“Only kidding.” I hold up a hand. “How about the Indigo & Veridian Accords? I’ve been curious about what they have to do with the lottery.”That’s a safe enough topic, right?
“I’ll gladly tell you that,” she says, her features relaxing. “You did well applying yourself for the exam. I’m proud of you, Tiss,” she intones, her voice indulgent.
“Thank you.” I pray my flush isn’t as obvious as it feels.
“Meet me in the flower greenhouse during lunch. Bring your food and we’ll eat together.” She hesitates, shifting her weight. “And don’t worry, Bibi won’t be there.”
Rain is coming down hard by the time I jog from our residence to the smallest of the three greenhouses, cradling my tin of piping hot lunch beneath my cloak.
A wall of muggy heat and the cloying stench of flowers hit me as soon as I enter. I lower my hood, raindrops spattering the flagstone flooring, and open my mouth to greet Elodie.
The sight of her is enough to steal my words before they have a chance to form.
The wrought iron table and two chairs have been cleared of gardening paraphernalia and arranged in front of the rose trellises. The table is smothered beneath a blue-and-white checked tablecloth, plates of meat and cheese, what looks like a basket of fresh corn cakes, and various jars of foodstuffs I can’t yet identify.
But Elodie is the most enticing morsel of all, with her eyes fixed on me, her full lips slightly parted. The back of my throat aches with how damn beautiful she looks in her blouse and tweed skirt sitting in one of the chairs.
It’s all I can do to keep my gaze rooted to the roses behind her instead of shamelessly staring.
“Gods, I never get tired of seeing them,” I say, moving closer. “I don’t know how you get them to bloom like that in the middle of winter.”
She motions to the chair opposite her. “Sit.”
I settle at the table, setting down my tin of sausages and potatoes. “You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble,” I breathe, impressed with the spread.
There’s a plate heaped with bacon. The cheese is pale, creamy, and accompanied by toast wedges. Whatever wild notion possessed her to set this sweet little picnic up, she’s gone out of her way. There’s even a bottle of wine.
“It’s no trouble. Dig in, and we’ll talk about your question. First, do you remember reading about changelings in your workbook?”
“Of course.” I reach for a steaming corn cake and a jar filled with ruby-red jam. “Something about Eisha taking our humanity after we’re born, trading it for the ability to manipulate life-force.”
“In the old days this was a widespread belief, yes.” Elodie watches me lift the halved corn cake, slathered with jam, to my lips.
As soon as my teeth sink into the dense cake, a riot of flavor bursts on my tongue.Oh, my good gods. I’m in love.“Mmm.” Spicy-sweet and delectable, the pepper jam perfectly complements the fluffy, buttery corn cake.
The combination has my taste buds singing for more.
“Good?” she asks, and I nod. “I thought you’d enjoy spicy things.”
“Good guess.” I lick jam from the tip of my forefinger and suck my thumb clean before cramming another bite in my mouth.
“We know now that we’re born like this. So you can chalk that precious story up to folktales and superstition.” She plucks a wedge of toast and scoops cheese onto her knife before leaning back in her seat. “Doesn’t mean there aren’t people down there who still believe it. Who view us as imposters among them. Call us witches and sorceresses.” Her movements methodical, she spreads cheese over the toast. “They like that we’re locked away up here. Far from proper society.”
I start when she reaches across the table, offering the toast to me. “But they make journeys to see us. Priestesses carry out sacred rituals.”
“Some journey to the temple. Sure. And you’re right about the rituals, which take place thanks to tradition. Here, try some of these with it.” She stops me with the food halfway to my mouth by opening the other jar with a crispsnap.
Watching me closely, she pushes it across the table.
Are those blueberries?From the fruity-acidic fragrance, they’re pickled, too. My mouth watering, I spoon some on top of my cheese toast.
“Lots of folks are still superstitious. More than enough of them don’t trust us.”
“What does this have to do with the Accords?” I take a bite and stop, inhaling sharply as my eyes fall closed.Blessed Aodh, Father of Creation.
My hand flies to my lips, but it’s too late to stifle the obscene groan that emerges. “This should be illegal,” I murmur through the perfectly balanced explosion of sweet, sour, and savory.
Elodie’s gaze on me is intense, but not in the way that flays me open. Instead, it feels cherishing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she deliberately planned this meal around things I enjoy, but gods only know how orwhy.
