“But what's a lotho?” Cassia wanted to know.
“That all you could find for clothes?” Gramma asked, peering up at Cassia over the rims of her glasses.
“A kinda cactus,” Mavek answered at the same time Gramma spoke. Aevrin hadn't turned around again, she noticed, or spoken a word. He just kept working diligently through the dishes. Had he changed his mind about having her there?
“Well…” Cassia started, to Gramma. She looked down at herself and crossed her free arm awkwardly over her soft stomach. She hadn’t thought it was the worst outfit in the world, though the skirt was a little pink and flowery compared to the tunic, and the clothes were straining a bit immodestly on her thighs and bust. “It’s what fit.”
“You want the boys to cart you somewhere, help you pick up your things?”
There was an unspoken promise in those words, Cassia knew. Take her there, keep her safe from whatever bad she’d faced while she collected what she needed. For a moment shewavered, almost accepting. Surely she wouldn't be putting them in danger. Surely even Zey would think twice about tangling with ranchers who looked like Aevrin and Mavek, in their dusty riding leathers with axes on their hips and dragons nearby?
If they carted her to the town where she’d found Rylan and she asked them to drop her off there, she could get her bags and buy a seat on a caravan back east. She’d stop acting out this daydream where she belonged in a family home like this one… but the thought of leaving made her gut churn. It was one thing to know Rylan was a lost cause. It was another to actually go home and leave him in the wild, western reaches of Zhavek by himself.
Besides. She doubted her belongings were still at the tavern where she’d rented a room. Rylan had probably taken her money and sold the rest.
When Cassia didn’t answer fast enough, Gramma Prisca turned to look at Aevrin, who still stood facing away from them at the washbasin. The stack of mostly-cleaned, slightly-soapy dishes to his right was growing perilously tall.
“Aevrin.”
“Yup?” Aevrin turned, quickly, like he’d been listening closely. Soapy water dripped down his muscular forearm as he reached up to nudge his curls out of his face with his wrist.
“You get back here mid-afternoon. You’ve gotta take Cassia to Larie’s shop.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean…” Cassia tried to say quickly, as she felt Aevrin sizing her up yet again, his eyes taking in the ill-fitting, ill-matched clothes. She saw his throat bob. He nodded silently to his Gramma, then turned back around to face the mountain of dishes again. Her cheeks flamed awkwardly, not sure what to make of his expression. She felt like a terrible imposition.
As the Rivekers went back to talking between themselves, she tried drinking her grallo through the lotho. Cassia quickly decided the maneuver was near-impossible and guaranteed to spill. She chewed the “jelly” down instead. The flavour wasn't bad, but it was tough and gummy-like, sticking to her teeth. She couldn't tell if it was her imagination or if her lungs instantly felt clearer, her throat soothed.
Before much longer the men were off to their outdoor work with canisters of grallo and lunches wrapped in cloth and tied with twine, though not before Prisca pulled Aevrin aside for a quick talk Cassia feared was about her. When the men left Gramma Prisca was off to her office. And Cassia was alone. She’d tried to finish the dishes, and had gotten through a third of the remaining ones before Gramma found her and sternly told her that her whole job right now was getting rested up. Cassia didn’t dare say she’d rest much better with a clean kitchen, for fear of offending the old woman.
So she drank her sweet grallo tea—no lotho, this time—slowly on a rocking chair on the front porch, admiring the wide, mountain-backed view and the smell of smokey air. She could see movement on the nearest ridge that looked like a dragon nest, wild ones instead of the bonded creatures guarding the ranch.
Then Aevrin strolled around the corner of the house, leather gauntlets hanging from the back pocket of his leather riding pants, wide-brimmed hat shading his face. Leather cord looped under his chin to hold the hat in place, which seemed unnecessary. The wind was low today.
“Miss Cassia.”
“I thought you left with the others,” she said, startled. Cassia set her tea down on the small table beside the chair, sitting upstraight. She wasn’t sure why her heart was beating faster; why he’d stayed behind. Was he going to ask her to leave?
“I’m about to head out. Gramma told me to set the shower up for you first. C’mon, I’ll show you how it works.”
He’d been told to do it, on her behalf. That made her feel oddly guilty. She wasn’t sure why.
With a nod, she followed him silently around the house. There, beside the stone wellhead, was a wooden shower stall enclosed by walls on three sides and a swinging door on the fourth. A large metal barrel rested above the stall; a pipe connected the barrel to the well.
“The pump pulls the water up,” he said, gesturing to a curved hand-lever outside the stall. “I filled it up good. In here…” he stepped forward and opened the door. She peered inside at the stone floor, elevated so it wouldn’t get covered in mud. From its damp, soapy appearance, it had been used that morning. A shelf on the wall held a single bottle. This horrified her mildly, as it seemed to imply the use of a single product for all of skin and hair.When did I get so spoiled? Cassia immediately found herself thinking. A few years of steady paychecks and a girl got used to nice lotions and soft hair.
A towel she hoped was clean hung off a knob on the wall. There were tiny holes punched in the bottom of the barrel, and a wheel protruding from the center. She could see a metal plate through the holes, pressed tight to the bottom of the barrel by the weight of the water.
“Just give that a turn to open the holes, and turn it back when you’re done.” Aevrin’s voice was as gruff as ever as he patted the wheel.
“Alright. Sorry to be a bother.”
“Nope. You’re not.” Aevrin cleared his throat, nodded and stepped back. Cassia turned to face him. For a moment hiseyes were hard on hers. The odd thought crossed her mind that perhaps he wasn’t irritated at all, just honest enough not to fake any smiles.
The cowherd tapped two finger to his hat brim in farewell, turned, and strode away towards the fields. Twenty paces from her he whistled. The gray dragon she’d met the day before barreled from around the back of the house, straight towards Aevrin. When the dragon didn’t slow Cassia drew a sharp breath, about to call out to him. But Aevrin turned sidelong, tugging his mask up over his nose. At the last moment the dragon dug his claws in and slid towards Aevrin in an explosion of dust and dirt.
The cowherd grabbed hold of one of the dragon’s spikes and launched himself onto the dragon’s back, one hand flying up to hold his hat in place—the chin strap suddenly made sense to her—as he settled into the leather saddle. The gray launched into the air, wings snapping out as he rose swiftly over the wide landscape. She blocked the sun with her hand and watched them go in awe, her stomach sinking the higher Aevrin got as the risk of falling went from dangerous to downright deadly.
Most of the dragons she’d seen in Zhavek had been wild and far off. She’d thought bonded ones were rare, though there seemed to be no shortage of them on this ranch.
