Chapter 22
JESSAMINE
“There was absolutely none of your stew left,” Shearah admitted as we cooked breakfast. “And nearly half of mine went untouched.”
“You are lying to make me feel good.”
“No, she’s not,” snapped Gweeda, punching at her biscuit dough in the bowl.
“Truly,” smiled Shearah, “I am not. And I do not take offense. While I know I am good in the kitchen, I would love to learn some of your recipes.”
“I’d be delighted to share,” I told her.
We were both laughing when the flap to the cave opened and in stepped Velga. She looked awful with dark circles rimming her eyes as if she had not slept. She looked a little pale and winced when she saw me. Then with a deep breath, she marched straight to the high counter.
I stepped away so she wouldn’t have to speak to me directly in front of Shearah, though everyone knew how well the beast fae could hear.
“Lady Jessamine,” she started formally. “I want to apologize for tripping you last night.” Her voice quivered but she didn’t cry. “I did mean to embarrass you, and it was wrong.”
“Thank you, Velga,” I said softly. “I accept your apology. Can I ask, why did you want to embarrass me?”
“Because you do not belong.” She held my gaze, a hint of anger or perhaps fear behind her intense stare. “I know that you are our guest through winter, so I was wrong. But you hold the king’s attention too much for an outsider. I mean, a visiting guest.”
I didn’t have to ask to know that Velga likely thought Lord Redvyr should be giving her attention, or any beast fae female other than me. I certainly wasn’t going to tell her that apparently, her gods had chosen me—the outsider—to be her king’s mate.
“I see,” I said sincerely. “Well, why don’t you come and enjoy some breakfast. Gweeda will have biscuits shortly. I have some hot oats and cream with honey while you wait.”
She frowned but said, “Thank you.”
She sat on the bench stiffly near Gweeda, scowling at me.
This time, her look didn’t seem menacing or petty, but simply confused.
I’m sure she expected venom from me, not kindness.
But I was aware that if I was to ever get into the good graces of Redvyr’s clan, it wouldn’t be through force or command.
I spooned her a bowl, Shearah giving me the side eye as I poured extra honey into it. I whispered, “Maybe it will make her sweeter.”
Shearah chuckled, then I gave Velga the bowl.
“Thank you,” she said more nicely this time, diving into it.
Suddenly, Bes, Sorka’s daughter, smiled brightly as she entered and saw me. She ran over, waving something white in her hands.
“Your gloves! I have them.” She met me, panting, and held out the pair of beautifully sewn gloves. There was a delicate row of roses stitched along the hem of each cuff.
“Oh, my,” said Shearah, stopping her slicing of a roasted venison shoulder to peer closer. “Is that elkmine otter?”
“It is,” I told her, taking the gloves. “A trader gave me the fur when I worked in the Borderlands. These are beautiful, Bes. How ever can I thank you?”
“There is no need. Although! Mother says it would be wonderful if I learned to cook like you. Some of those delicious stews. Then I could help Shearah after you’re gone.”
I tucked the gloves into my pocket to wear later, swallowing hard at the realization that no one expected me to stay beyond winter. Was that why they were so accepting of me, an outsider? Because I wasn’t meant to stay? Welcomed only because it was temporary?
“That reminds me,” I turned to Shearah, turning my thoughts to cooking again. “I didn’t see any more delly root that you were cooking last night. Was that the last of your stock?”
“There’s lots more!” exclaimed Bes excitedly. “It grows even up here in Ghasta Vale. We keep a garden all winter.”
“Truly? I cooked with the starchy vegetable when I lived in the Borderlands. An older wraith fae who lived not far from the tavern taught me a delicious recipe. Actually, she was the one who taught me to cook, not Haldek. He was the owner of the tavern where I worked.”
“You were friends with wraith fae?” Velga asked curiously from behind us.
“I was,” I told her proudly. “I made many friends among the dark fae while I lived there.”
A silence stretched on, and I knew that Velga was surprised. Surely, she thought me a spoiled princess who would only lower myself to commune with the dark fae because I was forced to, since I was stranded in the cold after my betrothed’s henchmen chased me into the frozen woods.
“What was this recipe she taught you with delly root?” asked Shearah.
“So you slice them into thin, round slices, fry them in butter then crumble goat cheese on top and drizzle them in honey.”
“That sounds so delicious.”
“It is,” I assured her with a smile. “I saw that you do have honey, though I wouldn’t want to use the small store you have for my dish.”
“I believe the clan would be glad to use it to try this recipe of yours.”
“We’ll need more delly root.”
“That’s right. My stores are running low,” said Shearah. “Bes, why don’t you take Jessamine to the garden and she can help you harvest a basket for us?”
“Yes, of course!” She beamed from ear to ear. “Let’s go, Jessamine!”
After ensuring that Shearah didn’t mind me leaving, I wrapped my cloak around my shoulders and fastened it at my neck. I didn’t want to get them dirty in the garden. Grabbing a basket and Bes’s hand, putting a bright smile on her pretty face, we then set off.
The tents of the camp were scattered between The Sisters’ closest points at their base, which best protected us from the harsher winds.
In the valley, there were few trees. It wasn’t until you climbed up the incline where the gap between the bases of the two mountains spread wider that the trees thickened into a woodland.
Still, the treeline seemed far away from camp.
“Don’t worry,” said Bes. “We aren’t going into Wyken Woods. The garden is right over there.”
She pointed beyond the last tent where a wooden fence enclosed a rectangular space. The soil was obviously tilled and turned over there in neat rows. Greenish-brown sprouts stuck out of the ground, the tops of the delly root.
“I’m surprised the ground isn’t frozen. And how do you have a garden so quickly? You’ve only been here a few days.”
“Delly root grows wild here, actually. We replant this garden every year before we leave. When we return the following year, it’s always bursting.
Of course, much of it is rotten because we were not here the whole year to harvest. But as soon as we clear out the rot, new shoots grow in its place right away. ”
“That’s amazing,” I noted. “We can’t grow it near the coast in Morodon. The first time I actually tasted it was when I lived in the Borderlands.”
There were two guards posted not far away, closer to the treeline. One of them was Dayn, who smiled our way. I waved and he gave a nod as we approached the gate of the garden.
“Why did you run away from your home?”
I didn’t remember Bes being at the kella’mir in Vanglosa when I first confessed my sad and somewhat embarrassing story to the council, but she wasn’t a babe. She had likely overheard adults talking about me. Not surprising.
“My father is not a good man,” I told her frankly.
I’d never admitted that aloud until this moment. I’d always known he wasn’t a good father, but I realized that his selfish choices guided by his own greed made him not simply a bad king and father, but a bad man.
“I’m sorry,” said Bes, handing me a trowel that hung on a hook embedded in the fencepost.
“It’s alright.” Though it actually wasn’t. “He had betrothed me to a man who wanted to use my magick to do something evil. I refused to accept the fate chosen by my father. So I left.”
Her face was serious as she knelt upon a wooden plank placed along the outside edge of the row, obviously to protect a harvester’s clothes and keep off the cold ground.
“Well, I am glad that you ran away. And I’m glad that you found us.”
“I am, too,” I admitted freely as I knelt beside her. “I’ve never harvested delly root, so you’ll have to show me what to do.”
She blushed. “Oh, it’s easy. See these sprouts here that are dark green? Those aren’t ripe yet. This one here where the top has turned brown, that means it’s ready.”
“I see.”
We began to work our way down the row, moving the basket between us. After a few minutes of us digging out the ripe vegetables, Bes glanced over her shoulder then scooted closer to me.
“What kind of magick do you have?” she whispered, as if she sought a well-guarded secret.
Smiling, I whispered back. “I’m a willoden for one.”
“What is that?” she asked, blinking her long-lashed eyes up at me curiously.
I pulled up a rather large delly root from the soil and dropped it into our basket, glancing around.
“I can do special magick with water. Let me show you.”
Standing, I walked to the fence surrounding the garden. The snow had been shoveled and piled along the fence line. I scooped a coin-sized amount into the palm of my hand and met Bes near the row where she stood waiting for me.
“Watch,” I told her.
She stood close to me, her shoulder pressing into my arm as she stared down into my palm. Calling my magick to the surface, my hands beamed a faint glow.
“Keskavalla,” I whispered down to the ball of snow at the center of my palm.
Instantly, a luminous dome of light formed over the snow, stretching from my fingertips to the fleshy part of my palm.
“Oh, my goodness.” Bes stared in awe.
“I’m not done yet,” I told her.
The ball of snow melted and transformed into steamy mist within the magickal dome I’d created.
“Put your hand inside the dome,” I told her.
She glanced up, wide-eyed and unsure, but then reached her dainty fingers toward the tiny oasis of warmth I’d created.
“It’s alright,” I urged her. “Slip your fingers inside.”
Tentatively, she touched the edge of the dome then pushed her hand inside. She gasped.
“It’s wonderful,” she giggled. “It feels like a steamy bath.”