Episode 195 We Keep Meeting Here
We Keep Meeting Here
Cerian slides more diced potatoes in front of Arisanna when Cook’s back is turned, and Arisanna smiles at him.
She’s getting better with that knife, but it’s still difficult to watch.
At least all her fingers remain intact.
Cerian makes quick work of the last potato Cook gave them to peel and dice, and he’s about to stand when Elowyn and Rominy appear in the kitchen.
“We keep meeting here,” Rominy says with a grin, and Cerian offers a smile in return.
Cook turns from the stove, where she’s been doing something with apples and making Cerian’s mouth water. “If you’re here for another picnic basket, these two already beat you to it, Master Rominy.”
“Oh.” Rominy glances at Elowyn. “Well, so much for that idea.”
They both look disappointed, and Cerian frowns. “You could...join us?”
The words are out before he fully thinks them through.
This will be a much different evening with Rominy and Elowyn present.
Arisanna looks at Cerian in surprise, but her expression softens, and she turns to her brother. “You should. We could have a campfire. It would be fun.”
Elowyn’s eyes light up again. “Oh, that sounds delightful. What’s a campfire?”
Rominy bursts into laughter. “It’s a normal fire, but you sit around it and talk and eat and tell stories and sing songs. Well, we probably don’t want Arisanna to sing, but—”
Arisanna flings a potato chunk at his face.
“You finally hit something,” Cerian teases her, and then she flings more potato at him, but he catches it and throws it back at her.
“Out! Out, all of you,” Cook says. “There will be no throwing food in my kitchen!”
Sanna’s cheeks redden as she mumbles an apology, and Cerian struggles not to smile.
“I’ll deliver your food to the arena,” Cook says. “Now, make yourselves scarce. Whistling wind. What is wrong with young ones these days? Flinging potatoes like...” She keeps mumbling to herself, and Cerian ushers the others into the hallway.
“Well. I’m mortified,” Arisanna says.
“Don’t be. Cook’s used to Tharios and Elowyn,” Cerian says.
“Do you really want us to join you?” Elowyn asks.
Cerian shrugs. “Why not? As long as Sanna doesn’t sing.”
She smacks his arm, and he tugs her into a kiss.
Her face is bright red when he pulls away, and Rominy seems very interested in the bark pattern on the wall.
“You look amazing in leather,” Elowyn says to Arisanna.
Sanna’s cheeks turn an even brighter shade of red, which hardly seemed possible.
Cerian wraps an arm around Sanna’s shoulders. His poor human.
“Thank you,” she mumbles to Elowyn.
“So,” Rominy says. “The arena?”
“Yes.” Elowyn clings to Rominy’s arm. “I wish to experience this campfire.”
Rominy laughs and gestures to Cerian. “Lead the way.”
“You don’t know how to get there, do you?” Cerian asks.
“I’m sure I’d find it eventually.”
Cerian smiles at that. “It’s this way. Come on.”
“Thanks for stopping by,” Tharios says when Healer Sorisa knocks on their door, and he ushers her inside.
“It’s my pleasure, my prince. I wish I could accompany you to Celesta, but other patients need me here.”
“We understand,” Tharios says.
“How are you feeling?” Healer Sorisa asks Viala.
“I am well, aside from some fatigue.”
Healer Sorisa nods as she smiles. “That’s completely normal, both with a magical sleep and with pregnancy.”
“We do have a few questions.” Tharios gestures to a chair before joining Viala at the end of the bed.
“Of course.” Healer Sorisa lowers herself to the chair.
“First, Viala’s flame. I’ve been extinguishing it, but I don’t know—”
“Ah. Yes. Your mother mentioned that, my princess. She said it’s generally considered safe, but your people try to avoid doing so while pregnant, especially for extended periods of time.”
Tharios glances at Viala, and she groans as she flops back on the bed.
“Tharios will interpret that as meaning it isn’t safe,” Viala says.
He scratches his brow. She isn’t wrong.
“How long is an extended period of time?” he asks Healer Sorisa.
“I’m afraid I can’t give you a good answer, my prince. Is this something you do often?”
“Yes,” Viala mutters, and Tharios chuckles.
“She still loses control of her magic when we—”
“Ah. I see,” Healer Sorisa says. “I wish I had a better answer for you.”
Viala bolts up. “I could try sending Mother a message.” Then she frowns. “But then I’d have to tell her I’m pregnant. I’m not sure I’m ready for that. She might decide to visit for nine months. Or ninety years.”
Tharios almost chokes. “Yeah, maybe we hold off on that. I love your mother, but—”
“I know. In her defense, she is almost fifteen hundred years old. And we...are not.”
Tharios laughs at that. Queen Calise was definitely not ready for her youngest daughter to bind with anyone when Tharios showed up. She seems to have adjusted, but still. Viala’s mother would hover worse than Deridyn.
They ask a few more questions before Healer Sorisa takes her leave, and soon they’re alone again.
“So...no more fun for now?” Viala asks, and Tharios sighs.
“I don’t know. Let me think about it, all right? We could have fun practicing with your magic.”
Her lips purse, but she can’t hold back her smile completely. “I suppose.”
“I love you, faerie. Shall we see about that picnic?”
Viala nods, and Tharios wraps his arm around her shoulders as they saunter into the corridor.
Cook turns when Tharios and Viala enter the kitchen. “Twice in my kitchen in as many days. I’d almost think you wanted to be put to work, Master Tharios.”
“Almost,” Tharios says. “But not quite.”
Viala laughs at his words. You’d think he was a lazy elf who never wanted to do anything from the way he jokes with Cook.
Of course he’s nothing of the sort.
Still, he’s not particularly fond of the culinary arts. Not like Cerian is.
“The tray of food you sent last night was superb,” Tharios continues.
“I see right through you, Master Tharios. Why are you really here?”
“Perhaps I simply came to say hello and compliment you on your fantastic cooking.”
“Hmph. I don’t believe that for a moment.”
“You don’t believe your cooking’s fantastic? It is quite delicious, I assure you,” Tharios says.
Cook points her spoon dangerously near his nose as Viala struggles not to laugh.
“We both know you’ve never actually smacked anyone with that spoon,” Tharios says.
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“Indeed.” Tharios shuffles backward. “My binding partner wishes for a picnic basket.”
Viala rolls her eyes. “How chivalrous of you, elf prince. Blame our presence here on me.”
“Here, Miss Viala. I have a spare.” Cook hands her a wooden spoon, and laughter bubbles up inside Viala.
“Well, that’s hardly fair,” Tharios mutters.
“You’d better behave,” Viala warns him, and he grins.
“Or what, faerie?”
“I might actually smack you with this spoon.”
“Go right ahead.” He sends her a teasing smile laced with heat, and Viala grazes her lips with the spoon as she lifts a brow.
“You two are hopeless,” Cook says under her breath. “Here.” She heaves a picnic basket off the table and shoves it toward Tharios. “You’ll have to share. Now go on with you. And keep that spoon.”
“Share?” Tharios’s brows wrinkle. “Share with whom?”
Cook just waves them off.
“Whoever they are, are they expecting company?” Tharios asks, but Cook ignores him.
Viala taps the spoon on her chin as a smile tugs at her lips. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”
Tharios is already sporting the expression he wears when he’s using his life magic, though.
Apparently, there are two ways to find out.
“Cerian and Elowyn are both in the arena. And they didn’t invite us?” Tharios steps toward the door, and Viala hurries to catch up.
“You’re inviting yourself, aren’t you, elf prince?”
“I am bringing the food.” He shrugs. Then he slows. “Do you feel up to joining them?”
“I can’t decide if I want to kiss you for being sweet or smack you with this spoon for being annoying.”
“And I can’t believe she let you have that.”
“Someone needs to keep you in line.”
“As long as it’s you, faerie.”
“It had better be me.”
He grins as he leans over the basket to steal a kiss before striding forward again and abruptly stopping. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t care where we go as long as it involves you and food.”
He looks thoughtful. “That is an intriguing proposition. Perhaps we should keep the basket and return to our chamber.”
She crosses her arms and shakes her head.
He laughs before continuing forward again. “To the arena. If we must.”
“You are ridiculous, elf prince.”
He shrugs again. “You’ve called me worse. Are you coming, faerie?”
“Always.”
“Good, because I can’t leave you.”
“As if you want to.” She hurries after him, slipping her arm around his elbow.
“I definitely don’t want to. Ever.”
She leans her head against his shoulder and tries not to smile too widely as they make their way to the arena to join the others.