Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
“No! No. No.” Kaelith snatched the spoon and the bowl from her hands, scowling. “That’s too much wild pepper root.”
“Hey!” Rynna spun, reaching for the ground spice she’d already measured out. “You wanted me to cook. I’m cooking.”
“And that’s far too much heat.” His voice carried an edge now. He leaned past her, shoulder brushing hers, and lifted the cast-iron skillet straight off the small woodstove set into the rock wall.
“You’re screwing it up!” She shoved back against him. “Getting the perfect sear is hard as fuck.”
Kaelith swung the skillet up near her face. “You can’t possibly have done this on purpose.”
Observing the pan, she found the trout they’d taken from the stream that morning lying crinkled and black at the edges, the skin blistered and crisped. She wrinkled her nose, then leaned closer and sniffed. The char gave way to a smoky, savory scent that made her grin.
“It’s actually—” she declared, grabbing for the pan. “Perfect.”
Before he could stop her, she removed a slim paring knife from her belt and slid it beneath the edges of the fish, lifting until the blackened skin cracked loose from the iron.
With a quick flick of her wrist, she flipped both pieces into the air.
The fish landed back in the pan, skin-side up this time, sizzling on the fresh side.
“Two more minutes,” she announced. Grabbing another jar from the collection of spices he’d scavenged for her, she scattered the coarse green flakes over the fish.
“And then we can eat!” She whirled to face him, as the piney bite of mountain sage burst upward with the smoke.
Kaelith stood there staring, mouth open, eyes cutting between her and the pan. “You can’t be serious.” He jabbed a finger at the skillet. “There is no possible outcome where I let you so obviously poison me.”
“Get the plates.” Rynna ignored the dismay etched across his face, eyes fixed instead on the pan as she counted down the seconds.
He muttered something, the sound too low to catch, as footfalls less stealthy than usual crossed to the cabinet.
“Hurry.” She bent at the waist, leaning closer to the skillet, watching as oil hissed and the last of the sage crisped. “Nearly done…”
Heat swept over her back a moment later as he slid in behind her, one hand settling on her hip.
“Now this,” he murmured, his mouth close enough to stir the hair at her temple. “This might be worth a small poisoning.”
From the corner of her eye, she caught the motion of his other hand, setting two plates onto the low stool beside the stove. The next instant, his second hand closed on her other hip, jerking her against the pressure building thick behind her.
“Sorry, snake.” Her voice came out steady, though her core pulsed at the contact. Then, a twist of her body freed her from his grip as she ducked under his arm, snatching the skillet from the fire. “Food first.” The pan tipped, and two blackened trout slid cleanly onto the waiting plates. “Then…”
His fingers hooked into the waistband of her trousers, resting there like a promise. “Then I make you scream, so loud the entire Hearth will blush from wherever they hold their secret Five-Day meeting.”
Her chuckle carried light, even as she scooped a mound of rice from the pot and let it fall steaming over the fish.
“It’s good to have goals.” Forks clinked in her hand next as she shuffled to the small table wedged against the wall of carved stone. Her pulse thundered, but she forced her smile as she held both plates up. “Now. We eat.”
He had requested a dish from where she was from.
Unfortunately, that was less simple than it seemed.
Most of her life blurred into Missions—different worlds, different roles—each nearly erased the moment the Weaving took her to the next.
But sometimes there were fragments left between.
And occasional flashes from one place between Missions that felt like home.
This dish—pan-fried blackened trout with rice—was one of them.
The smoke and spice rose from the plates in a wave, and with it came fractured images of gas lamps glowing in mist. Cobblestones slick with rain gleaming under carriage wheels. Music drifting from an open doorway, the press of bodies and lace dresses and laughter spilling into the street.
Rynna squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to seize the thread, to hold the vision before it slipped away like all the others. But the flashes broke apart as quickly as they came. Still, if even pieces had survived, the food had to be good. Right? Otherwise, it would have faded with everything else.
“All right, pet.” Kaelith sank into the seat by the narrow window, the plate scraping lightly as he moved it toward him. “Tell me about…” His voice carried less heat now, and skepticism lingered in the arch of his brow. “Whatever this is.”
She snatched up a fork and jabbed it in his direction. “Just try it.”
“You first.”
“Fine.” The snort broke from her as she speared a piece of fish, holding it suspended for a heartbeat as if to judge it, then popped it into her mouth.
The first chew slowed her whole body. Heat danced on her tongue in a smoky bite, the spice washing into a buttery depth from the crisped skin. A grin spread across her face before she could stop it, and she scooped rice onto the next bite, then shoved it in.
“Oh my stars.” Eyes fluttered shut as the flavors melded. “It’s so good.”
She chewed until the silence drew her attention.
Kaelith was watching her, one brow raised, the fork in his hand twirling lazily between thumb and forefinger.
“Did you not know what it would taste like?” he asked, looking from her face to the plate. “It was your recipe. And you were very specific about what you needed. I spent half the day finding the odd spices you demanded.”
She swallowed, fingers clenching on her fork. “I thought we weren’t talking about our pasts.”
It wasn’t a rule they had agreed upon, not out loud. But it had become one all the same, an unspoken boundary. They lived day by day, in this place, in this moment, with no questions asked about what came before.
“Yes…” His voice carried a pause, deliberate, measured. He carefully speared a piece of fish with her fork, mimicking the way she had done it. The bite lingered at his lips for a heartbeat before he placed it in his mouth.
She caught the shift in his expression, the tension around his eyes, and the surprise that flared before it melted into pleasure.
Rynna, his thought brushed her mind as he swallowed. Do you not know where you come from? Or how you came to be here?
A memory flared, his memory, of her saying she went where the Weaving sent her. The words echoed hollowly within her as she dropped her eyes to the table, staring at the flaking fish as though it might offer an answer.
Then—
Another sound broke through. It was the scrape of his fork against ceramic, followed by the quiet chew of another bite.
How was she supposed to explain? Mira had accepted her limited explanation with no protest, though Rynna suspected it had only been because the Mistress of the Hearth—whoever that was—had instructed Mira to let it go.
Why that person would know anything at all was beyond her.
But it had been to Rynna’s advantage, and she had learned long ago that nothing good came from digging.
“You win.” His sigh carried across the table.
Her head lifted. His plate was bare.
“Win what?” Her throat worked as she swallowed again.
“That was the best…” He leaned back in his chair, lips quirking. “Or at least the second best…” His gaze pinned her, voice dropping low. “Thing I’ve ever tasted.”
For a moment, she could only blink at him, trying to process. Then a strangled laugh tore loose. “Kaelith!” The laugh tumbled free, moisture pricking her eyes. “You’re… you’re…”
“Incorrigible?” he supplied. “A fiend? A villain?” His body tilted closer across the table. “Deserving of punishment.”
The heat in his stare scorched her, daring her to let herself fall into those eyes and everything he was offering.
But…
“You don’t have to do that.” Her teeth worried her lower lip as the words slipped out. “Redirect the conversation.”
Concern flickered over the burn in his gaze. “Are you sure?”
His foot bumped hers under the table.
“No.” The word was stiff in her lungs. “But you deserve something.” Her pulse ticked faster, echoing in her ears. “Though it won’t be much. And it probably won’t make any sense.”
Kaelith raised both hands, setting them on either side of his plate. Palms up. Fingers relaxed.
Speak your heart, Rynna. His voice was barely a thought that she felt more than heard.
Above, the ceiling was low, stone marked with cracks and tiny dimples, shadows pooling in each hollow. She traced every imperfection, cataloguing them one by one, until she found the strength to lower her eyes back to him.
Very well. Her chin dipped in a single nod. But only for you, Kae.
And then she let go.
The images came fragmented, torn, flashing through the bond like shards of glass catching light.
Herself being jerked from world to world.
The tearing sensation that never left, pain lodged so deep she couldn’t name it, only feel it.
And with each new place, the strange easing that followed—never a cure, but a dulling, just enough to keep moving.
Minutes went by, then his hands reached across the narrow table, folding over hers. His grip was warm, grounding, even as his eyes widened with every beat of silence.
But he did not speak.
She gave him the wars. The death. The endless destruction that marked every stop.
Blurred faces she had tried to save, allies found and lost, lives cut short.
The fragile ones she fought to protect even when she wouldn’t remember—and the inevitability of their falling anyway, as worlds burned or staggered just shy of ruin.
Victory or failure, it was always the same. Thousands dead. Sometimes millions.