34. OLIRA
34
OLIRA
Olira added the finishing touches to the Crimsonplum Harvest Tart and stepped back, examining the dark purple dessert with a critical scowl. It didn’t look as crispy as her mum’s baking, but it smelled right. The sweet, rich scent filled the kitchen, mingling with the warmth of the oven and the faint chatter from the other room. She wiped her hands on her apron and set the tart aside to cool.
Jygan was in the living area, his deep voice punctuated by the occasional giggle from Andar and Kowas. The boys worshipped him. Olira could hear them playing some sort of game, the sound of their laughter bringing a smile to her face.
She turned to the cupboard, pulling out six plates. “Take these to the table,” she told Torren as she handed them. Her hand paused as she reached for a seventh plate. She had been contemplating inviting the slave to eat with them for weeks now, the idea lingering in the back of her mind. Why not, she kept thinking, but tonight didn’t feel like the right time. Not with a guest in the house.
She set the plate aside and heaped it with food. “You can start dishing,” she told Gilann, who had been helping her with the stew. “I’ll be right back.”
Olira carried the plate to the small cupboard that had become the slave’s room. Three months had passed since Olira was first forced to take the dying man, and now, he had his own space in her house.
He had settled into the rhythm of farm life and had made a full recovery. An ugly white scar still remained on his thigh, but he didn’t even limp anymore. His strength had returned, and his presence on the farm had proven to be more of a help than she had expected. The last harvest before winter was only a few days away, and Olira knew that having another pair of strong hands would make the work easier.
She didn’t even feel the need to watch him around her brothers anymore. Andar and Kowas still tried to talk to him, but he continued to ignore them. Sooner or later, the twins would give up and stop trying. Like Olira did.
She knocked gently on the cupboard door, then pushed it open. The small space was dark, the single candle she had given him unlit. The room was sparse, with just a bedroll on the floor and a few belongings she had provided: a blanket, some clothes, a towel, a jug full of water, a wooden cup, and a candle.
The slave sat up, blinking and turning his face away from the light that flooded into the cupboard. Olira set the plate down and reminded him softly, “Just put a towel or something under the door, to stop the draft.” She picked up the candle and ducked into the hallway to light it from another candle. “Or move the candle away from the door,” she said, returning to the cupboard and handing it back to the slave. “You don’t need to sit in the dark.”
The slave nodded without looking. He had changed in the past few months, looking more decent, with his face clean- shaven and his hair trimmed. He looked healthier, though his demeanour was still vacant.
Olira had found herself entertaining the idea of keeping the purebred. She had already started looking into other ways to pay her debt. With the root cellar stacked for the winter, and a rich harvest to collect in a few days’ time, she could make some extra money. She was even contemplating making another trip to Kiore before the winter rolled in, or to Kilrer, which was further and more dangerous to travel. But she could take the man with her. A purebred beast’s presence would surely deter any bandits.
She could let him stay here and be content.
Leaving the slave to his meal, she returned to the kitchen. Gilann and Torren were busy setting the table. She joined them, her thoughts momentarily drifting back to the purebred in the cupboard. He needed a name. If he was going to stay here, she couldn’t keep calling him ‘Hey’ or ‘You’ for the rest of their lives. She pushed the thought aside. Tonight wasn’t the time to think about the awkwardness of naming a grown man.
Dinner went better than Olira could have hoped. She didn’t remember the last time she had let herself relax and have this much fun. Twins chattered away nonstop, while Torren listened to Jygan’s stories eagerly. The tanner sat directly across from Olira, their glances meeting over the table more than a few times. He was as charming as ever, his deep voice sending a pleasant jolt down Olira’s stomach as she listened to him talk to Gilann about hunting.
When she brought the Crimsonplum tart over, Jygan’s eyes lit with delight. His smile stole Olira’s breath. He pretended to fight Andar and Kowas for the dessert, pinning one under his arm and the other with his leg, as they reached for the largest slice. When Olira kept that slice for herself, Jygan laughed.
After dinner, Jygan volunteered to help Olira with dishes. They worked side by side in the kitchen, the tension seeming to grow between them at every accidental touch.
And yet, at the end of the night, Jygan did his usual act and left Olira confused and fuming.
She had sent the boys to bed, and Gilann had retreated to his room. She walked Jygan out, lingering in the doorway. The air was heavy, a storm brewing in the distance. A soft rumble of thunder echoed in the night. Jygan hesitated, turning to Olira with a look that made her heart skip a beat. For a moment, she thought this was it. He would finally take the step, lean in, and kiss her.
Then, a sudden lightning split the sky, followed by a deafening thunder. Jygan glanced up, and when he looked back down, his expression had shifted. He pulled back, his gaze becoming avoidant. “I’d better hurry home,” he said, his voice cold and distant.
Olira forced a nod, ignoring how her heart tightened. The sharp retort came out harsher than she intended. “Right, wouldn’t want you to stay long enough to actually make up your mind.”
Jygan grimaced, a flicker of embarrassment passing his face. “You guys be safe,” he said. “That lightning sounded pretty close.”
“Not close enough,” she murmured, loud enough that he would hear, but not enough to demand a reply. “Ride safe, Jygan.” She retreated inside and closed the door, barely keeping herself from slamming it shut. She heard the sound of his horse’s hooves as he drove off into the night, the sound quickly drowned out by the rising wind.
She let out a long breath, trying to release the tension from her chest. She returned to her room. As she passed the cupboard where the slave slept, Olira noticed there was no light seeping from underneath the door. She frowned. The draft must have blown it out again. She considered lighting it again, but decided against it. The slave was probably already asleep, and she wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone else tonight.
She went to her room. The sound of rain drummed against the roof and filled the house with noise. As she changed her clothes and climbed into bed, the wind picked up and rattled the windows. Olira curled up tighter, ignoring the hurt in her chest, and fell asleep to the sound of the storm raging through her.