Chapter 32
Evie
Evie couldn’t stop staring at it.
“It” being the human-sized pot in the middle of the room.
“Sage… Gold coin for your thoughts,” she heard Trystan’s voice rumble.
“Do you think Greta has a standing appointment with her dentist?” She felt like she was in a daze.
The threat of being cooked alive did that to a person.
“I think if she was eating her house, it would be significantly easier for us to leave it.” With a grunt, he picked up a stool and threw it against the wall. “How could that not have made a dent?”
She lifted a brow, feeling impossibly amused. “We’re surrounded by stale gingerbread. You’re lucky the stool didn’t crack.”
The door rattled, and Evie’s heart bottomed out.
Forgetting that she had a dagger at her waist, death magic somewhere inside her, and a large man shoving himself in front of her.
“What’s going on with you?” He stared down at her and not the door, which was vibrating violently from Greta’s fists. “You’re not usually this…skittish.”
“I’m not—”
“Open the door!”
Evie shrieked, twisting his shirt in a death grip, then jumping when his hand landed on her waist. “Okay, I’m a little skittish.
” When she looked up, he was still staring at her intently, like whatever was happening to her right now was far more important than the woman banging on the door so she could roast them like Yule dinner.
“The idea of being eaten freaks me out.”
His dark eyes went darker still, glistening with mirth. “As special as I believe you are, love, that is the more common reaction to the subject.”
“Keep that word out of your mouth. It’s lethal,” she accused.
The romantic familiarity between them was supposed to feel unusual. Since she’d met the man, he had been a walking vessel for repression, resolved to keep himself contained and unemotional.
But now his resolve was settled on her.
And she couldn’t even enjoy it.
His lips brushed over her hair.
Much.
“If I were to become soup with anyone, I would want it to be you.” It was a tiny portion of all she wanted to say, but Trystan had a way of understanding her quips for what they were. He knew her worst fear: if she let the chips fall and took the risk, she could hurt him.
Not just that. She was destined to hurt him.
“I don’t like soup,” he stated.
“Yes, I recall. And I find that absurd.” She tapped the sides of her head. “You can’t dislike soup. Most of the time it’s just broth and vegetables.”
He didn’t flinch but contemplated. “I don’t care for food to be mushy.”
“You ate cake this morning,” she accused.
“That’s soft, not mushy,” he corrected, staring at her like she was the one spouting nonsense. But then his head snapped up. “Wait. The broth!”
“Is liquid,” she mused, disgruntled, watching with a tilt of her chin when he climbed the step stool adjacent to the overlarge cooking vessel.
Trystan peered in, rolling up his sleeve. “It’s boiling. That might work.”
“What?”
“If we spill the pot. Cookies crumble under boiling heat, no matter how stale they are.” He began rocking the pot just as Evie realized something alarming.
The knocking had stopped.
Because the door was open.
Greta stood there, her blond hair wild from the banging, her lovely face twisted into a frown. But she only had one thing to say.
“You don’t like soup?”
Evie paused her terror to commiserate. “I know, right?”
“Sage! Move out of the way!”
She didn’t wait to see why, just dove toward the wall. Next thing she knew, a cord had snapped, the pot tipped, and scalding broth rushed for where Greta stood. The woman yelped, running from the room and the splashing hot liquid.
It hit Evie’s ankle just before she was scooped up and held in Trystan’s arms like a bride over a threshold.
They were so tightly pressed together, she could feel his heartbeat, his muscles jumping underneath her fingers.
Her eyes found his, and he held her waist tighter, mischief where there should be fear.
“It’s interesting that dangerous situations seem to push us together instead of pull us apart, as the destiny monster declared,” he said.
“It’s not interesting. It’s sick and mildly cruel.”
“That, or the destiny monster is a liar,” he whispered resolutely, a rumble coming from his chest, mirth dancing in his dark eyes.
“I want to believe that,” she whispered. “I want to so badly. You must believe me; I…don’t want to be scared.” Emotion broke through then, a strained sadness making her voice crack on the last word.
He looked at her with a sureness she wasn’t certain she’d ever had—about anything. “You can be scared. And I’ll just…I’ll just be here.”
After laying a gentle kiss on her cheek, then the tip of her nose, he looked up to see the damage the broth had wrought, but the walls stayed in place, not softening or crumbling in the slightest. “Well. That’s disappointing.”
“Oh, but it wasn’t.” Greta’s voice startled them. “That was so sweet!” she squeaked, dabbing her eyes with what appeared to be a sugar cookie covered in cinnamon.
They were both struck speechless for a second, and then Evie’s mouth caught up. “It won’t make us tastier!”
Greta stared, her eyes moving to different parts of the room. She appeared confused, and then realization hit. “Did you two think I was going to cook you?”
They had made that hop, skip, and a jump to that conclusion, hadn’t they? “Were—uh—” Evie started, folding her lips inward. “Were you not…going to do that?”
“What on earth gave you two such a disgusting idea!” Greta looked genuinely appalled.
“The human-sized pot in the middle of your back room?” Evie gestured to it.
“That belongs to Fee!” Greta bit out.
“Who is Fee?” Trystan asked, incredulous. Then the ground rattled and the roof was suddenly lifted off the house. Evie felt herself gently lowered to her feet and tucked behind Trystan’s back.
“I’m the one with the death magic, you know,” she grumbled.
“I know,” was all he said in response.
“That would be me.” The giant called Fee peered down at them curiously.
“Your name is Fee?” Trystan asked warily.
Evie felt a shot of satisfaction—the sort when you were proven right. “As in Fee Fi Fo Fum?”
Fee spoke above them with level displeasure. “I was trying to introduce myself when you stumbled onto my property, even cleared the path of rocks, and instead I was met with screams of terror! Your guests are very rude, Greta.”
“This wouldn’t have happened if you let me ask who Fee Fi Fo Fum was,” Evie sang under her breath.
“That was just occurring to me, thank you,” Trystan hissed back. “You almost stepped on us!” Trystan bellowed up at the giant.
“Did I?” Fee asked. “Or are my feet just quite large and you made a rather outlandish assumption?”
Evie’s mouth formed an O, and she couldn’t take her eyes off Fee, even as she tapped Trystan’s shoulder. “I think it’s the second option. You should apologize.”
“You thought Greta was cooking us!” Trystan accused.
“There was a giant pot! What else was I supposed to assume it was for?”
“A giant,” Greta offered, waving around a rather large spoon. “I’m Fee’s personal chef.”
Oh. That was a relief. And wildly mortifying.
“I assume my dinner was ruined, Greta?” Fee grumbled, gently placing the roof back atop the house, and wordlessly the two of them followed Greta outside. Feeling more than a little silly, Evie hung her head like a child who’d been caught drawing on the wall.
She took a breath of the night air. And it was indeed night. The skies near the eastern kingdom, Kaliora, were clearer, the benefit of being away from the bustle of the capital or busier villages. Stars beamed all around them.
Her mother could be up there. Perhaps that was the place she’d escaped to, back among the stars, wanting the benefit of viewing Evie’s life but not actually being a part of it. Or maybe she didn’t care to watch Evie at all.
Greta was offering new dinner plans when Evie drifted back to the conversation.
At a terrible time.
“They were having a lovers’ quarrel.”
“We’re not lovers,” Evie objected.
At the same time as Trystan objected, “It wasn’t a quarrel.” He narrowed his eyes for a moment at her, looking well and truly evil, so much so that a chill spread down her spine. “How do you define lovers, Sage?”
“If you’re needing to define it, you probably aren’t one,” Fee offered, and Trystan’s gaze went skyward.
“I’m going to cut to the chase before my fragile pride takes another beating,” Trystan said. “We’re here to find an artifact. A key.”
“Of course you are. As is everyone who travels over to Kaliora’s borders. They all ask for the same thing.” Fee smiled piteously. “And none of them have been able to win it from me.”
“We can win it. What’s the game?” Evie was speaking out of her arse, but if it got the giant to at least show them where the key was, they could work out a way to steal it.
Thinking like a villain.
She was relieved that the pinch in her chest wasn’t there, just contentment. “It’s simple.” Fee smiled with satisfaction, and Evie’s contentment ran screaming from the room. “You merely need to take the key from my hand.”
“I feel like it’s not going to be that easy,” she mumbled to Trystan.
“From the height I stand.”
“Yeah, that sounds right.” Evie pinched her temples, sighing when Fee pulled out the key.
It was an unassuming thing, painted white, with detailing on it she couldn’t quite make out from this far down.
“Do you think climbing on Greta’s roof is cheating?
” she asked Trystan, but whatever his response might have been was interrupted by a streak of light.
Just a flash of something gleaming in the moonlight—landing right in Fee’s palm. A shooting star?
But it wasn’t a star at all.
“Grab it, Kingsley!” Malcolm’s voice carried in from the trees, his hand overextended like he’d just tossed a ball.
Or rather…a frog.
Alexander Kingsley, in all his webbed-foot glory, took the key in his mouth and leaped just before Fee’s fingers could close around him, landing perfectly atop his horse. Evie wondered how something so small and green could maintain such an air of gallant charm.
“You cheated!” Fee boomed, stomping her foot and shaking the ground.
“Time to go.” Trystan grabbed her hand, sprinting for Malcolm, who appeared ragged from gathering the animals. They mounted and broke into a sprint, Fee’s voice booming behind them.
Riding to their home. Their family.
Everything had gone exactly right.
Which made Evie’s stomach bottom out.
Because that usually meant something very wrong was not too far behind.