Across the table, Dorian didn’t move for a beat. Then—slowly—he reached for the small clay pitcher beside him and poured a stream of cream into his own cup. The swirl turned the coffee pale.
“You’re not supposed to inhale it,” he said, voice smooth but quiet. “Do they sip in the Dip?”
I shot him a glare between coughs.
He slid the pitcher toward me. “Try easing into it next time.”
“It tastes nothing like what it smells like.” I grabbed at the linen cloth and wiped at my mouth.
“That’s part of the complexity.” He poured from the pitcher into my cup. “Careful; you might beginto love it.”
I didn’t touch the cup again.
Soon the young woman began bringing out plates. I couldn’t figure out where she came from—she didn’t seem to open a door when she entered and exited—but that question was soon overcome by the sights and scents.
So much food. Food I had never seen in my life, glistening and steaming in vibrant color. She set a petite bowl of blackberry jam in front of me, and I stared at it like I’d set eyes on Vallorn himself.
When she left again, I turned in my seat. Dorian had already set into his meal, but I pointed after her. “She goes through the tapestry.”
“Hmm?”
“She pushes the tapestry aside and goes into a door there.”
“Yes. Eat—we’re already losing the morning’s dew.”
I turned back. I didn’t know where to begin, so I started with the bread. It had been sliced so cleanly it seemed almost geometric, and the smell was divine. I sliced the butter with a wooden knife and then cleaned the knife before I set it into the jam. The whole process had to be precise; I couldn’t waste a dab or a crumb, and I definitely couldn’t contaminate the jam with the butter.
Dorian watched me with a piece of boar speared on his fork. His mouth worked as he observed my process. “You truly had nothing.” His voice was low, soft.
I had just taken a bite of the bread. The taste seeped onto my tongue—heavenly—even as his words sank in. I swallowed hard. “This might be the greatest moment of the rest of my life. Don’t remind me how much I hate you.”
He stopped chewing. “It’s not a judgment.”
My lips curled in; my fingers closed tighter around my knife. For a heated flash, I wondered how long it would take me to die if I killed my partner with a butter knife. I wondered if it would be worth it. Probably not.
“I had everything.”
That wasn’t at all true, but it also was. What you have is everything, even if it’s nothing.
Dorian kept eating, not meeting my eyes. No doubt he’d sensed what he’d brought on, and now he affected a certain casualness as he sipped at his coffee.
We ate the rest of the meal in silence. As we finished, the others arrived—Rhiannon and the throng of noble men and their wives, taking up all the places at the table. I wondered which was her consort for the night.
Rhiannon sat on the high-backed chair at the head of the table, the light from the balcony streaming over her. And as Dorian and I got up to leave, she gave me a slow, meaningful nod.
I nodded back and turned to go.
“Girl,” she said to my back. I paused. “You can leave the napkin.”
I looked down, surprised to find a linen napkin bunched in my fist. I set it on the table next to my empty plate and cup, and before I left the room, I stood at the threshold and glimpsed the young green-eyed woman pick it all up and set it on a tray, then disappear through the tapestry.
So this was what lay on the other side of my imagination. Someone had served me my food and cleaned up after me, and it left me feeling both sated and strange.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
After breakfast,Dorian and I walked to Sylvanwild’s training grounds.
In some ways, my old life and my new life weren’t so different. Except now there was blackberry jam, butter, coffee, and endless forest.
