Kill me. I was surely a fucking genius. Ineeded this conversation to end before it got so far away from me that I said something stupid, like comparing myself to a horse. Wait. Too late. I was so used to hiding what was wrong with me, I couldn’t even formulate the right words to let anyone in. The throb of misery across my body wasn’t making it any easier.
Declan pursed his mouth, thinking, as if he was actually treating this like a real conversation. I had to admire the depth of his willingness to believe I was an adult and had my shit together in any way, shape, or form.
He sat up and I slid down again. Right on top of the anaconda I had been promising myself I absolutely would not think about. His eyes glowed softly, scattering shadows about the room.
“I would still ride a horse with rain rot.”
My face combusted and a giggle burst out of me. This was completely absurd. Shoving him back onto the bed, I crawled off him. Stiff, sore, but determined that I would make it to the washroom and ignore the groan I heard from the messy bed.
I took an extra draught of willow bark and that had to be enough to be functional. The family was in the kitchen when I arrived. Anise was nowhere to be seen.
“She’s still at Marco’s,” Eilie supplied when I asked. “We don’t fetch her unless the house is burning.” She squinted at me. “You’re not planning on burning down the house again, are you?”
I had to sit down. The willow bark only got me to the kitchen.
“Don’t pretend you’re not excited to redecorate and claim that room as your own,” Briggs chastised.
“I guess no lessons today,” I said.
Briggs snapped her fingers. “You can make us a Locot cake. Declan will need one for the winner of his little contest.”
Dread filled my belly. I lost all muscle memory for baking after I left my human village. On purpose. A decent bread was as close to an oven as I had come since then. I didn’t want to fall back into that expectation because, even though I was good at it, baking wasn’t something I loved. It was a way for small-minded men to put me in my place. With pain still edging my vision, I wasn’t sure if my hands would hold a spoon.
“I can’t. I don’t know the recipe.”
The groans around the table hurt more than I would have thought. My hands knotted together. Did I want this motley crew to like me?
“Declan knows it!” Briggs shouted as she dragged him to the table when he walked into the kitchen.
“Declan knows where to get something to eat?” he said good-naturedly, prying himself from his sister’s grip to grab a cup of crocotta.
Briggs badgered him. “Momma taught you how to make Locotcake.”
“Because Declan would eat a whole one himself and she was tired of having to do it again,” Cosomo said.
“I bet Fallon’s will be amazing.” Eilie chimed in. “She probably doesn’t even need your help.”
With that kind of faith, I really didn’t want to disappoint them. A cup of crocotta appeared before me. I wrapped my hands around the vessel, wanting to redeem myself somehow for the pickles, the bread, the snapping at him.
“Maybe you can show me.” That was as close to asking for help as I would come.
He narrowed his eyes at me, always attentive. I didn’t know if I was going to get another lecture about taking a break but he said, “Of course, Honey.”
Declan untangled himself from his siblings long enough to make us brunch while Briggs filled him in on what the patrols had found so far, which was not a whole lot. Apparently, the bacon scent didn't survive entering a portal.
“We’ll find them,” Declan said with absolute assurance.
Declan put his hand on Briggs’ shoulder, and Briggs relaxed. Seeing Declan repeat the motion reminded me of all the times Ward had done the same to him. It was like watching my life in a magic mirror. Nothing quite made sense.
“Now for cake!” Declan exclaimed, and everyone clapped.
Setting out the baking supplies, they were ridiculously simple. First, silk nut flour he let me smell before measuring it into a bowl. He handed it to me to coat the golden berries and pine nuts. I gripped the spoon to fold them and the world wobbled with a spike through my hand.
He dropped the cast-iron pan and rushed to my side. His eyes glowed as he flashed them at his siblings.
“Get out, you heathens. We’ll let you know when cake is ready.”
They listened to him with more speed than I thought possible, slamming the door shut against the cold. I allowed myself a small misery party over the fact that I couldn’t even stir today. This morning had been all about me and I desperately wanted to even the scales.
