Aevrinwokeupsoearly that dawn was only a dream, at the first cry of the cockatrice. It was still dark out, but it was his turn to cook, and he was slow enough on waking that he needed the extra time to shuffle around the kitchen. With a heavy sigh, he rolled over to the cool side of his bed, stretched out his long limbs, and yawned.
Fifteen minutes later or so he finally stumbled downstairs, still yawning but fully dressed for the day with an unbuttoned doublet over his tunic against the morning chill. The rest of the family would be getting up soon. He still had enough of a head start that nobody would be mad he was slowing them down.
From the bottom of the stairs he could see there was fire in the kitchen, a warm glow spilling into the dark of the house. Someone was cooking. He caught a whiff of bacon and garlic, just as another step took him into hearing range of its sizzle.
Maybe Sorven had woken up starving again and taken over Aevrin’s job. He wouldn’t complainabout that, but it had been at least a year or two since his youngest brother’s growing pains made him too hungry to wait on a meal. Plus, it smelled too damn good to be Sorven’s cooking.
Feeling a little more awake now that his mind was working, Aevrin turned the corner into the kitchen. The room was lit not just by the stove and the dim glowstones placed throughout the house, but by a bright lantern on the counter.
It wasn’t Sorven.
Cassia stood at the stove, her back to Aevrin. She must have been up for a bit, because she’d taken an outfit of her new clothes off the line where they’d hung them up after washing. He was certain there were fewer dishes in the washbin than he’d left last night, too. He froze in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her in the warm glow of the hearth.
Two gold-brown braids started high on her head and continued flat down her back. Early September meant it was chilly in the morning before the sun, and she’d belted the cream jerkin to show the hourglass narrowing of her waist. The russet cotton of her damp dress clung to the swell of her wide hips and rear, then fluttered down to the floor, where she stood in stocking feet on the kitchen tiles. She looked like she’d tumbled right out of one of his most romantic, heartsick daydreams.
She was as off-limits to him as ever. And just how early had she woken up?
Cassia took a step to the side, picking up one of the pans and flicking her wrist. A dozen lightly-browned, perfectly circular fritters spun up into the air, flipped over, and landed neatly back into the pan. He was entranced.
“...morning,” Aevrin said. She startled for a moment, spinning to look at him, then relaxed. She always did that, like she was scared until she realized it was him. He wished he didn’t startle her so badly. Cassia was safe here.
“Good morning,” Cassia answered, flashing him a smile. “Do you like your grallo sweet or not?”
“Uh…” he cleared his throat. “Plain’s good. I’m supposed to cook.” The round metal grallo pot was full, a small pitcher of nectar and a bowl of cut lotho beside it. Cassia had pulled out a few empty mugs and lotho spoons and set them at the ready beside the brewed tea. He headed over and poured himself a mug, the steam swirling up as the strong, sharp smell of the root flooded his nose.
“You don’t mind, do you? That I took over?”
“That a joke?” he blinked at her, still breathing the grallo in. “I don’t think I’ve ever minded something less in my life. I owe you one.” He took a sip through the lotho, letting the hot grallo dissolve the jelly, and set down the cup.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I owe youfarmore than just a breakfast. Scrambled or omelet?”
“You’re making eggs, too?” Aevrin asked as he rolled up his sleeves to wash the remaining dishes. His breathing already felt a little clearer just from the sip of lotho.
She pointed to the large, speckled green cockatrice egg sitting beside her left elbow and raised an eyebrow. He’d been so busy staring at her that he’d missed it entirely. Saints, she’d visited the cockatrice pen already, too?
“I didn’t risk my life getting that just to look at it. But that thing’s so big I’ll have to whisk it up to split it between us.”
“In my defense, miss, I’m still half sleeping,” Aevrin said. She slid the finished fritters neatly onto a plate that already held a dozen others. She was mesmerizing to watch. He had to fight to get himself to turn away towards the dishes. “I’ll eat ‘em however.”
“You sure? I’ll cook to order.” Cassia ladled more fritter batter in neat dollops into the pan. It sizzled as it hit the oil.
“What, foreveryone?” he asked as she sliced a pat of butter into an empty pan and took the strips of bacon off the stove with a fork.
“There’s only five of you,” Cassia informed him with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, but that’s five different sets. Six. You're eating too, right?” He found himself standing angled at the wash basin, platter balanced on the edge of the counter, to scrub and watch her at the same time.
“Trust me, it’s nothing. Try making a hundred breakfasts for a houseparty that’s stretched overnight without warning.”
He whistled. She hadn’t been joking when she said she was a cook, then.
“Color me impressed. Really, though. I’m not a picky eater.”
“Scrambled it is.” She tapped a square into the thick egg skillfully with the pick on the counter, removed the plate of the shell, and carefully upended it over a large bowl. When three yolks, each the size of his fists, tumbled out Cassia gave the shell a gentle shake and set it down. She whisked the egg up with cream and a scoop of salt. “Do you all have fruit syrup? I didn’t see it, but I didn’t want to pry too much.”
“Oh, yup.” He splashed water over the platter he was washing, set it on the drying rack, and strode across the room to the cabinet where the syrup was kept. Grabbing the sticky glass bottle he sat it down on the counter. “You can dig around. I swear these cabinets get more crowded by the week. I don’t think anyone’s storing their secrets in the kitchen.”
“No stashes of tiny underthings under the washbin?”
