Warmth flooded Briar's cheeks as she averted her gaze. "I'm sorry, I—"
Arion paused, and when she glanced up, she caught the corner of his mouth curving into a smile of genuine amusement.
"I should be the one apologizing," he said. "You nearly drowned last night and here I am, dragging you through corridors without even thinking to ask if you needed something to eat." He tilted his head, considering. "Would you like to eat before we head to the library? Searching for answers is more productive on a full stomach."
Briar hesitated. While she was hungry, the time they had to find answers was limited.
He gestured down a different staircase where warm air rose carrying the scent of baking bread and something sweet that made her stomach clench with want. "Marta would never forgive me if I let you starve."
The casual kindness of it, asking rather than commanding, thinking of her comfort, had become so foreign she didn't know how to respond. Finally she nodded and followed after him.
The kitchen, when they entered, was beautiful chaos.
Great iron pots bubbled on massive stoves. Flour seemed to dust every surface. Herbs hung from the rafters in fragrant bundles. Everywhere, fae of all types worked in what looked like barely controlled mayhem but was probably a careful dance.
"Arion Dawnbringer!" A voice emerged, rough but somehow fond. "What you doing in my kitchen?"
A brownie emerged from behind a counter, ancient, aproned, and wielding a wooden spoon with the authority of a general directing his army. Her face was all wrinkles and disapproval until she saw Briar.
"Blessed roots and branches, what you done to this girl?" The spoon pointed accusingly at Arion. "She looks terrible! Sit! Sit!"
"Marta—" Arion started.
"Don't you 'Marta' me, lordling. Bring me a half-drowned marked human and expect what? Tea and talk?" She was already bustling, pulling Briar to a worn wooden table. Briar looked towards Arion who offered a helpless shrug. "Skin and bones! Marked humans always skin and bones. He forgets to feed them proper."
Marta disappeared into the kitchen's chaos, her voice carrying over the clatter of pots and sizzle of cooking. "Hain! Get me a bowl of the vegetable soup. The one from the back pot, not that thin stuff up front. And bread! The round loaf that just came out!"
Other kitchen staff scrambled at her commands. Within moments, Marta returned, setting a wooden tray before Briar with practiced care. She placed each item deliberately: the bowl of soup releasing fragrant steam, the bread on a small plate with a generous pat of butter beside it, and a cup of cool water.
"There now," Marta said, hands on her hips as she surveyed her offering. "Proper food for a proper person."
At the sight of such simple, perfect food Briar almost cried. She held the bread carefully as though it might bite her before she had a chance to bite it. "It's not going to turn into flowers? Or test me? Or change?"
"Child," Marta said, gentler now, "sometimes bread is just bread. Sometimes soup is just soup. Not everything has to be a trick."
Briar took a bite. Butter melted on her tongue, salt and warmth and the simple pleasure of actual food. Her eyes burned with sudden tears.
"Slowly," Arion murmured, sliding a cup of water across the table. "You have time."
She didn't, not really, they both knew she didn't, but she ate slowly anyway, letting each bite be what it was. Just bread and soup and the kindness of strangers who didn't want anything from her except to see her fed.
Other kitchen staff peeked in as she ate, curious faces lurking in doorways, whispers about "the marked girl" and "golden flowers." But no hunger in their looks. No calculation. Just curiosity and something that might have been pity.
She burned her tongue on the soup, too eager for the warmth. Arion wordlessly handed her cold water, no mockery in his expression. Just understanding.
"Thank you," she said when the bowl was empty, the bread demolished. Her stomach felt full for the first time in memory.
"Don't thank me," Marta said, clearing the dishes. "Thank him for remembering humans need more than fear to live on. Now go. Do whatever you need. But you come back before you leave, yes? Pack you proper food for traveling."
Traveling. Back to Eliam. Back to punishment.
The bread turned heavy in her stomach, but she managed to nod.
"Better," Marta pronounced. "Still too thin, but better. Go on now. And you—" The spoon pointed at Arion again. "You take better care. Marked or not, she's under your roof now."
"Yes, Marta," Arion said, and Briar realized he meant it. This ancient brownie could scold the lord of the court, and he'd take it with grace.
Another difference. Another kindness.
