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Momo looked the case over with a critical eye, tapping her chin with one finger. “No bundt cakes today?” she asked.
“Nope.” Sato shook his head. “Sold out.”
“Damn.” she pouted at the pane of warding magic, as if that would make the empty tray behind it somehow refill. “Well, in that case I’ll have an apricot bar and a pumpkin muffin.”
Sato nodded, and a minute later she was sitting at one of the little tables by the open windows with her food. This family’s bakery was the best in the city, hands down, and with an affinity like hers her parents didn’t even object to how much money she spent here. Of course, they might make a fuss if they ever realised the other reason she liked to eat here, but Shouto and Sato were both good at keeping secrets, so the chances of either of them telling anyone were slim to none.
Outside, right on time, a girl with a shamisen stopped in front of the bakery. Momo pretended not to watch as she removed her instrument from its case and set up a small folding stool. The girl was here almost every day, playing music that Momo was half convinced had been enhanced with charisma magic, the way it entranced passers-by. At the first plucks of the strings, the sounds of the street faded away, leaving a breathless silence in their wake. And then she began to play, the tune unlike anything Momo had heard anywhere else. She sang softly, complementing the instrument with her voice rather than relegating it to a background, and Momo couldn’t contain a wistful sigh.
The tale the girl sang was of a wanderer whose homeland had been consumed by the Great Evil, the perils they faced as they fled its clutches with only the clothes on their back, the people they saved by warning them of the spreading horror. It was the type of story which had grown common of late, as the Great Evil tested its strength against the stubborn settlements which edged its barren domain, but no other bard sand it quite like this one. The way this girl sang felt raw and real in a way that resonated with something deep inside her, like she was truly trying to warn them.
It made Momo itch to fight, to don her armour and rally her friends and follow in Shouto’s footsteps; but that would be improper conduct for a lady of her standing. Getting her parents to let her train with a sword had been hard enough. To convince them to let her ride west and help fight the Great Evil would be impossible. She finished her muffin and stood as the girl’s voice faded to nothing and her music softened, the sounds of the street bleeding back in. She couldn’t fight, but that didn’t mean she had to do nothing.
“Sato, can I have a drink?”
“I know you’re not old enough for alcohol.” he teased, already turning to the icebox. “So what’ll it be today?”
“Two cups of grape juice.” she said, fishing out the coins to pay for it.
“Two?” Sato gave her an incredulous look over his shoulder.
“Well, that lovely bard outside could use a drink, I’d wager.” she smiled. Sato grinned back, and once her change was back in her coin purse Momo took both mugs and headed out towards the small seating area where the bard was still strumming on her shamisen. Momo set one cup on one of the dainty little tables, then turned and held the other out to the bard.
The girl looked at the mug, then up at her face with blank incomprehension.
“You’ve been singing for quite a while. I thought you might be thirsty.” Momo said quickly.
“Oh. Thanks, I guess.” the girl reached out and took the mug, taking a large swig.
“Your music is beautiful.” Momo said, sitting down on the nearest chair. “Where did you learn to play?”
“Home.” the girl shrugged.
“Where’s that?”
“Nowhere, anymore.” the girl looked out across the street, taking another long drink.
“Oh.” Momo looked down at her drink, still untouched. “I’m so sorry.”
The girl didn’t answer, just set her drink down and started strumming again. This song was more upbeat, comforting in its familiarity, and Momo found herself humming along to the bouncy tune. She finished her drink, and stood to return the mug back inside. She came back out with a fresh-baked rosemary butter cookie, and set it next to the bard’s mug while the girl’s eyes were closed, her whole being focused on the song pouring from her fingertips.
And if Momo heard the beginnings of a love song drifting after her as she walked away, well, nobody could say it was for her if her parents asked.