With a snarl, the tiny creature leaped right at me.
I yelped and backed away, stumbling over something on the floor at the same time a member of the kitchen staff was carrying a pot of boiling soup or broth to the counter.
We jarred together. The pot went flying up then down even faster, smacking against the floor beside me, its contents spraying?—
A snap of Dulvade’s hand, and the piping hot broth froze mid-air. With a flick of his finger, he sent it all to the sink, where it slithered down the drain.
“My queen,” he cried. “Are you unhurt?”
“I’m fine.” I swallowed but the fear lodged there didn’t want to go down.
The chall hissed and raced toward the door to the hall, but Dulvade snatched it up from the floor, pinning it beneath his arm. “Time for this beast to leave.” He handed it to one of the staff. “Take it far from the castle,” he barked, scowling at the creature. “Far enough away it can’t make its way back to this location.”
The woman nodded and pinned the small creature’s legs, carrying it out through the back door, the panel banging closed behind her.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Dulvade said, his concerned gaze returning to me. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
I stared toward the door. “Yes. I am. Thank you. I’d be burned if you hadn’t used magic.”
“Essence weaving,” he said. “That’s my skill, and I’m grateful for it almost every day of the week. It’s quite helpful when I’d liketo enhance a flavor or preserve something. When I knew that was my ability, I also knew exactly how I wanted to use it. Here, of course.”
“It’s a wonderful skill.”
He beamed, though his eyes held shadows as they darted to the door where the woman had taken the chall. “I’ve indulged the aerie’s pests long enough, it seems. I won’t allow another inside my kitchen.”
“A wise decision.” This had been an accident, right?
While I’d be foolish not to see danger in everything around me, the sentinel veil was in place. If the chall was somehow sent by the wizard, we would’ve had warning. Besides, what good would burning me do?
Oh, yes. If the wizard didn’t want the curse broken, they only needed to slow my progress, not necessarily kill me, though I suspected they’d happily do that as well if the fates allowed. But the veil…
Now Moira wasn’t the only one shivering.
I pressed for a smile, pretending the incident was over. “I don't want to keep you for long,” I told Dulvade. “I also stopped in to ask if I could make horig cakes tomorrow? I'd like to share them with the king.” Among others.
Why in the world had I decided to do this?
His grin widened, his large hands planting on his hips. “Of course! How could I say no? Tomorrow it is.”
“Thank you. I’ll stay out of your way, I promise.”
“You’ll stay anywhere but out of the way, and we'll make them together.” Dulvade’s laugh rolled through the kitchen, his cheery mood restored. “I’ve been dying to make your recipe.”
“Perfect then. Is any time better for you than another?”
He paused, his brow narrowing in thought, before it cleared. “After the lunch meal is out of the way? I’ll leave the dinnerpreparation to my staff, though under my strict guidance, and free that part of the day for you.”
“Early afternoon, then?”
He nodded.
Leaving the bustle of the kitchen behind, we returned to the main corridor and approached the throne room. Surren exchanged a brief word with the guards stationed near the massive double doors, and one of them slipped inside to let the herald know I'd arrived.
Before the doors opened, Erisandra left the hall on my right, her gaze locking on me. She strode over, her entourage a turbulent sea oozing around her. She stopped beside me, her face as sharp as her perfectly coiled dark hair and the deep green jewel dangling on her brow. Her gaze shifted to hover beyond my left shoulder, as though I was a faint sound she could tolerate if she didn’t focus on it too long.
“There you are,” I said brightly. “I hoped to speak with you.” Not truly, though the thought had been on my mind over the last few days while I lay moaning in bed. To fit in here fully, I needed even subtle support from this woman. If I could get in her good graces, she might back away and stop trying to thrust herself between me and Merrick.
Her left hand, adorned with green stone rings that perfectly matched the jewel on her forehead, lifted to brush imagined specks of lint from her bodice. “How noble of you.”
