“You’re so lucky,” Julie says.
“The luckiest,” Vicky adds.
I nod. I am. I know it.
Vicky stays for a few more minutes, browsing Julie’s new stock, then heads out with a wave and a promise to come back later in the week. She’s doing well. Noah is in prison, the divorcewent through months ago, and Vicky has settled into a life on her own, tending to her garden and going out with friends.
I tell Julie I should head home and that I’ll come back later for my second shift. She waves me off and tells me to take my time.
The corridor that leads to the lift is busy with the midday crowd. Hannah and Xenia are at one of the market stalls, comparing earrings and holding them up to the light. They wave when they see me, and I wave back. I stayed close with all of Korr’s former brides. They come to the apothecary all the time, they use my creams and lotions, ask about new batches, and bring their friends in. They’re some of my best customers and closest friends.
Prim catches me by the arm a few steps past the bakery. She cups my face and kisses both my cheeks.
“How are you feeling? You look beautiful.”
“Heavy,” I say, and she laughs.
She squeezes my hands. “I hope to see you soon. Come for dinner when you can.”
I promise I will. At the lift, Becca steps off, and we exchange a few words and hug before I get onto the platform and pull the lever for the Highhalls.
It’s been a year. A full year with no incidents. No one gossips about me and Korr anymore. The whispers about the harem and the sideways looks… They’ve all faded as people got to know us and saw we’re a normal couple. Life at Steinheim couldn’t be more peaceful.
I write letters to my parents, and my mother writes back. We exchange updates about the weather in Tessana and Steinheim, my work at the apothecary, and the pregnancy. The letters are practical, though. Our relationship will never be what it was. After the council summons, I found out that Bran’s parents convinced my own parents to give up my location. My mother told them where I was, after I’d written to her the first time.
I think they believed I actually did the things I was accused of.
And I did. I know that. But I didn’t have a choice. As Korr tells me whenever I lie awake at night, it’s better that I saved myself and found my way to him. Knowing that I saved him from ending up in the Stillhalls next to his calcified mother makes up for all of it. What I did wasn’t right, but it was the only way I knew how to escape.
I emerge into the Highalls, and the smell wafts down the corridor. Roasted meat with garlic and something sweet underneath, maybe cinnamon or cloves. Korr has been in the kitchen all morning.
I walk toward our chambers, and the smell gets richer with every step I take. I hold my belly and lean forward, trying to hobble faster, missing him even if I saw him just a few hours ago.
***
Korr
Sorina is eating, and I can’t stop watching her.
She tears a piece of bread, drags it through the gravy, and puts the whole thing in her mouth. Her eyes close, and she chews with a small nod, the way she does when the food is right. I reach across the table and cut another piece of venison for her, laying it on her plate beside the roasted turnips and parsnips. She hasn’t served herself once. I don’t let her. I pile the food, cut the meat and the vegetables into pieces, and fill her glass with lemonade when it drops below half.
I made everything this morning. Braised venison in bone broth and rosemary, slow-cooked until it falls apart. Roasted root vegetables browned in the drippings. Lentil and leek soup thickened with barley and fresh thyme, because she’s been craving soups these last weeks. Crusty bread with salted butter. And for dessert, poached pears in honey and spiced apple cider,warming in a pot on the stove as she devours what’s in front of her.
I taught myself how to cook the same way I taught myself how to make jewelry: by ruining a lot of raw material until I became better at it, and then great. The kitchen sat empty in our quarters for years, just a room with bare walls. I built the furniture myself, bought the pots, the pans, and everything else. Cooking became just as important as my workshop, and I take pride in both. But the workshop is for me, and the kitchen is for her.
I fill her lemonade glass again, and she thanks me without looking up from her plate. I barely touch my own food. Watching her eat is enough.
We’re on our balcony, carved into the mountainside, open to the air, just the way she wanted it. Another thing that I was happy to build for her. The mountains stretch out below us, ridgelines folding into valleys, forests dark and green in the distance, and above it all, a sky so clear and blue that we can lose ourselves in it. The wind carries the smell of pine.
Sorina leans back in her chair and rests both hands on her belly. Her plate is empty.
“There’s dessert,” I say.
“Give me a minute. I need to breathe.”
I laugh and go inside to bring the pears out. They’re hot, golden, and swimming in honey, with a drizzle of cream on top. She takes one bite and her whole face goes soft. She shakes her head slowly without saying a word.
I sit beside her and stretch my legs, crossing my ankles on the balcony rail. My body is loose and strong, and my fingers flex around my glass of lemonade without any trace of stiffness. It still fascinates me how perfect I feel, and I revel in it. I’m grateful every day.
