Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Tomorrow. Tomorrow was the first day of the Bloom Season, and Lucie had forty-one things left on her list, and the ovens had better not stop working, and if the cooling cabinets so much as thought about misbehaving she would—well, she would not think about what she might do because they were not going to misbehave.
She opened the back door of The Honeycomb with one hand, the other clutching the bag of ribbons she’d picked up the previous afternoon, and stopped.
Someone was in the kitchen. Someone pulling on a coat. Dark-haired, broad-shouldered, and—
“Lord Evryn?”
He turned and gave her an easy grin as he straightened his coat.
“Lucie! Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you. I’ve only just finished.
Should have come days ago, when Kazrian asked, but Dreamland has been rather demanding of my attention.
” He fastened the last button of his coat.
“We open in four days, so I thought it best to get this done early today, otherwise it likely would not have happened for another week at least.”
“Oh, thank you,” Lucie said, though she was still unsure exactly what she was thanking him for. “You were … altering something?”
“Removing. A small piece of the lattice.”
“Right, yes. Was there a problem with it?”
“No, nothing wrong with it, as far as I can tell. But Kazrian insisted it be removed.” Evryn finished with his coat, and Lucie moved aside to let him through the door.
“Well, thank you again,” she said. “I do hope the building behaved itself while you were here.”
“It did not throw anything at me, if that’s what you mean, though I’ve heard all about the shelf that keeps defeating Kazrian.
” He laughed and added, “I do not believe my little brother has ever met a problem he couldn’t solve, and the fact that this building keeps inventing new ones is driving him quietly mad. ”
Lucie smiled despite herself. “It is rather a stubborn building. Though the upstairs storeroom has stood open for two and a half days now. I am almost tempted to believe that Kazrian and the door have finally come to an agreement.”
“Give it time. The door is likely lulling him into a false sense of accomplishment before it finds something new to torment him with.” Evryn stepped past her and pushed the door open wider.
“The place is looking wonderful, though. Truly. I had a look at the front window displays before coming in earlier, and they are quite spectacular. I can see why my grandmother brought you with her on this new venture.”
“Thank you,” Lucie said, warmth rising in her cheeks. “That is very kind.”
“Not kind. Accurate.” He stepped outside. “Right. I shall leave you to your kingdom. Give my regards to Balthazar, if the beast deigns to receive them. He was not in the kitchen when I arrived this morning.”
“He will deign to receive nothing, of that I can be certain.”
Evryn laughed. “No. I didn’t think so.” He gave her a small, charming bow and then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him. The kitchen settled back into its morning quiet.
Lucie turned to hang up her shawl and caught movement on the staircase—Balthazar, descending at his own unhurried pace.
He did not usually sleep up there, but perhaps he had been keeping his distance from Evryn.
“Ah, there you are. Good morning.” He padded past her, pressing the length of his body against her leg in brief acknowledgment, and continued on toward the hearth.
A trio of kitchen pixies darted past her carrying the kettle between them, already intent on the morning tea, while a brownie hurried forward to take the bag of ribbons from her hand.
Lucie tied an apron around her waist and went straight to the enchanted list pinned to the pantry door.
This was the morning routine. Steady, familiar, the same sequence of small actions that anchored the start of every day.
She glanced toward the hearth, and that was when she saw the strangest thing.
Balthazar was not on his cushion. He was beside it, pressed against the wall to the left of the hearth, rubbing the length of his body along the stone with slow, luxurious contentment, his eyes half closed.
Lucie stared, dumbfounded. Because Balthazar did not touch that wall. He had never touched it. He liked his cushion that side, but in all the months he had ruled this hearth he had kept a careful margin from that exact stretch of stone because of the lumyrite in—
Because of the …
The lumyrite.
Nothing wrong with it, as far as I can tell. But Kazrian insisted it be removed.
Something tightened in Lucie’s throat. She pressed her lips together and blinked, hard, and then again, because her vision had gone suddenly and traitorously blurry.
She crouched beside Balthazar. He opened one eye, considered her, and permitted her to rub the soft place behind his ear. “Well,” she said, and her voice came out strange. “Look at you.”
Then he stretched and padded past her toward the back door. “Right then.” She straightened. “Off to argue with the garden gnome?”
He paused in the doorway, flicked his tail once—neither yes nor no, merely an acknowledgment that she had spoken—and went out.
The two of them constantly fought over who would claim the best patch of morning sunlight in the back courtyard.
Lucie had pointed out on numerous occasions that it was hardly fair for Balthazar to have the best sunlight on both the kitchen counter and outside. He remained unmoved by this argument.
“At least do your part to keep the gossip birds away while you are there,” she called after him. Then, smiling, she shook her head and turned back to the enchanted list as two of the pixies brought her tea. She took a sip, let the warmth of it settle her, and reviewed the items.
The window displays: perfect, thank the stars. Lady Rivenna had approved the arrangement Lucie and Georgiana had created, and Lucie checked each morning for any confection that needed replacing with a fresh version. She would see to that shortly, once she had worked through the rest of the list.
Batches completed and stored: the honeycomb brittle, the glazed petit fours, the elderflower champagne jellies, five varieties of chocolate truffle, and three dozen sugar flowers in various pastel shades.
Batches still to be made today: chocolate truffles filled with honeycomb cream, more florentines, and the ginger and dark honey biscuits.
Then there was honey light to capture this afternoon—Golden Hour, which required late afternoon sun and had to be done today because she needed it for the cherry blossom petit fours she was finishing tonight, and she had only discovered the night before that Golden Hour was almost finished.
Lucie worked through the morning. She mixed the ginger biscuit dough, set it to chill, prepared the honeycomb cream, which also needed time to cool, and began on the florentines.
She could hear Georgiana’s voice drifting from the front, the warmth of it as she greeted someone, and the low chime of the door enchantment.
She had just finished dipping the florentines in dark chocolate and turned back to the worktable to begin tidying the scatter of ingredients and utensils from her morning’s work when the back door opened.
Henry.
He was smiling and carrying an umbrella, which struck her as odd, given that the morning was a blaze of sunshine.
“Good morning.” He held up the umbrella. “Georgiana forgot this, and I think it shall rain later.”
Lucie glanced at the window. The sky was a clear, uninterrupted blue. “It looks rather fine to me.”
“The clouds on the horizon. You cannot see them from here, but they are gathering, trust me. By mid-afternoon we shall have rain, and a good deal of it. I have always had an eye for weather.” He moved further into the kitchen.
“Georgiana never believes me, and then she ends up running home through the rain.”
“How fortunate she has you to remind her, then,” Lucie said, and took the spices she’d used for the ginger biscuits back to their shelf.
She turned back to find Henry setting the umbrella against the leg of the worktable. “I won’t keep you,” he said, leaning one hip against the edge of the table in the way that suggested he intended to do precisely that. “I can see you are busy.”
“I am rather.” Lucie gathered an armful of jars and carried them toward the pantry. “With the Season beginning tomorrow and everyone flooding into town, we expect—”
“I wanted to ask you something.”
She set the jars on the pantry shelf and came back for the next armful. “Oh?”
“The Primrose Assembly concert. I know you said no before, but I thought perhaps now, with the preparations nearly finished, you might reconsider.”
She almost laughed. Preparations nearly finished? He could not be serious. “Henry, I truly cannot. I am even busier now than—”
“You are always busy.” The smile stayed, but something beneath it shifted. “You never have time for me anymore. You and that Lord Rowanwood are always flitting about this kitchen together, and I really think it would do you a world of good to get away from—”
“Flitting?” The word stopped her mid-stride. She turned to look at him, a wooden tub of flour in her hands. “You mean that I am running a kitchen and he is trying to stop the building from destroying itself before we have even opened?”
Henry blinked. The smile faltered, then reassembled itself. He took a step closer. “Lucie. You should sit down. You are working yourself into a state, and it does not become you.”
“I am perfectly well. I simply need to get past you.”
She stepped toward the pantry. Henry moved. Not much. A half step, easy and unhurried, just enough to put himself between her and the pantry door. “Where are you rushing off to? You have not stood still one minute since I came in.”
“To the pantry.” She smiled, because he was smiling, because this was a game and the rules of it required her to smile. “Henry, I have things to put away.”