Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
“And then,” Lucie said, “there was a river. An entire river, Balthazar, made of chocolate. One could trail one’s fingers in it and taste it, and it was the finest chocolate I have ever had in my life.
Well, perhaps not as fine as the chocolate we have sourced for the launch, and which I hope to continue using in our other confections, but close. ”
Balthazar, seated on the floorboards in the passageway outside the open storeroom door, looked as though he had never been less interested in anything in his life.
“You would not have approved of any of it,” Lucie went on, easing the storeroom door experimentally back and forth on its hinges.
“Far too whimsical. Too many strangers. And there was a great deal of standing about saying oh and look at that, which you would have found exhausting.” The door swung freely, obligingly, with no inclination whatsoever to shut itself.
She stepped out and stood alongside Balthazar, closed the door fully, and waited.
Nothing happened. No click of a lock. She opened the door once more.
“But it was the most magical night of my entire life, and I am telling you so, and you may make whatever face you like about it.”
Balthazar made a face about it. A slow, contemptuous yawn that exposed every one of his small sharp teeth.
“Yes. I thought you might.”
The storeroom door, at least, was behaving.
After standing open for several days, it had locked itself again three mornings ago.
Even with two crates wedged against it—heavy ones, stacked one atop the other—Lucie had arrived one morning to find the crates shoved neatly aside, the door swung shut, and the lock engaged.
The following day, mercifully, had been a Thursday, and on Thursdays the building had always seen fit to open this room, and the door had unlocked and stayed open since.
Lucie still did not trust it. She would not be storing anything she could not afford to lose up here, not until it had behaved for considerably longer than a few days.
But she had shifted a few more of the unnecessary things from the bedroom at the end of the passage into the storeroom’s care to make room for the launch supplies now crowding the little room that would one day become someone’s living quarters.
She moved to the bedroom now, where bags and crates sat in orderly rows along the far wall. She hoisted a fresh bag of flour onto her hip, balanced a tin of ground cinnamon on top of it, and tucked it against her chest with her chin.
She was halfway to the staircase when she heard the back door open downstairs.
Her heart leaped because Kazrian. He had said he would be bringing some things over from The Charmed Leaf, as per his grandmother’s instructions, and Lucie was pleased to know she would soon be able to cross a few more items off her launch preparation checklist. That was why her pulse had done that ridiculous thing. No other reason at all.
Although—it was very likely Lady Rivenna.
Yes. Almost certainly Lady Rivenna. Kazrian had stayed on at Dreamland the previous night after Lucie had left with Charlotte and Theo.
He was no doubt still abed, as any sensible person would be after such a late night.
It was Lady Rivenna downstairs, and Lucie’s heart could calm down at once.
She gathered the flour more securely and went down—slowly and carefully, in case of any extra steps—with Balthazar padding behind her.
The kitchen was empty.
No Lady Rivenna hanging up her cloak. No Kazrian crouched over some misbehaving fixture. Only the hearth crackling low and the kitchen pixies preparing tea. But there were voices—from the front, through the doorway to the shop—and she recognized the bright lilt of Georgiana’s among them.
Lucie set the flour on the worktable, something tightening in her chest. It was Georgiana who had come in, but she was speaking to someone, and it was too early for customers, which meant—
A shape filled the doorway from the front room, and Henry stepped through into the kitchen. Balthazar went rigid beside Lucie, his back arched, every dark line of him sparking, and loosed a hiss that cracked with visible magic.
Lucie straightened, set her shoulders, and arranged her face into a bright, welcoming smile. “Henry. Good morning.”
“Good morning.” His own smile arrived warm and easy. He ignored Balthazar, who stalked to the hearth and settled there facing him, tail twitching, watching.
“You are here rather early this morning.”
“Ah, yes, I found myself uncommonly well rested this morning. Woke before the sun, with more energy than I rightly knew what to do with. And I thought, well, why not call in and see how my sweet Lucie is faring.”
She wanted to object to the ‘my’ in that sentence, but it did not feel like the right time. She smiled instead. “How kind of you.”
He settled against the worktable with his arms folded loosely across his chest. “And did you have a pleasant evening last night?”
Lucie adjusted the position of the flour bag on the worktable and kept her voice level as she answered. “Yes, thank you.”
“Nothing out of the common way? No diversions? No entertainments?”
She looked at him then. A small frown tugged at her brow, because it was an odd question, and because the answer was one she did not want to give. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Henry.”
“I was outside Dreamland last evening. For the opening.” He said it pleasantly, conversationally, the way one might remark on the weather. “And guess who I saw there.”
The bottom dropped out of her stomach. The warmth drained from her hands. He meant her. Of course he meant her.
Steady.
“And I couldn’t help but notice young Lord Rowanwood trailing after you.”
“Lady Rivenna invited me,” Lucie said, trying to sound apologetic. “Or rather, she arranged it. Through her granddaughter. It was all rather last minute. I did not feel I could decline.”
“I see.” The smile stayed exactly where it was, fixed and pleasant and going nowhere near his eyes. “You appeared to be having a marvelous time as you disappeared inside. I am so glad you were able to get away from all this work and enjoy yourself for an evening.” A small pause. “Without me.”
“Henry—”
“Because I have been asking you, Lucie. For weeks. And every time, it is how busy you are, how much you have to do, how impossible it would be to take a single evening away. And then I see you at Dreamland. With the Rowanwoods.”
She picked up the flour again, hugging it to her chest. “Please do not be cross, Henry. I understand how it seems, but I did not plan it. It came about quite suddenly. And I promise you, once the Season’s first rush has eased and The Honeycomb has launched, I shall have time to myself again.
Time for—” She caught herself, and finished it anyway, because it was the thing that would soothe him. “For you. That is.”
He raised one brow. “A promise.” He said the word as though tasting it.
“Do you know, that is the very first thing you have ever promised me, Lucie Fields.” He pushed off from the worktable and took a step toward her.
A low, warning hiss came from the direction of the hearth. “I shall hold you to it.”
“Of course.” She produced another smile. It did not feel entirely convincing.
“I only wish you would let me take you somewhere. You deserve more than—” He gestured at the kitchen.
The copper pots. The shelves of ingredients.
“All of this, day after day. You deserve more than having a fae family with too much power force you to go somewhere, do something, you would rather not do.”
“Henry, it was not—”
“I wish you knew how much I care for you.” He was closer now.
She could not recall him stepping forward, but the distance between them had narrowed, and his voice had dropped into something warm and private.
Earnest and sincere. That was what she was hearing, she told herself.
“I think about you. I think about us. I—”
His hand came up and he traced one finger along her forearm and down over her wrist. And this was Henry, she kept telling herself, just Henry, who liked paying her attention, who had always been generous with such liberties, and yet the shiver that coursed through her body was not the pleasant sort.
The back door opened.
They both looked around.
Kazrian came through it sideways, a large box in his arms, his gaze sweeping across the kitchen and—
Lucie stepped clear of Henry in one quick motion, crossing to the counter on the other side of the room, the flour still clutched to her chest, praying with everything in her that Kazrian had seen nothing at all.
“Mr Stratton.” Kazrian carried the box to the small side table.
“Lord Rowanwood.” Henry’s voice was all warmth again. “Hard at it already, I see.”
“There is rather a lot to do.” Kazrian set the box down and turned, raking a hand through his hair. His gaze shifted from Henry to Lucie and back again.
“So I hear. Constantly.” Henry tilted his head. “I understand your grandmother forced poor Lucie along to Dreamland’s opening last night.”
Lucie stopped breathing. She met Kazrian’s eyes for one horrified instant before dropping her gaze and squeezing the flour bag even tighter.
Kazrian paused only as long as it took him to move back to the door.
“I am not certain I would say forced.” He pulled the lower half of the back door shut, leaving the top half open.
Beyond him, the courtyard was bright with early sun.
“Though my grandmother can be remarkably convincing when she sets her mind to a thing.” His gaze found Lucie’s across the kitchen, and he gave her a small, steadying smile.
“She got it into her head that Lucie ought to see Dreamland for herself, and Lucie was too polite to refuse her.”
The breath went out of Lucie in a slow, silent rush.
“Ah.” Henry chuckled. “Politeness. Yes. I have noticed Lucie’s politeness extends generously toward some.” A beat. “Less so to others.”
“It is a brave soul who declines Lady Rivenna Rowanwood,” Kazrian said. “I speak from extensive personal experience.”
Henry laughed. “Well, one can hardly argue with that. But come now,” he went on, moving around the worktable and settling himself at Lucie’s side, leaning back against the counter with his arms folded.
“I should very much like to hear all about the place. I have only ever seen it from outside. Tell me everything. What did you make of it, Lucie?”
“Oh, it—it was not so very—”
“Do not undersell it on my account.” His smile widened. “I want the full report. You too, Lord Rowanwood. You were there, I understand, escorting our Lucie.”
Lucie’s arms tightened around the flour bag. She was gripping it so hard now that she half expected the seam to give way entirely. She dared a glance at Kazrian.
His smile showed not a hint of strain. “It was my sister Rosavyn who was doing the escorting, I’m afraid, not me.
She was most eager to show Lucie and her sister around.
I spent a good portion of the evening with my brother, as it happens.
He was keen to walk me through several of the structural changes he has made since my last visit.
Lucie and her sister were free to explore at their leisure. ”
This was true, Lucie noted, at least in part.
Kazrian had been with Evryn when she bid him goodnight, and Evryn had already been drawing him away, pointing things out and making broad, sweeping gestures toward the enchanted sky with the same animated enthusiasm Kazrian himself wore when he was deep in an explanation of something that fascinated him.
“I understand there was a chocolate river,” Kazrian continued, his voice steady and unhurried. “Some enchanted boats. A great deal of whimsy and wonder. I imagine it is the sort of place that would not hold a great deal of interest for a man of practical affairs.”
Lucie stood there, saying nothing, and felt the whole kitchen draw tight around the three of them. She was contemplating launching away from the counter and hiding in the pantry until Henry saw fit to leave when Georgiana swept in from the front room mid-sentence.
“… and we shall be out of the ribbons again before the end of the week. Can you believe we have—” She stopped and took in the three of them, her brows drawing together at the sight of her brother.
“Oh, Henry, you are still here.” She stood a little straighter.
“Did you—were you not meant to be at the merchants’ hall this morning?
I realize it is still early, but … the walk will take you some time, I believe? And I would not want you to be—”
“Yes, Georgiana, thank you.” For an instant, Lucie saw something cold and sharp in Henry’s gaze. Then it was gone, and he was grinning, all warmth restored. “You are quite right. What would I do without you, Georgie, forever keeping me to my schedule.”
He straightened his coat and turned to Lucie. “I shall see you soon, Lucie.” He gave her a small, private smile. “And I shall not forget that promise.”
“O-of course,” Lucie said.
He gave Kazrian a brief nod, then moved past Georgiana and through to the front of the shop. The bell above the door chimed once, and he was gone.
The kitchen held its breath for a moment longer.
“Well, ah, I shall add the ribbon to the list before I forget,” Georgiana said, moving to the enchanted list on the pantry door and lifting the quill from the air. Then she was done and turning back toward the doorway and the front of the shop.
And then it was only the two of them.
Lucie and Kazrian.
She could not look at him. The silence stretched between them. The wrong kind of silence, careful and full. Then she blinked and remembered she had at least four hundred things to do, and she was hugging a bag of flour.
“I, ah—the pantry,” she said, already moving toward it.
“Of course,” Kazrian said quietly, as though her words made perfect sense. “I shall take the box upstairs, so it is out of the way. And then … the hob.” He nodded toward the top of the stove. “It is still heating up on its own. I shall come back down and see to it.”
“Thank you,” Lucie said as she disappeared into the pantry, where she finally put the bag of flour down, closed her eyes, and exhaled a long, slow breath.
This was fine, she told herself. This was all perfectly fine.
Henry cared for her, and caring meant wanting to be near a person, and of course it stung to be told no, I am far too busy, only to see that person out for the evening with someone else.
Anyone in his position would be upset. She could hardly fault him for it.
She merely wished it was not a matter requiring her attention right now.
Once the launch was behind her and Kazrian had finished his work and gone, everything would settle back into its proper place. She was certain of it.