“All of it, I think. You definitely like me.”
“No,” he said.
“Yes. Anyway, let’s eat together. If you activate your little kitchen gnomes, there’ll be scones in the oven by the time we arrive.”
As he reached me, Merulo stumbled on the stairs, and I caught his arm. “It’s tiring,” he said. “The fighting.”
“But you have enough energy for scones?”
“Fine, yes,” he said, and exhaled. “Damn you. But no destruction of my property, and I mean that.”
“Of course not. Time and place for everything, and you’re obviously spent.”
“No, there is not a time and place for destroying my kitchen. Do you hear yourself?”
Figuring it was a rhetorical question, I merely smiled. And even when we reached the stairwell’s base, then throughout the long walk to the kitchen, he failed to shrug off my hand.
CHAPTER 17
In Which Gareth Can Eat Shit, as I Am Without Doubt Adored and Appreciated, and Very Good at Cleaning, and In Which There Are Now Substantially Fewer Cobwebs in the Castle, and Substantially More Unhoused and Angry Spiders.
Progress had been made, but I still wanted to know what, in that horrible conversation with the pretzels, had upset the sorcerer so badly.
It took some puzzling, but at last I worked it out. My looks, of course. I’d crowed over my own attractiveness with no reciprocating compliments, and no thought as to how it might impact his self-esteem. This had to be corrected.
Thinking up ways to compliment the sorcerer proved difficult, as he lacked a traditionally handsome face or body (or an untraditionally handsome one, for that matter) and wore only that same silly robe, over and over again.
“You’re very scary!” I tried on one occasion, in the library.
I’d made a habit of joining the sorcerer for his reading. He’d grown childishly excited at my interest—though he steered me away from his precious relics toward the moremodern books, written in a language I could comprehend. Childhood lessons had left me with basic literacy, but in practice I mostly stared at the pages and let my mind wander.
“What?” Merulo glared at me from the neighbouring chair. He tucked his legs up as he read, folding himself among the cushions.
“Your looks, your physical appearance. It’s pure menace!”
“And you’re bringing this up for what reason?” He tried to sound bored, but I thought he looked a little pleased.
“It’s great,” I continued, gaining confidence. “I’m sure you strike fear into the hearts of your enemies.”
“Obviously,” he said, simpering.
Now, what else could I compliment? “You’re so smart, too. It’s amazing how you know all these forbidden languages.”
“Alright, Cameron, what do you want?”
“Nothing! Nothing. It’s just—you’re not mad at me, are you?”
He sounded exasperated. “For what?”
I sat back in relief. “If you don’t know, then you’re probably not.”
“No, tell me, for what? Did you do something to my kitchen again? Damn it, what did you break?”
“No, no,” I protested, but it was too late; his stone eye flashed wildly as he hopped through the castle constructs, checking viewpoints.
“It’s not that, it’s just—back when you brought me pretzels, I . . .” The sorcerer tensed, and my courage evaporated. “I didn’t save you any,” I concluded lamely. “That’s all. I thought you might have wanted one.”
The sorcerer stared at me in absolute silence, the fire of his eye flickering out, before his face cracked.
