Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
ELLIE
“To heal a wound, we must first acknowledge the cause.”
The Healer's Codex, ancient Tidevein manuscript
His fingers are warm against mine, where they’re linked together, but it’s clear his thoughts aren’t here with me.
He’s still, so very still, in that way he is when he’s refusing to let any emotion out.
It’s so easy for me to see now. So much so that I wonder how I once thought him emotionless and cold.
I can’t even begin to imagine how it must feel growing up with someone, trusting them with your life, only to discover they orchestrated everything terrible that happened to your family. The scale of that betrayal hurts my heart.
I want to do something for him. Something that has nothing to do with brothers who murder their parents for power. Something that doesn’t require magic, and duty, and masks worn to hide the person beneath. Something normal.
What will feel like I’m showing him I care without an agenda? What would give him comfort without him feeling like there are strings attached?
Then I remember. Christmas dinner. I bought everything … when? Before Meridian. Before my life changed. I’ve lived through months since then, but the calendar says it was just days ago.
“I’m going to start preparing dinner.” I untangle my fingers from his and stand up.
He turns slightly at the sound of my voice. “Dinner?”
“Christmas dinner. I had everything planned for today.” I pause on my way to the kitchen.
“I’m finding it really hard to believe I’ve lived for months in Meridian, yet only a couple of days have passed here …
but I bought everything at the beginning of the week.
Turkey breast, potatoes, the whole traditional meal.
Scaled down for one person. But there is always too much, so it’ll be enough for both of us.
” I’m rambling, filling the silence with words just to try and bring him back to the present.
“May I help?” His tone is still a little more formal than I’d like, but I’ll take it.
“Sure.”
He follows me into the kitchen, and positions himself near the archway where he can watch without getting in my way.
I take the turkey breast from the refrigerator, small but more than enough for two, then gather the rest of the things I need. As I move around the kitchen, I’m aware of Sacha tracking my every movement. When I turn on the oven, he asks me about it.
“The temperature controls itself,” I explain while I season the turkey. “It will cook evenly without me having to tend a fire or keep rotating it.”
He nods, processing the information with the same focused attention he gives everything.
Everything here must seem so strange to him. Machines that create heat without fire, light without flame, cold without ice. I try to imagine seeing it through his eyes—this world of convenience built with forces he’s never encountered.
I continue preparing the food—peeling potatoes, opening cans, checking the timer. The routine tasks ground me, keeping my mind away from images of Sereven’s betrayal, and focused on the reality of creating a meal for us both.
“This is important to you.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Christmas dinner? I guess so … in a way, but not how it is for most people. It’s supposed to be about family. Coming together and being grateful for what you have.” My hands still on the potato peeler. “I’ve never actually cooked it for anyone else before.”
The realization surprises me. All those years of buying groceries for it, of planning meals I’d eat alone while watching holiday movies. Years of creating the illusion of celebration for an audience of one.
Warm hands cover mine, startling me. I blink, and refocus, to discover Sacha beside me, dark eyes warmer than I’ve ever seen them. “Then this is new for both of us.”
The tension in his shoulders has eased slightly, and I wonder if this ordinary domestic scene is providing the same anchor for him as it is for me. Something peaceful and present to hold onto after visiting such dark memories.
I smile, and he dips his head to brush his lips over mine before stepping away again. Heat rises in my cheeks, and I force myself to keep my attention on the tasks at hand. When I boil the potatoes, he asks me why. When I open the canned cranberry sauce, his eyebrows raise slightly.
“Everything in this world seems designed for speed.”
“Sometimes I think we’ve traded our souls for convenience,” I tell him, mashing the potatoes with more force than necessary. “Everything fast. Everything easy. Everything disposable.”
“Yet you take as much time preparing this meal as the cooks do in Meridian.”
“Some things are worth doing properly. Even if it’s just for us.”
Especially because it’s just for us. After everything we’ve survived, everything we’ve shared, this quiet moment feels precious.
By the time everything is ready, the sky has darkened outside, and the apartment is filled with the scent of food.
Sacha sets the small table with my mismatched dishes, and somehow tracks down a single candle in a drawer.
The Christmas tree lights blink softly in the living room.
I set them to amber, so they remind me of the lightstones in Stonehaven.
I pour two glasses of wine, and we sit on opposite sides of the table.
“It’s not quite Mountain Spirit, but you might like it.”
He takes a cautious sip, then nods. “It’s good.”
We eat slowly. Sacha finds the cranberry sauce too sweet, the stuffing unfamiliar but ‘interesting’, yet he eats everything on his plate. I watch as he approaches each unfamiliar item with focused attention, processing flavors and textures and gives his thoughts on each one.
“The potato preparation is similar to what we use in Meridian. Though the seasoning is different.”
“What do you season it with?”
“Mountain herbs. Salt from dried lake beds. I don’t believe we have anything as … complex as this.” He gestures at the stuffing. “Many ingredients combined.”
“That’s the idea. A little bit of everything coming together. Like family, I guess. Different pieces that somehow make sense.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. Here we are, two people from different worlds, sharing a meal meant to celebrate family, after having a conversation about a family torn apart by the worst possible betrayal.
But somehow, in this moment, it works. We work.
After dinner, I clear the table, stacking plates and gathering silverware. Sacha moves to help, and when I wave him toward the living room, he gives me a look that stops the words before I utter them.
“I can wash dishes, Mel’shira.”
“I know, but—”
“Show me how this works.” He gestures toward the sink. “I’ve washed dishes before. Just not with …” He pauses, studying the various bottles lined up along the counter. “All of this.”
So, I show him how to squirt dish soap into the warm water, how much to use, the way the suds foam up instantly. He nods seriously, as though I’m briefing him on scout reports rather than demonstrating how we wash dishes on Earth.
“The water temperature can be adjusted here.” I turn the faucet. “Hot for washing, cooler for rinsing.”
He plunges his hands into the soapy water, handling my dishes with the same focus he brings to everything else.
There's something almost surreal about watching him work.
Here stands the High Prince of Meridian, the feared Shadowvein Lord, up to his elbows in soap suds while wearing a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
He glances over, eyebrows raised. “Something amusing?”
“Just ... this.” I point at him. “You, washing my dishes. If Varam could see you now.”
A small smile touches his lips. “They've seen me do far more mundane things, I assure you.”
“Still.” I move to stand beside him, taking the clean plates to dry them. “It's nice. Normal.”
When I reach around him for the dish towel, he catches my wrist gently with wet, soapy fingers.
“Thank you,” he says simply, but there's more behind the words. Gratitude for more than just the meal.
I rise on my toes to kiss him, meaning it to be quick and light, but his other hand finds the small of my back, and draws me closer. The kiss deepens, soft and unhurried, tasting of cranberry sauce and wine. When we break apart, his thumb traces along my lower lip.
“The dishes—”
“Can wait.” But he's already turning back to the sink, the responsible part of him unwilling to leave a task unfinished.
I watch him work, noting the way he approaches even this simple chore with undivided attention to detail. Heat curls low in my stomach as I remember those same hands on my skin this morning, the way they explored every inch of me with the same patient thoroughness.
When I move to put away the silverware, I feel his gaze follow me, and when I pass close enough, his hip bumps against mine. Small touches, deliberate contact that builds anticipation between us.
After we’re done, we go back through to the living room. Sacha sits at the end of the couch nearest the window, positioning himself where he can see the apartment's entrance. A habit born from years of being hunted, even here where no Authority forces hunt us.
“What's that?” he asks as I reach for the remote control.
“It operates the television from a distance.” I point the small device at the screen and press the power button.
The television flickers to life, and Sacha’s entire focus narrows to the moving images filling the screen—a commercial about holiday shopping playing in bright, cheerful colors. I watch his face instead of the advertisement, fascinated by his reaction.
“That is different from what it displayed earlier.”
“It was a news program earlier. This is an ad … it’s trying to sell things to people. We have lots of channels. Each one has different shows on them.”
I flip through channels until I find what I'm looking for. ‘It's a Wonderful Life’ is just beginning, the opening credits rolling over snow-covered Bedford Falls.