Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Kazrian had replayed the moment more times than was reasonable.
Not the part where a half ton of oven dropped toward his head—that part had been brief and entirely his own fault.
Concentrate properly next time. No, the part that would not leave him was Lucie on her knees on the floor, bending with her hand at her throat and his name torn out of her as though the world were ending.
Kazrian—answer me—
He turned it over as he crossed the street toward The Charmed Leaf, the way he might turn over a mechanism that refused to behave, and arrived, each time, at the same two conclusions in the same maddening order.
First, that she had sounded, for the space of a breath, as though something terrible happening to him would have unmade her.
And second, that Lucie Fields was a kind and decent person who would have made precisely that sound for anyone pinned beneath a falling oven.
She would hardly have peered into the dark and said, Ah, only a casual acquaintance, then; do let me know if you manage to free yourself. I shall be at the worktable.
So it meant nothing. He was attempting to read signals again, the one occupation at which he had proven himself spectacularly unreliable, and it was a very good thing the work was all but finished.
One stubborn door remained, and he was confident it would yield today.
Then there would be no reason to be in Lucie’s kitchen at all.
He adjusted the portfolio beneath his arm and drew his watch from his waistcoat pocket. He turned it once in his fingers without opening it, then slid it back.
His grandmother expected him at The Charmed Leaf this morning for an update on The Honeycomb, a meeting that could have taken place at The Honeycomb itself, had Lady Rivenna Rowanwood ever been the sort of person to confine herself to her own affairs.
She was not. Kazrian was beginning to suspect that she ‘looked in on’ The Charmed Leaf with such regularity that she may as well never have handed it over at—
“Lord Rowanwood!”
Kazrian looked up in time to avoid walking directly into two young ladies who had appeared on the pavement before him, both smiling with an enthusiasm that struck him as slightly alarming.
“Lord Rowanwood, forgive us!” the taller of them said. “We did not mean to startle you. It is only—we recognized you, and we could not pass without—” She gathered herself with a small bright laugh. “Lady Calantha Ellerby. And my cousin, Lady Thelmina Ellerby.”
The Ellerbys. Kazrian had a faint impression he ought to know the name. He filed it away to think about later and bowed. “Lady Calantha. Lady Thelmina. A pleasure.”
They both curtseyed before Lady Calantha continued.
“We arrived only yesterday. And we thought—well, the tea house. We have always so wished to experience The Charmed Leaf before the crush of the Season, when one can scarcely find a seat. And we had heard, too, that you yourself recently—” She broke off, then rushed to add, “That is, that a great many notable persons have come to Bloomhaven early this year. It seems to be quite the fashion.”
“Indeed?” Kazrian said, a small frown tugging at his brow. “I had not noticed.” He glanced back at the tea house. “I am afraid the tea house does not open until after midday. But I am certain Lady Iris would be most pleased to welcome you this afternoon.”
“Midday,” Lady Calantha said. “How vexing. We shall simply have to find a way to occupy ourselves until then. Are we not at a loss, Thelmina?”
“Quite at a loss,” Lady Thelmina agreed.
There was a small silence in which Kazrian was apparently expected to produce a solution to this difficulty. “There is, ah, Elderbloom Park?” he suggested. “It is rather lovely in the morning.”
“Oh, the park!” Lady Calantha said, as though this were the most excellent idea she’d ever heard. “Yes, how perfect. Thelmina and I are very fond of a morning walk. Oh!” she added, her expression brightening. “Would you care to join us, Lord Rowanwood?”
“Alas, I am due elsewhere this morning. But I am certain you shall find it most pleasant. If you will—”
“Are you in Bloomhaven for long, my lord?” Lady Thelmina asked. “I understand you have been abroad. The Shaded Lands, was it not?”
“Oh, ah, yes,” Kazrian said. “I am here for a few weeks, working on a … a project for my grandmother.” He tightened his arm around the portfolio, aware that he was now several minutes behind schedule and that his grandmother was not the sort of person one kept waiting. “If you will excuse me, I ought to—”
“A project! How fascinating. I heard you had manifested an ability relating to lumyrite, like your brothers. Something to do with … mending?” Lady Calantha leaned forward with an expression of rapt interest. “I should so love to hear about it.”
Kazrian opened his mouth, then closed it. He could not recall the last time anyone had been so excited to learn about lumyrite repair. “That is very kind. It is, in truth, largely a matter of sensing fractured energy pathways emanating from lumyrite, which I am told is not—”
“Oh, how marvelous!”
“—not especially riveting to most people.” He smiled politely and took a deliberate step backward. “It has been a pleasure. I do hope you enjoy the tea house when it opens. Good morning.”
He managed a bow that was, he hoped, sufficiently civil to end the conversation, and turned before either of them could find another avenue of inquiry.
Lady Calantha’s words turned over in his mind as he rounded the side of The Charmed Leaf: A great many notable persons have come to Bloomhaven early this year. It seems to be quite the fashion.
How very odd, Kazrian thought, then put the idea out of his mind as he reached the tea house’s back garden.
The morning was bright and the beds were loud with bees and arguing flower pixies, and across the lawn little Emeric was being pursued at speed by the children’s nurse, both of them shrieking.
Kazrian turned away with a laugh and let himself in through the kitchen door, then stopped in the doorway.
Coralie was sitting on the worktable. On it, swinging her small feet over the edge and laughing as Orrit tossed a cloud of flour into the air above her and let it drift down like snow. The brownie’s ruddy face was creased with delight.
A smile returned to Kazrian’s lips as he headed past them toward the main area of the tea house. Apparently his grandmother was not the only one who had softened for the great-grandchildren.
The room was quiet, holding its breath before the afternoon.
Tables arranged elegantly, the menu board on the wall reshaping its curling script as today’s offerings settled into place, vines trailing along the walls.
By next week, the Season would have officially begun and this room would be positively buzzing—every table full, every alcove occupied.
For now, there was only the quiet hum of a building at rest.
Kazrian could hear his grandmother’s voice, and Iris’s, from the small alcove near the window, which was partially concealed by a cascade of honeysuckle vines.
He had never been allowed to sit there as a child.
He had been convinced, in fact, up until the age of ten, that the vines would physically eject him if he tried.
As he approached, Iris’s voice carried through the honeysuckle.
“… you have felt it too?”
“Yes,” his grandmother answered. “A deep sense of foreboding.”
“Indeed. It is most uncomfortable. And I can see nothing specific, except that—”
“—that it relates somehow to the tea house?”
Kazrian reached the alcove as Iris nodded in response. His grandmother sat at the small table with her hands folded; Iris occupied the cushioned window seat. They both looked up at his arrival.
“Ah. Kazrian,” his grandmother said. “There you are.”
“Grandmother. Iris.”
“Kazrian.” Iris smiled, but it was a touch distracted, as though some part of her attention remained on whatever ‘sense of foreboding’ the two of them had been discussing.
“You are here to give me your update on The Honeycomb, I presume?” his grandmother said, rising from the table.
“Yes.”
Iris rose as well. “I shall leave you to it. I ought to find the children’s nurse and have her take them home before we open.” She pressed Lady Rivenna’s hand briefly before slipping away.
“Shall we sit in the Crones’ Corner, then?” his grandmother said.
Though it was presented as a question, Kazrian knew it was not.
He followed her across the room to the corner table she had occupied for years.
It offered an excellent view of the entire floor, and she and her friends sat here and conducted what she preferred to call observation and everyone else called gossip.
Kazrian sat. A vine curled down from the wall and brushed his grandmother’s shoulder. She reached for the bowl of sugar cubes at the center of the table, selected one, and held it up without looking. The vine accepted it delicately and withdrew.
“Should I be concerned?” Kazrian asked, opening his portfolio.
His grandmother frowned. “About what?”
Kazrian raised a brow. “Foreboding? The tea house?”
She waved a hand as though he had taken leave of his senses. “I am sure I have no idea what you are referring to.”
Well then.
He decided it was not worth pursuing.
“Right. The Honeycomb. Nearly everything is resolved.” He looked over the lumyrite schematic and his additional notes.
“The ovens are fully functional. The cooling cabinets are holding steady. The shelf that seemed opposed to anything blue has been persuaded otherwise. The extra step has stopped manifesting. The faelights are all working—including the stubborn one in the main shop. The pantry cupboard has stopped muttering the word ‘no’, and the small puddle that kept appearing on the front step for no discernible reason has stopped appearing.”
“And the upstairs storeroom door?”
“Remains stubborn. But I intend to address it today, and I am confident I shall have it resolved by this evening.”
“Hmm.”
Kazrian recognized that particular hmm. It was the one his grandmother deployed when she found someone’s confidence mildly premature. He chose not to engage with it.
She reached for another sugar cube. The vine descended, accepted its prize, and retreated, rustling. Kazrian gathered up his notes and drawings and closed the portfolio.
“Is that all, then?” his grandmother asked with a frown that suggested she suspected he might be hiding something from her.
Kazrian laughed. “Yes, Grandmother, that is all. It was not terribly complicated. I did tell you I would have everything resolved with plenty of time to spare before your launch.”
“Hmm, yes, you did.”
Another hmm. He declined, once again, to pursue it.
“Oh, is there a messenger pixie about?” he asked. “I need to send a note to Evryn. There is a small section of the lattice I would like him to remove.”
His grandmother’s gaze sharpened at once. “Remove? So there is something else, then. You did not mention removal of anything.”
“It is nothing significant, Grandmother.” He fastened the clasp on the portfolio. “Merely a small section of one of the lumyrite threads.”
“And what is wrong with it?”
“There is nothing wrong with it. It is more that the kitchen, overall, will … function more smoothly without that particular piece.”
His grandmother pursed her lips. “Well,” she said eventually, “if you think so.”
“I do.”
“Hmm,” she said again.
“I should also mention that I may be late for dinner this evening. There is one other item that requires a small adjustment—”
“You cannot be late.”
Kazrian looked up.
“I have invited the Bridgemeres to dine. Surely you have not forgotten.”
“Forgotten? Grandmother, I am quite certain this is the first I’m hearing of it.”
“Nonsense. They have arrived early for the Season, and I extended an invitation the moment I heard. I most certainly told you.”
“You most certainly did not—”
“Their youngest daughter debuted last Season. Lady Albina Bridgemere. Quite lovely. Accomplished. You will meet her tonight.”
Kazrian pressed his lips together against the groan building inside him. “Grandmother—”
“You will not be late.” She reached for another sugar cube. “That is all.”
Kazrian tucked the portfolio beneath his arm, stood, and inclined his head with a sigh. “I shall not be late.”
“Excellent.”
“Though I must say,” he added, pausing, “it is rather peculiar. All these families arriving before the Season has even begun. Hardly anything is open, no events have commenced. I cannot fathom what the appeal is.”
His grandmother sat back in her chair and regarded him with a single raised brow and an expression of profound amusement. “You cannot fathom what the appeal is.”
Kazrian waited for elaboration. None came. “Evidently not,” he said, somewhat nettled. “If you know, you are welcome to enlighten me.”
“Oh, I would not dream of it.” She gestured him away with one elegant hand. “Now, be off with you. And if you are lucky, you may find a messenger pixie dallying in the kitchen. And do not be late this evening!”
Kazrian turned away with a huff.
This evening did not matter. He would sit beside Lady Albina Bridgemere, he would be charming, he would discuss whatever one discussed with accomplished young ladies, and none of it would come to anything, because in a week’s time, when the Bloom Season officially began, Kazrian would no longer be here.