“Sorry about the chaos,” Aurora says, and I turn to find her standing on the porch behind us, the brown-haired child now propped on her hip. Soleil and her silver-haired sister brush by Aurora and sprint down the stairs, laughing as they go. “It can be a bit of a madhouse around here.” Aurora smiles, her green eyes shining in the sun.
“We don’t mind at all,” Aric says. “Your home is beautiful.”
“Oh, thank you. Alden has done so much work on it. He’s in his workshop now. Actually, Aric, would you mind letting him know that lunch is about ready? His shop is just there, around the back.” She gestures with her chin, and Aric smiles.
“Of course.” He reaches down to give my hand a squeeze, then sets off toward the workshop, leaving me standing there beside the table.
“Can I help with anything else?” I ask.
“Oh, you don’t have to,” Aurora says.
“I’d be happy to.” Plus, helping would give me something to do, so I don’t just have to stand here and look around awkwardly.
Aurora tips her head at me, then gives me a gentle smile. “Okay, thanks. Let’s set the table. Everyone will be home soon, and then we can all eat.”
Everyone?I think, remembering the many pairs of boots by the door. But I try to put my nervousness at meeting all her partners aside and smile, then follow Aurora back into the cottage to help.
Chapter 27
Aric
THE WORKSHOP SITS TUCKED BEHIND the cottage, a sturdy wooden structure with wide doors thrown open to let in the autumn air. I can hear the smooth rhythmic whooshing of a blade against wood before I even round the corner.
When I step through the doorway, I have to pause to let my eyes adjust to the dimmer light inside.
The workshop is organized chaos. Tools hang neatly on the walls—saws, chisels, planes, mallets—but every surface is covered with projects in various stages of completion: a rocking chair in the corner, a half-carved picture frame on one bench, what looks like the start of a cabinet against the far wall.
And in the center of it all, bent over a workbench, is a man I assume must be Alden.
He’s human—from what I can tell—and probably in his late thirties or early forties, with sun-weathered skin.His dark hair is pulled back in a messy topknot, and sawdust clings to his rolled-up sleeves. He doesn’t notice me at first, too focused on the piece of wood he’s working, running the plane along its length with precise practiced strokes.
I watch as curls of wood peel away from the blade, falling like ribbons to the floor. There’s something almost meditative about it, the focus and the quiet satisfaction of shaping something by hand. That’s one of the things I enjoy about cooking: taking a bunch of unrelated ingredients and using my hands to turn them into something more than they were on their own.
Alden still hasn’t noticed me, so I clear my throat and rap my knuckles against one of the open doors. He looks up, and his forehead furrows when he sees me.
I quickly explain, “I’m Aric. I came along with Poppy to get something for Professor Silvermoon.”
“Ah.” Some of the confusion leaves his face. “Didn’t hear you come in.” He sets the plane down and wipes his hands on a rag. “Aurora mentioned a student would be visiting.” His voice is deep and low, and he speaks slowly, like he’s not in any sort of rush. But I guess you need to have patience when it comes to woodworking.
“Yeah.” I take another step into the workshop, unable to keep from looking around. “Sorry to interrupt. Aurora asked me to let you know lunch is almost ready.”
“Oh, good. I’m starving.” He tucks the rag into the pocket of his trousers and glances at the piece he’s been working on. “Just wanted to finish smoothing this edge before I stopped.”
I move closer, drawn to the workbench. The piece of wood looks to be just over two feet long and perfectly straight, with a beautiful grain. “What are you making?” I ask.
“Legs for a dining table,” Alden says, gesturing to several other pieces leaning against the wall. “Commission from a family in the village.” He runs a hand along the wood.
“It’s incredible work,” I say. Something about seeing someone craft something with their hands has always been fascinating to me. “My grandfather used to carve little animals for me when I was a kid.”
Alden’s expression warms. “I do the same for my children.”
I nod, and my wandering gaze homes in on what look to be a few runes etched into a scrap piece of wood lying on a nearby table. I point to it and ask, “Do you use runes in your work?”
Alden grunts, then rounds the workbench and picks up the scrap piece of wood, examining it. “Not successfully. With Aurora’s help, I’ve been trying to incorporate some runework—preservation runes mostly, to help protect the wood from warping or rot.” Under his dark beard, his lips pull up on one side. “I’m not sure how well Aurora paid attention in her rune class though. Most of what we’ve tried has failed.”
He holds up the wood, and I can better see the runes carved into it—basic protection symbols, carved cleanly but... not quite right. With Poppy’s help, I’ve learned a lot, and I can tell a different collection of runes would work better.
“May I?” I ask, gesturing to the wood.
