Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Riven
I arrived bright and early the next morning with everything I could fit in an overnight bag and my favorite set of knives. I’d officially quit The Waterfront, and the head chef told me I could have my spot back if this didn’t work out, but…
I really, really needed this to work out.
Last night, Mr. Sylvik had done all the on-boarding and walked me through Abydos’s preferences and schedule. He said he’d be shipping me out everything I needed for success, including a new phone with Abydos’s scheduling app, and credit cards for grocery shopping, which would become my purview.
At the end of the conversation, I finally had the guts to bring up what I’d been putting off.
“Um, Mr. Sylvik, there’s something I think you ought to know.”
He’d hummed, clearly distracted by something on his end.
I swallowed. “I’m…uh. I’m human. A human.”
Silence from the other end.
“Mr. Sylvik?”
“A human?” he blurted. “Well shit. And the interview with Abydos went well? You’re starting tomorrow?”
He knew I was. “Why was Mister—why was he so surprised? Was I not supposed to be human?”
From the other end of the line, I heard Sylvik sigh. “Abydos is used to working with non-humans, and I have to say that I never considered you might be…well, the fae choose nature-oriented names, which is what I assumed Riven was.”
Was it? “My sister’s name is Brooke,” I mentioned a little numbly.
“And Starr?” He clucked his tongue. “Ms. Starr, you have a very fae-sounding name. I made assumptions I shouldn’t have, and I am very sorry for any trouble that caused.”
Trouble? I’m not sure that was the right word for the fear I’d experienced last night. The fear and the… Well, I wasn’t sure what to call the other feelings Abydos had evoked. Not pity, not exactly. Compassion, maybe? And something else.
“What would you have done if you’d known I was a human?” I forced myself to ask.
The man’s answer was immediate. “You wouldn’t have had an interview at all. But I suppose we both should be glad I didn’t, because it’s clear your cooking has won over Abydos despite your debility.”
Debility. Being human was a debility? I kept the smile from my voice when I thanked him and promised not to screw this up.
Which is why I was here extra early. I didn’t need a key because Sylvik had given me the code to get in, and I found the kitchen without much trouble. He had listed the expectations, and I was determined to meet them.
For my first day, I figured I couldn’t go wrong with a traditional breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, and blueberry pancakes. Everyone liked bacon, right? I texted Sylvik to ask about Abydos’s coffee preferences but didn’t hear back.
According to the daily schedule, Abydos woke up and worked out in the gym, which was near his suite of rooms. Then he’d want breakfast in the dining room at nine. Well, I could manage that, even if I was flagging a bit from the stress and early wake up.
To be fair, though, since the chemo, I’d been flagging a lot. I was weaker than I used to be, no doubt, but I’d had no choice but to keep pushing myself to work more hours and make more money.
At least working as a private chef wouldn’t be as physically demanding as being in the line at a popular fried seafood joint.
Or would it?
At 8:58 I stood in front of the island, surveying my offerings.
Damn, not knowing how Abydos took his coffee—or even if he preferred tea—was slightly terrifying.
I had everything loaded onto a silver tray I found in the butler’s pantry, and after the third time I adjusted the position of his mug—like that would really matter—I told myself to calm the hell down.
I needed to focus on what mattered; getting this heavy-ass tray into the dining room.
With a grunt, I hoisted it and teetered under the weight.
Don’t drop this, Riven. You need this job.
Right.
Right, I could do this. With straining muscles, I did my best to glide toward the dining room.
Abydos was sitting at the head of the table, his back to the impressive picture windows, scrolling on a tablet. When I shuffled into the room, I saw him freeze, but he didn’t look up from his screen.
Not that I could have had a conversation with him; I was too busy trying not to collapse under the weight of breakfast and a full coffee and tea service.
I managed not to clank too much when I set the tray at his elbow, then reached with trembling fingers for the place setting I’d forgotten to set out earlier.
“What’s this?”
His voice was somehow even more growly in the morning. I froze, trying to simultaneously keep my gaze locked on the tray and gauge his expression. This resulted in me eyeballing him from the corner of my eyeball.
It must’ve worked because I could see his hair was still wet from his shower. He didn’t wear the suit today, but a gray Henley shirt shoved up his forearms, revealing more scars on his left arm, and a watch worth four times as much as my sedan.
But he was waiting, so I managed to squeak, “What’s what? Sir,” I tacked on at the end as I hurried to set the table, hoping he’d think me respectful and not tardy.
“I don’t need a big breakfast,” he grunted, even as he reached for the coffeepot and the mug I’d chosen for him. “Thought Sylvik would’ve told you. I like protein. Oatmeal, fruit. Stuff like that.”
Not carby pancakey goodness? Ooohkay. I bobbed my head, intently watching—from the same eyeball corner—as he poured his coffee with a dash of cream. “Understood, sir. I can do that.”
After he pulled his mug away from the tray, I reached for the whole thing. “Let me take this back, I’ll make you some—”
He grunted again. “Don’t be stupid.” One large green hand snaked over mine to pick up the platter of eggs and bacon. “I’m going to eat this. Is there syrup?”
A little dazed, I nodded and moved it from the tray. “I warmed it.”
You don’t need to tell him that, you idiot. He can tell you warmed it up—maple syrup isn’t naturally warm. He doesn’t need to know how closely you obsessed over whether it was too warm.
“Good.” He shoved a mouthful of eggs into his mouth, then repeated—mouth full—“Good.”
Was that…a compliment? Was he complimenting me?
I backed away from the table, my hands clasped in front of me. “I’ll…uh, I’ll be back later to clean up. I looked through the fridge, and I think I can do maple pecan-crusted chicken for lunch, unless that’s too sweet…”
Was I blathering? I was blathering, wasn’t I?
“Chicken’s fine,” he grumbled, sawing at his pancake. “One o’clock.”
Right, that matched Sylvik’s schedule. So I was nodding as I backed out of the room. “One o’clock. Enjoy the…uh…enjoy your breakfast. Sir.”
He didn’t respond, and I made it back to the kitchen before my knees gave out.
I sank into the chair by the little breakfast nook, which had the same magnificent view as the dining room, and blew out a relieved—and confused—breath.
I’d made it. I’d passed the first test. His breakfast hadn’t been what he’d wanted exactly, but he was eating it, and seemed to be enjoying it. I had no idea his preferences, but I could learn those. I could avoid pissing him off, I could avoid reminding him of my humanness.
Outside the window, the clouds trundled cheerfully by, and I felt as if their speed matched my own.
I could do this.
Couldn’t I?
Abydos
“You just say the word, boss.” Garrak’s tone didn’t change from his usual calm, even when he was discussing shit that could cost him his livelihood. “We can have these protests shut down.”
“For fuck’s sakes,” I rumbled, pinching the bridge of my nose and leaning back in my overlarge desk chair. “I don’t want you to beat up the protestors. That’s not going to look good for our image.”
Humans already thought orcs were terrifying monsters, yeah? What would happen if my foreman and a bunch of the miners began keeping the hippies at bay with violence?
On the other end of the phone, Garrak snorted quietly. “I meant with money. I just need your approval to spend the bribes or whatever.”
“Oh, like you’d be the one I’d trust to bribe a bunch of humans.”
“I’m very good with humans, boss. Half of them likely owe me money already.”
It was true; Garrak was good with his money, and if any of the troublemakers had lost at cards to him…
I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. “Leave them alone.”
A pause. “You sure? They’re bringing all sorts of negative attention to Vengeance. The press is posting some nasty—”
“I saw it,” I interrupted. Of course I had. “Raping the Land was the title of yesterday’s article.”
“The humans are talking about the negative environmental impacts,” Garrak warned. “Using words like injustice and moral imperative and even worse…fines.”
I snorted, the closest I was going to get to a laugh. “I can cover fines.”
But did I want to? Did I want to bribe protesters and pay fines to allow me to continue to rape the land? It was something I’d been struggling with lately, and I had no answers.
With a sigh, I stood up, turning my back to the desk—and the phone—and crossing my arms as I looked out over the cliffs. “You still there?”
Garrak hummed. “Always. Just wondering if you’re okay.”
Was I?
Of course I was.
The male was just talking about the mine and the protesters. He thought there was something wrong with me, I guess. He had no idea the turmoil my mind—and my body, my Kteer—had been in this last week, trying to work with her scent in the house.
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, boss, but it’s not like you to stay away from the mine for so long. You’ve been out there in Eastshore for a week.”
He was right, damn him.
I trusted Garrak with my mine, my men, my money…and after that accident which had cost him his leg, my life. We weren’t long-time friends in the way Tarkhan and I were—I’d only met Garrak eight years before—but he deserved the truth.
“Eastshore Isle is…” This late in October, the storms were frequent, the air nippy, and the clouds angry. I loved this view. “Pleasant.”