upstairs.

***

The next morning, Crowley, human-shaped again, woke up in their bed puddled up against Aziraphale's warm bulk. He grumbled happily in the back of his throat. Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand from where it lay over his heart and kissed his knuckles.

“Are you feeling better now?” he inquired.

Yawning hugely, Crowley blinked, “Mmmmhmm. Did you like your macarons?”

“They were lovely. I saved one.”

Crowley leaned back from Aziraphale’s warmth reluctantly, “Really? What for?”

“I thought you might like to watch me eat one in this form,” Aziraphale explained.

Crowley leaned his forehead back against the nape of the angel's neck.

“Thoughtful of you. But all the same,”

Pop

Quick as lightning, the smooth form slithered onto Aziraphale’s chest, tickling his chest hairs while turning his head from pastry box to angel and back expectantly.

Aziraphale chuckled, “Hedonist,” he teased.

The snake flicked his tongue, unrepentantly.

The angel brought the last macaron to his mouth. Sighed as he inhaled the sweet raspberry scent while rose flavored meringue shattered across his tongue, Aziraphale hummed and purred as he savored the treat and let his fingers trail over the sinuous form. The little snake, bounced by the seismic rumbles, leaned into the gentle caresses until he twined all around Aziraphale's fingers.

Holding the languid serpent up to his face, where Crowley flicked his tongue within a hair's breath of the angel's lips, Aziraphale said, “You're quite welcome to sleep on my chest again, I've got another book handy and it's still raining.” Crowley darted down Aziraphale's arm to curl up on his chest.

“If you enjoyed me eating that much, dear, how do you like me reading?” Aziraphale proposed, opening the first page of a slim book and beginning to read aloud while the rain still pelted the roof and windows.

This was the best place Crowley could imagine, curled warm and content over his angel's heart.

Notes:

Thanks for reading! Your kudos and comments make my day.

If you would like to read more of my fanfic, check out my Master List

[aethele]

@halycondaze​  //  unsolved:

“ several bad choices have lead me to this moment ” / from edelgard

❝   hmm ?   it is only a few pastries.   ❞   sleep   flirts with the underside of his tone as he regards the tarts on her plate,   muzzy yawn harbinger to midmorning.   letters kept him awake well into the night,   as they are so wont to do these far-from-lazy days. 

he shakes his head,   long hair a bit fluffy,   newly loosed from its braid,   as he takes an eager pull from his tea.   the warmth from the drink every bit a comfort paired with the cool morning chill creeping in from the open window.   ferdinand looks at her over the cradled rim of his teacup with a teasing,   muted smile.   ❝   if hubert tries to stop you from enjoying an  indulgent breakfast,   i will readily fend him off.   ❞

[kynky]

STRICTLY DRUM&BASS. AUG 2018 UPDATE

Tracklisting

Africa – Klinical

All Ganja Man – Serum, $pyda

All The Way Up – Deekline, Specimen A

Atrophy – Memtrix

Believe in Me – Hamilton

Blind in Light – Memtrix

Borovicka - Original Mix – Teddy Killerz

Breaking Point – Mean Teeth

Breathe - Instrumental – Voicians

A Broken Heart – Dom & Roland

Bull It – MSDOS

Carnal Mind – L-Side, Ras Tweed

Chibaku Tensei – Reso

Civilization – Macky Gee, DJ Phantasy, DJ Fresh

Claws – Emperor

Creeper – Critical Impact, Break, Skibadee

Crystal Clear – Nymfo

Dark Dreams – Sustance

Dark Machine - Original Mix – Synergy

Deathray – Evol Intent

Deep in My Heart - DJ Marky & Dr Meaker Remix – Dr Meaker, Lorna King, DJ Marky

Designer Drugs – Circuits

Don't Walk Away – Flowidus, Edde

Echoes – Apex

Enemy (Gydra Remix) - Instrumental – Blue Stahli, Gydra

Everybody's Got to Learn Sometime - I Need Your Loving – Abacus, Cimone

Exhale – Levela

Fall from Grace - Technimatic Remix – Blu Mar Ten, Kite, Technimatic

Frequency – S.P.Y

Front Left – Benny Page, Eva Lazarus

Ganja Man (Jaydan Remix) – Krome, Time

Ghetto – Unglued

Ghost Note – Dub Head, M.Justa

Give Up the Ghost - Calibre Remix – Zed Bias, Nasrawi, Disco Puppet, Calibre

Glue Gun – Fox Stevenson

Good Thing - Danny Byrd Remix – Kideko, Danny Byrd

Gravity – Delta Heavy

Hayati – Sabrepulse

Heartless – Bad Company UK, Dan Lancaster

How Will I Know – Signal

The Howling – Peanut, RIOT

The Hustler - Technique Summer 2018 Sampler – Drumsound & Bassline Smith

I Need a Riddim – Murdock

Ice Station Zero – Bad Company UK, Kill The Noise, Mat Zo

In the Night – Muzzy, Sullivan King

Interstellar – TC

Intravenous – Calyx & TeeBee

Kilimanjaro – Drumsound & Bassline Smith

Kong – Dark Soldier, Ray Keith

Lightspeed – Prolix

Lost Victory – Signal, Disprove, Fre4knc

Lv – Need For Mirrors

Mariana – Arkaik

Massacre - Original Mix – Agressor Bunx

Moose Knuckle - Majistrate Remix – Heist, Majistrate

More Than Human – Cyantific, DC Breaks

Murderer – Spirit

Muskox – Mefjus

Navigante – Emperor

New Horizons �� Protostar

North Pole Cold – Jayline

Old Days – Benny L, Pastry Maker

The One - InsideInfo Remix – Mampi Swift, InsideInfo

Optech – Icicle

Outer Planes – Icicle, Proxima, Ben Verse

Paint By Numbers – Hybrid Minds, Charlotte Haining

Pick Up the Pieces - Skeptical Remix – Zed Bias, Boudah, Skeptical

Pinball – Shyun

Rebels – Trei, Tali

Reverse Coded – Merikan, Inward, Hanzo, Randie

Right Here, Right Now - Friction One in the Jungle Remix – Fatboy Slim, Friction

Rolex – Volatile Cycle, Kyrist

Ruckus – Bad Company UK, $pyda

Shag - VIP Mix – Dossa & Locuzzed

Shockwave – Kanine

Shut Up – Hamilton

Signals - Original Mix – Synergy

Sinkhole – Mefjus

Slap! – Dossa & Locuzzed

Slappo – Rene Lavice

Something – Fox Stevenson

Species – The Prototypes, TC

Steel Drum – Upgrade

Still Lost ft. Khiva – Khiva, The Upbeats, Truth

Stomp – Paul T & Edward Oberon

Subtleties - Album Sampler Bonus – Onemind

Techno – Dimension

There For You – Culture Shock

This Style – SHY FX

Thunder – Dub Elements

Toe Punt – T>I

Toprock – Paradox

Truth in the Skies – Juno, Innate MC

UFO – Brain, Novaglitch

Urban 64 – Hillsdom

Wanna Feel Love - Octo-Pi & Dr Meaker Remix – Dr Meaker, Yolanda, Octo-Pi

Welcome To The Fire - Smooth remix – SLANDER, Sullivan King, Smooth

Welcome To The Future – Cyantific

What – Zombie Cats

Whip Slap II – Dimension 

SHARE. SUBSCRIBE. HIT SHUFFLE!

[lunacorva]

I'd say that saying how wonderful and perfect the quran is is still pretty bad(though not as bad as "kill dem muzzies"), since it ignores all the issues held within. Every religion has problems, and writing them off as either nonexistant or solely the work of psychopaths just lets them get worse.

I mentioned that before, so I’ll repeat my thoughts here: I’ve found from experience that religion is the most nebulous, open to interpretation thing in the world. Arguing the merits and flaws of a religion itself is pointless, because thousands of people will take an IDENTICAL verse, and interpret it in a multitude of different ways:“And the Lord thy God said: Devour thine neighbours children!”“Wait… How can you follow this religion when it LITERALLY said to eat children?”“Oh no, that was a mistranslation. it actually says to FEED children. Which is why my husband and I always bake lots of pastries to give out to the local orphanage every Sunday.”Now, is the second person’s interpretation bullshit? Perhaps, but who cares? They’re using it as a reason to do good. It’s like Surria law (Or however you spell that). MANY muslims use that as an excuse for APPALLING treatment of women. While there are others who say that it’s true purpose has been twisted, and that it’s about showing honour and respect to women, and the second person actually DOES treat his wife with respect and dignity. NOT as his propertAgain, is that second interpretation bullshit? Maybe, but once again we have one group of people using a text to justify atrocity, and ANOTHER group of people using the SAME text as reason to be genuinely kind and respectful to women. So what’s to blame here? Some old laws and nebulous writing? Or the people actually DOING the terrible things?And that to me, is where the focus should be: Just as “Being Muslim” should not be an EXCUSE for doing horrible things, nor should it be a REASON for doing horrible things. Those people committing atrocities aren’t doing it because some religious text said to, the text is just the excuse. And I really don’t have the patience to dignify or justify that excuse. Religion can be interpreted in a HUNDRED different ways, and they’re CHOOSING to interpret it in the most barbaric way possibleAnd no, I don’t think the Quaran, The Bible, The Torrah, or ANY religion is perfect or without flaw. I wouldn’t be agnostic if that were the case.

[blisserial]

Ten

By the time summer rolled to an end we were rich as newly made lords. I had gold in my pockets and in my pack, and jewels on my fingers and rich, well cut fabrics to keep me in the highest fashion. We had more invitations to perform than we knew what to do with. We made a game out of it, selecting a date to play in the muddiest town or the farthest reaches of the Seat’s shadow or for the ugliest politician or the most bitert priest.

But as the season ebbed we began to count the days until Ross decided it was time to trudge back over the river back into our own country, to familiar places and faces and food. I cannot say I was reluctant to leave Southern oddities behind, but I also cannot say I was eager to return to a life of poverty. I determined I would guard carefully whatever wealth I did not first give to Granda.

Ross had finally begun to make noises about packing up for home when we received the most unexpected and frightening invitation of all.

The embossed piece of linen paper was delivered by courier on a cool afternoon to the tavern we had been frequenting most often in our last days. The courier, a dusty and weathered lass with the Seat's emblem emblazoned on her leather jerkin, seemed to have no trouble picking Ross from the tangle of loud patrons.

She marched straight across the brick floor to our table and set the linen paper beside Ross's fat goblet of red wine. Then she stood carefully to one side, at attention, waiting.

I remember noting that she had pierced her ears with gold wire and wondering if that was the way of the Seat's army.  She had a pistol at her belt. I thought she looked as though she would not hesitate to use it.

"Imagine that," Ross murmured, fingering the embossed paper. I couldn't make out the runes scrawled along the edges, but I recall thinking the deep purple ink was unusual. "Horrid butcher me and Fox take the remains, in all my years I've never…" Then he paused and shot the waiting soldier a hooded look.

Will, who had been passing the time playing kanoodles under the table with my bare feet, reached a tattooed hand across the boards and snatched the paper.

"What is it?" Amy, the new dog girl, a tiny Southern wench, pressed against Will's other side, trying to see.

"An invitation to play at the Capitol." Will marveled in a near whisper. "During festival at High Temple."

"High Temple," Amy, devout to annoyance, touched her brow in quick respect. "It must be for Gallows Day. Tis only a fortnight away."

I had absolutely no interest in Southern festivals other than our place as entertainment, but I did find Ross's face a curiosity in itself. He looked as though he had swallowed a hunk of sour cheese.

"They say the Seat himself attends Gallows Day," Amy continued. She seized the invitation Will had dropped back onto the boards and ran a finger along the inked runes. "They say he sometimes pronounces blessing on those in attendance."

"Don't be stupid, girl." Ross snatched the invitation back, then passed it to Maurice. Maurice, without so much as a glance at the runes, made the piece of paper disappear. "Even us Northern mud grubbers know your Seat doesn't mingle with the common folk."

"Gallows Day is different," Amy argued, breathless and avid. "Why, my uncle would have given his last leg for an invitation to Gallows, and gods know he was a master at the craft."

"He was a small time tumbler." Ross snapped, "Why do you think he sold you to me?" He finished his wine in one gulp before glaring with muzzy fury at the messenger.

"No," he said. "We're busy."

Amy gasped. The grizzled soldier bowed and departed without a word.

"Ross," Amy complained. "It would surely bring us honor -"

"Honor is a landed man's concept," Ross interrupted. He grabbed Amy's arm, hauling her up from the benches. He was recently insatiable where the sprightly girl was concerned, as he was whenever a new lass joined our family.

Amy did not seem to mind his lust. Whatever further protest she might have made was smothered by Ross's mocking laugh. The two climbed the tavern stairs and then I could hear their staggering footsteps across the floor overhead.

Will wrapped an arm about my shoulders. Maurice lit one of his everpresent cigarettes. One of the dancing dogs, curled beneath the table at my feet, sighed in its sleep.

The next evening a second invitation arrived and this time the wording was more precise. Ross blanched when he examined the purple ink and then nodded sharply at the courier. That day she had a ruby in one ear and a sapphire in the other.

The next morning we packed quickly, rented five horses to join our mule and stallion, and, striking west, turned their noses to the Capitol and the honor of Gallows Day.

                                                            *****

Shaara tailed Bliss for an entire morning. He did not usually tempt fate so readily, especially where his mistress was concerned. Bliss could be a heavy hand and she had no patience with her people, and as a mere apprentice he was worth less than nothing. Or he might have been, if their troop had not dwindled down to a paltry three.

He'd followed her once before, years past, as a near babe only three days under her protection. He'd wanted to see where this fierce woman spent her days. He'd needed some indication that he could trust her.

That particular day she had spent the day drinking in a smoky tavern and then wasted a night sitting in the cold beneath an alder tree, singing drunken Northern love songs to the stars. He'd not seen any strong indication that she was worthy of his fragile trust until she'd fed the majority of her untouched supper to the cobbler's cat. That small kindness convinced Shaara that Bliss was worth a try so the next morning he had stayed on, instead of running off with the back alley urchins as he’d originally planned .

He was grown now and he knew beyond a doubt that Bliss would protect him with her life, even if that life was battered almost beyond repair and hardly worth more than the dirty clothes on her back. But lately Shaara had begun to think again about running. This time it wasn't a babe's dream of romance in the streets but a man's need to tend to his own future.

He rather thought that Emman City was as good a place to make a new life as any. Shaara gave no thought to returning north. Like as not if he did he would end up a conscript in the king's service, digging trenches and fighting the endless war. He'd rather take his chances in warmer weather. In Emman, Shaara knew, he would have a friend, for it was obvious Moire remembered him fondly. Perhaps she could even find him a job that did not involve singing for his supper.

Not that he regretted his training, as such. But what man did not want more than circus wages? Besides, life with Bliss was fluid and of late Shaara wanted to put down roots.

He followed her through the white streets because he intended to take her aside and tell her his plans, firmly and kindly, but he could not quite find the courage to make his approach.

He could see she was in the midst of a frothing temper. Shaara understood. Bliss would rather lay with a snake than walk with a priest . Still, they all knew it was Bliss who had run and she could hardly have expected an easy welcome. They were lucky Moire hadn't tossed them in the brig for breaking and entering. But Moire had always been a fair commander, just so long as she could see the sense in a thing.

Bliss didn't head straight for the bars as Shaara expected and instead wandered the streets without any purpose he could determine. Shaara thought maybe she was looking for trouble and she did indeed pick a fight with a particularly belligerent tulip merchant. Bliss resisted punching the man in the eye but she did knock the dirty fedora from his grizzled head before she stomped on.

Shaara paused to pick the hat up, dust it off, and return it to its furious owner.

"They say that one was always a whirlwind," the man huffed, looking after Bliss. "We should expect bad days. Still, it's lucky you guard her. Things are not the same as they once were.”

Shaara smiled and hurried on. He wondered if every person in the city remembered Bliss's face. It seemed unbelievable, but then, she had hardly been invisible when Emman had been her home.

He nearly lost Bliss when he paused to admire a lass swathed in white veils. He found again in a cul-de-sac, eyeing the sugary treats through the window of a confectionaire's shop. Shaara hadn't expected the dead end. Bliss, apparently, had.

"Stop skulking about," she growled without turning from the window. "You're no sneak thief, boy."

"You've Fox's own ears," Shaara returned, disgruntled. He trudged across cobblestones to her side. "Hungry?" The elaborate pastries on display reminded Shaara of the temple at the center of the city; too bright, too rich, too sugary.

"No," Bliss replied, but at that moment the proprietor stuck his head around the door with cries of welcome.

"Come in, come in," the man caroled. "For you I have my very own special, sweet enough to make the Seat himself weep - rhubarb and custard!"

Bliss shook her head in refusal but Shaara was suddenly ravenous so he pushed past Bliss and the proprietor into the small shop. Three heartbeats later he found himself perched on a spindly white stool, Bliss scowling at him across a matching table, fruit and cream towering in the shopkeeper's very best bowl.

"Eat," Shaara urged Bliss, scooping up the confection. "You can't starve yourself to death just because Moire doesn't want you back in her bed."

Bliss's scowl creased to rage. "Who said she didn't?"

"She knows how you feel about braids and robes. Would she wear them if she wanted you back?" Shaar knew he was treading on thin ice. Yet he couldn't keep his mouth from flapping.

"It's not that simple." Bliss protested. She turned her frown on the pile of rhubarb and custard. The tower did not whither beneath her displeasure. But just in case, Shaara took a hasty bite. "It can't be that simple."

"Well," Shaara allowed through a mouthful of confection. "She did send you the shawl. So perhaps it's not all bad. Maybe…ah…" Shaara wrinkled his brow and thought of the pretty girl in her white veils. "…a gift of flowers or…ah…pastries?"

Bliss's look of disgust should have turned the cream to curd in Shaara's mouth. Defensive, he shrugged. "Well. You always said it was the presentation caught the marks, yeah?"

"She didn't send the shawl."

"No?" Shaara glanced up and saw that Bliss's lips had gone pinched and white.

"She didn't send it,” Bliss repeated.

Shaara scrambled for some bit of wisdom that might save his skin. He wished he had decided to go with Maurice to the temple instead. Today was not the day to seek Bliss's understanding.

His mistress's stern glare focused. Shaara was immediatly certain she knew could see the the thought circling in his head. He opened his mouth to fend off her rage and found unlikely rescue in the shop's proprietor.

"Captain." The man smelled of bitter chocolate. Sweat glistened on his upper lip. "There are visitors."

Bliss's black brows went up. She turned her head slightly. Shaara shoved another spoonful of rhubarb into his mouth before swiveling on his stool, curious. Surprised by what he saw, he swallowed too hastily and nearly choked.

Northerners were not rare on the edge of the Seat's shadow, but they were unusual. Merchants and traders found ways across the river, as did a riffraff of mercenaries and arms runners. The king's infantry had, for many long years, passed in an endless stream across the bridge until an uneasy truce had been purchased at Green Hill and the bridge gates locked tight.

It was rarer than rare to catch glimpse of king's soldiers in a Southern city. They were no longer murdered upon sight, not now, but they were about as welcome as three-day old fish.

The men standing in the confectionaire's doorway were without a doubt Northern soldiers. They wore the king's insignia openly.

They were all a strong,  muscled sort and for a split instant Shaara wondered if they would get caught in the doorway like cattle in a herder's funnel. Then they shifted and twisted and popped free into the shop, bringing with them the reek of oil and leather. Shaara noted the mud drying on their boots and along the edges of their capes. He deduced they were very new to the city, only hours in.

"Welcome," the proprietor said, resorting to the smooth smile of his kind. "Can I be of service? Chocolates, perhaps, or strawberries dipped in molasses….?"

"No." The foremost of the group was clean shaven and young. The delicately fashioned silver chrysanthemum pinned to his collar spoke of the king's favor. "Thank you. We're here to speak to the captain."

Shaara knew the shopkeep had sensed trouble from the very beginning but the man was a Southerner and therefore gifted with more hubris than the god Trout himself.

"She is in the middle of dessert," he protested with a sniff. "A very fine dessert, if I may say so. Perhaps you would like to sit and wait -"

Shaara didn't see the officer move but some signal must have passed because one of his fellows grabbed the poor man about the throat and dragged him without ceremony out of the shop and into the sunlit street. The three wavered on the other side of the window, a tableau of weakening struggles past the display of fruit and pastry, before the the soldier hauled the limp confectionaire out of sight.

"You won't kill him, I hope." Bliss said, entirely without inflection. "His desserts are delicious. And if I recall, the Seat prefers his subjects alive."

"So long as they are obedient, yes." Chrysanthemum stripped off his soiled gloves. He tucked them into his belt, hooked one booted foot about the leg of an empty stool, and scraped it across the floor to Shaara's side. Then he sat with a sigh, audibly weary.

"Unlike the Seat, we don't require mindless servitude. Jorge won't kill the man, no. But there's no reason to tempt a fellow. Even a prosperous shopkeeper will sell gossip to the temple. What I have to say is for Northern ears only."

Shaara set down his spoon. Chrysanthemum snagged it and tucked into cream and rhubarb, obviously starving. His remaining men arranged themselves about the shop.

"What do you want?" Bliss asked, wrinkling her nose in dramatic disgust as she eyed the officer's simpleminded greed.

Chrysanthemum looked up from rapidly diminishing cream, narrowed his eyes, and laughed. "Don't look so offended, Captain. It's a six day's ride from king to Emman. We ruined two horses. Lived on jerky and warm ale. Besides, I haven't had rhubarb since I was a lad. You're right," he added, scrubbing a hand across his mouth, "the man's a genius with a dessert."

"What do you want?" Bliss repeated, cold. Shaara caught her quick, nearly invisible glance about the room and saw she was tatting up odds.

"Tamner's dead. Hung from the gates two days ago, by royal decree."

Shaara flinched. Whatever he'd expected, it was not this. Bliss appeared unsurprised.

"Pity," she rocked her stool backward and forward, easily balancing on two legs, a tumbler's trick. "His wife?"

"Tripped over her little cat and fell down the scullery stairs a day after." Chrysanthemum scraped the bowl clean then slouched comfortably on his own stool. "Broke her neck. Still alive when we left,, but in a bad way."

"Imagine that," Bliss replied. "What has it to do with us?"

"I hear tell your troop performed for His Lordship, not long past."

"We’re not a troop," Bliss corrected, calm. "We're but three and we did our job and left without fuss." She paused. "Why was Tamner executed?"

Chrysanthemum shrugged. "Not for the likes of me to wonder. But if you ask Jorge, he'll tell you any man keeps a Southern wife is asking for trouble. The place was ripe with Southern fripperies and temple perfume."

"Stank worse than a sow's arse," Bliss agreed. "I ask again; what has it to do with us?"

It was Chrysanthemum's turn to consider. Then he shrugged. "Cut to the chase then, aye? When you left Cliffhouse, Captain, you left with more than a fat purse of gold coin."

Shaara's gut flipped. He'd known, from the very start, that Tamner's odd tastes would bring trouble. And if trouble had come after them all the way across the River Ann it had turned to danger.

[titaitalia2024]

Our traditional classic colomba is characterized by extreme softness and softness thanks to the slow leavening of the mother yeast, enriched with candied oranges from our Italian territory, covered with a crunchy icing, granulated sugar and California almonds.

Dedicated to lovers of the authentic taste.

Use : Excellent on its own, delicious served with fresh berries, drizzled in dark chocolate, slathered in sweet spreads, or paired with whipped cream. For an extra treat enjoy your slice with a glass of sweet wine.