Jocelynn looked down at the fish floating in the basket beside the coble, trying to estimate what it would look like cooked and if it were large enough for some of the dishes that would be served at her family's table during the most important feasts.
She thought about the great hall at Blackwell in the middle of winter, and the High Table, where her mother sat at the end of it wearing that particularly satisfied little expression she only ever wore once a year.
"Snow on the Sea," Jocelynn said decisively. Not many fish pulled from the river were big enough, but this one was. It had to be.
Ashlynn's grin stayed exactly where it was, but everything behind it went somewhere else.
"Jocey…" Ashlynn said hesitantly.
