I scrubbed my eyes. “You’re right. Thanks, I was just resting my eyes for a moment.”
“Tandor, I can see you from my table. You’ve been asleep for over an hour.”
I rolled my eyes, waving a hand at her dismissively. “Lies.”
Above the noise of the crowd, a strained, grunting voice caught my attention. My ears perked. “Old Gods damn it, damn everything, damn it all. Fates!”
I clapped a palm over my mouth to smother my laughter.
The source of the cursing was Kizzi, straining beneath the weight of a cauldron that was half her size. It wobbled precariously with every step she took, threatening to upend and drench the witch. Her hands were covered with ridiculous fluffy mitts, which were clearly impacting her grip.
A large white cat brushed against her ankle, nearly tripping her, but she hardly seemed to notice.
I bolted in her direction without thinking.
“Hey there, Kizzi! Let me help you with that. Princesses shouldn’t carry heavy things.” I snatched the cauldron from her grasp despite her protests, lifting it with mild strain. It certainly was a burden—it was a wonder the woman had carried it this far.
And then the heat registered. I yelped, forcing my fingers to maintain their grip on the cast iron though my flesh was screaming at me todrop it.
“Damn it, Tandor! If you would have waited one second, I would have warned you that it was as hot as Hell’s Realm. It’s been boiling for two whole days.” Her mitted hands fluttered anxiously in my direction as I turned and carried the cauldron to the nearest table as fast as physically possible. It was only a few long strides away, thankfully. I could practically feel my skin broiling, burning, blistering. I set the cauldron down onits stumpy legs, released a deep, shuddering breath, and then tucked my hands behind my back in embarrassment.
I would examine the damage later, when Kizzi wasn’t around to witness it. My ears flamed in humiliation, drooping slightly.
“There you go, all set.” I chuckled tightly. I prayed to whichever Old Gods were listening that she couldn’t hear the slight quiver in my voice.
I avoided Kizzi’s sharp green gaze—my eyes settled instead on her cauldron.
The contents looked… interesting. Brown, thick, vaguely soupy. Slightly congealed.
I caught a glimpse of what looked like a goose feather drenched in the brown, muddy liquid before Kizzi yanked the fluffy mitts off her hands and plopped her ladle into the cauldron. She gave everything a great, hefting stir. The feather disappeared beneath the surface.
I plastered a strained smile to my face, fighting the urge to gag.
I coughed to clear my throat. “What… what is it? It looks good!” I breathed through my mouth to avoid any errant fumes.
Kizzi glanced at me, then returned her attention to the cauldron, stirring with gusto. Her forearms strained. “It’s called chili. It’s a recipe from Oakhollow.”
“Oh, how nice. I can’t wait to try it. Later, though. Later. Not right now.” I shifted my weight on my feet, trying to hold my palms perfectly flat behind my back so my blisters wouldn’t chafe.
“Thank you for the help, but I had it under control. How are your hands? Not feeling great, are they?”
I gulped. “It’s no problem, I’m here to help. They’re fine.”
“Really? Why are you hiding them, then? Let me see.” She released the ladle, and it remained suspended in the thick,chunky substance. She turned to me, held her hands out, and arched an eyebrow.
“That’s really not necessary. Like I said, they’re fine.” My forehead broke out in a clammy sweat.
She just lifted her eyebrow even higher, brokering no argument.
I sighed and slowly pulled my hands from behind my back, holding them awkwardly in front of me. Kizzi grasped my wrists. Her hands were warm and soft, but her grip was surprisingly sturdy.
My skin tingled at the contact and my ears perked up. My cheeks threatened to lift in a bashful smile. She was touching me. Actually touching me.
Then Kizzi released one of my wrists and ran her fingers gently over my palm. The pleasant tingles vanished, replaced with sharp, burning pain. “Ouch! Gods be damned!” I tugged at my hand, but she held firm.
“I knew it,” she tsked. “You burnt yourself pretty good. This’ll take a few days to heal. Next time, let’s ask permission before we snatch a cauldron out of a perfectly capable lady’s hands, shall we?” With a gentle, chastising pat to my damaged palm, she finally released me.
“Of course, I was just trying to help.” My shoulders drooped in shame. “I’m sorry.”
