Chapter 16
When Nomi and I return to the kitchen, it’s... a lot cleaner. Like, unreasonably.
I level an accusing finger at Zan, who is nonchalantly scrubbing a plate with his back to me.
“If you’re spending your magic for super speed to clean our house after what just happened,” I begin threateningly.
He glances over his shoulder with brows raised. “If it’s our house, surely I can spend my magic however I want on it.”
My eyes glow magenta.
Zan’s eyes flash in return. “I dare you to tell me you didn’t spend all day making ice cream without eating literally anything yourself.”
“I’m not in any danger!”
“And neither am I,” he snaps right back.
“Oh, really?” My voice drips with disdain. “What if you’ve miscalculated—”
Nomi loudly slams a chair against the ground to get our attention.
“Dear gods, you two are something,” she says. “Zan, the kitchen is tidy enough for now. Yora, let’s start with making a sandwich—”
“She knows how to put food on bread,” Zan interrupts coolly. “I’m going to show her how to make an omelet, now that the kitchen is usable.”
Nomi frowns. “I’m not sure—”
“By all means,” I reply. “Show me why you risked your life for some eggs.”
Zan’s eyes flash again, hearing the echo of his own accusation from days ago in my voice.
“What’s this?” Nomi asks sharply.
Zan and I hold each other’s gaze, daring.
Finally, Zan breaks it first—ha!—
By shrugging.
I am going to set him on fire.
“We had a busy afternoon,” Zan says with his habitual, lying calm.
“One of us did,” I mutter, crossing to his side. “Here I am. Show me how to make an omelet.”
“Of course, Yora. The first thing you need to do is crack an egg. Many ice cream recipes use eggs for the cream base, too.”
My chest tightens. Even now, he’s still trying to help me follow my dream. Help me be independent in this new world.
Of course he is also doing it in the most obnoxious way possible.
Zan demonstrates cracking an egg against the edge of a bowl. The sharp, decisive movement of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing, unlike me.
He deftly pries the egg open and releases its contents into the bowl, then hands me one.
I imitate his movements. My egg’s shell crumbles, bits of shell filling the bowl.
“Close,” Zan says neutrally. “The easiest way to fish the shell pieces out is to use the bigger piece of shell still in your hand. Watch.”
I do, then I try.
I spend minutes chasing shell bits around the bowl, feeling Zan’s amusement next to me increase though he doesn’t so much as crack a smile.
He shows me again how to crack an egg.
This time, I am absolutely certain I have calibrated my power exactly correctly—
The egg still fucking shatters.
I glare at it in sheer outrage.
Zan starts shaking with laughter.
I transfer my glare at him, hiding my abject relief that he will still unbend this much around me.
Nomi’s earlier interruption belatedly makes sense. She didn’t think this was a good starter skill to learn—it must be the kind that, like a kata, improves with repetition until it eventually settles into your muscle memory.
He set me up—
“Sorry,” Zan says ruefully—but with a hint of bitterness. “It’s been so long that I forgot—”
Oh gods, he didn’t set me up on purpose but is now going to beat himself up over it?
Nope, absolutely not, I’m so done with that from him.
And of all things he’s apologizing to me for, it’s fucking this?
Before he can finish speaking I snatch another egg and smash it over his stupid head.
Zan gapes at me as egg slowly glops down his hair.
“Oh, so sorry,” I say airily. “I forgot that wrath only ever breaks things! Silly me. I guess since I can’t do anything else perfectly the first time I’ll have to resign myself to the knowledge that I’m simply unable to cook omelets, or anything else—”
“You...” Zan begins, disbelievingly.
“Goodness, if only there were someone who knew about such things who lived in our house! But you know, I hear I have a talent for cleaning.” I grab a dish towel and lift it towards Zan’s head. “Let’s see if my talent for blanket beating extends to—”
Zan yanks the towel out of my hand with a growl, but I anticipated this and already have another one in my other hand.
His towel lashes toward me, but mine catches his with a wet snap.
We mock-trade several more blows like two dueling swords, dancing around the kitchen.
Even without our magic, we’ve both trained for combat for a long time, and our honed reflexes keep either of us from gaining the upper hand quickly.
But after a minute of tussling, somehow we end up with Zan having caught one of my arms in a lock behind me with his towel while I’ve reached behind me with my towel and am rubbing the egg off his head vigorously.
Nomi mutters, “I’m going to get the ice cream,” and leaves the house.
“You’re a menace,” Zan grumbles from behind me.
But I can hear the smile in his voice.
“And you are ridiculous,” I tell him, finishing with the towel and tossing it aside.
Zan immediately releases my other arm and spins me around.
This time, it’s me who bands my arms around him, pressing my head into his chest.
Zan wraps himself around me too, all the tension in his body releasing as he rests his head against mine.
For a minute we just stand there, holding each other; breathing.
Finally I say, “Thank you for cleaning the kitchen. I’m starving. Could you make me an omelet, please?”
I feel Zan’s lips curve against me. “My pleasure.”
The trip down the mountain is easier in some ways but harder in others.
On one hand, Zan and I aren’t sniping at each other constantly.
On the other, now I don’t have that to distract me anymore from what’s coming.
This time, at least, I have ideas for some spells to cast before we enter the town: sound-dampening, primarily, as well as focus again.
Nomi also talks to me about what to expect at the market, so I won’t be as completely overwhelmed by processing everything at once... but I’m anxious anyway.
Zan’s presence with me, though, is a source of strength, even when he’s quiet. I’m both achingly glad to have him here and about to claw out of my skin thinking about what that means for me, and for my future.
Fortunately (??) I’m distracted by that once we enter the market, and the deluge of sensory overload.
Nomi leads us to one of the many stalls... where Teren is waiting by himself.
“Is that a good idea?” I ask softly.
“Priests can lay siege to our house as easily as they can kidnap him from the middle of a public square,” Nomi answers. “At least this way, they’ll be in full view of the public and have to justify themselves.”
I hadn’t thought of that. Her house may have protections from Zan’s dragon magic—protections that are less effective, now that the priests can work their own magic in the former Quiet.
But that doesn’t matter if Teren can’t leave to procure food—or if the priests take Nomi hostage outside its doors to lure him out.
I exchange a glance with Zan. I feel like he must all the time—like I’m always a step behind and haven’t learned enough.
But Nomi thought of it, and that’s, perhaps, the point.
If I’m not alone now, I don’t have to have all the ideas myself.
Teren still seems relieved to see us when we arrive at the stall. The table is covered in colorful knit crafts, but there’s a space on one side.
A space he has saved for me.
Arranging the ice cream is a whirlwind. I let Nomi and Teren do what they want and let it wash over me, barely listening as I adjust.
Until Teren looks at me and asks, “Are you ready?”
I’m beginning to hate that question.
“For what?” I ask. Isn’t being here the point?
Teren rolls his eyes. “To tell people you have ice cream for them, of course.”
Oh.
You know what?
I think I am ready for that, actually.
I will not be defeated by priests or crowds.
Now when it’s a matter of ice cream.
No sooner have I nodded with determination than Nomi’s voice booms out across the courtyard.
“Blackberry ice cream, while supplies last!” she yells.
The courtyard seems to pause.
Silence hangs in the air.
And then the sound picks up, and there is a rush of people making their way for us.
Reflexively, I reach for Zan; find his hand waiting.
I can do this. I am the Sage of Wrath. I can meet fellow humans—
Hmm, no, not sure I believe that.
How about:
I can give people ice cream.
I can give the gift of joy.
The wave crashes over us.
“How much for a scoop?” the first man who’s made it to us demands. He’s big, looming over the table, and I stiffen, trying to hold myself back from reacting with violence.
“Two coppers,” Teren says confidently.
“Two?” the man echoes incredulously. As I snap to attention, ready to defend Teren, he continues, “That’s all? Are you crazy, Teren? You’re going to be overrun!”
Oh.
Huh.
“Look at the line behind you,” Teren says dryly. “We’re already overrun.”
The man hmphs, then turns around and bellows, “One scoop per customer only!” A wave of awwws follows, and he turns back to Teren with a decisive nod. “That should help get you through most of them, at least. You’re going to need to raise your prices though.”
“I was going to say Yora would consider that once interest had been established, but—”
“No,” I cut him off. “Ice cream should be accessible to everyone.”
“And you deserve not to be run off your feet,” the man tells me gruffly. “And if your supplies don’t last—”
This time it’s Zan who cuts in. “Evermore blackberries are plentiful for months, and this ice cream is made with fresh-picked, local berries.”
The man looks at him sharply. “All of them?” Then to me. “How the hells many blackberries did you pick?”
I don’t know???
I look at Zan for help.
“A lot,” he answers dryly. “But I’m confident we can find some more bushes somewhere.”
“Ha!” The man lets out a crack of laughter.
Quietly, Teren tells me, “This is a running local joke. Evermore blackberries are kind of like a weed—you can find them everywhere, and they take over everyone’s gardens given half a chance.”