A Mischief in the Woodwork - By Harper Alexander Page 0,23

I was aware of him watching me.

“I recognize you, now,” he said, finally. “I saw you, in the city.”

I looked up at the wall in front of me, having not expected that revelation, my knife paused over the carrot. The peeling wallpaper stared back at me, the shadow of my poised hand drawn across it. Then I let it descend again, choosing not to respond.

“With that other fellow,” Tanen elaborated. “The one who attacked you.”

I chucked the diced carrot into the pot and reached for a turnip. “Yes?”

“Yes,” he said, though I had meant to prompt his point, not a confirmation. Perhaps he was egging me to speak.

Well, he would just have to be disappointed.

“You took quite a beating,” he observed. I could almost feel his eyes combing me to appraise my injuries. I bristled, straightening, my utensil thunking hard against the counter and remaining pressed there. It took a conscious effort to breathe in my composure and continue.

“So?” At least he had witnessed what I was capable of. Perhaps that would serve as insurance that he not try anything.

“So nothing.”

“Did you follow me here?” It came out sounding challenging.

“I procrastinated in the city for a bit. I'd been there for a few days, just...stricken by it. I did not just up and trail you after what I saw. But then, after a day or so of lolling about, at a loss in the grand mess and disappointment of what I came upon here... Then I followed your direction.”

“Why didn't you follow that other brute?”

“You seemed to know more what you're doing here.”

I shrugged my eyebrows. Fair enough. “I got lucky.”

“Can't hurt to keep luck around.”

“You are here because it's getting dark,” I said, rounding on him. He was perched casually against the other counter. His hair was swept back from his face now, and I looked him in his china-blue eyes. They dazzled. Mine bit. “We would not wish the wardogs on you. It's decency. Not hospitality. You must leave tomorrow.”

“Have you talked that over with your Baedra Advisor-ess?” he challenged with a haughty twinkle in his eye.

My chest burned with that word, and his mocking tone. I almost threw a carrot in his face. But I controlled myself. “She is my friend,” I said evenly.

“You are not very friendly,” he said doubtfully.

“You would not know.”

“I would if you tried it out with me.”

I turned back to my work.

“Let me help,” he said.

A different kind of prickle ran through me at that. One of most tentative pleasant surprise. But it was quickly vanquished by the ocean of dislike that already possessed me at his expense. One redeeming offer was not enough to rewire my opinion of him. I was not a pancake to be flipped.

“I don't require your help.”

“Am I not to earn my keep?”

Curse it. I was one big contradiction unto myself, wasn't I? “You may earn your keep by staying quiet, and staying out of the way, and making it like you are not here at all.” That ought to do nicely.

But a glance at the window ruined the plan. Time to contradict myself once more. “Fine. Finish these vegetables,” I bade. “I must sing.”

At his quizzical look, I realized he did not know about the weedflowers. And of course; they were native to the western climates. But there was not the time – nor the patience – to spare him an explanation. I bobbed the knife at him insistently so he would take it, and left him to the task as I removed my apron and went to see to the deed of my birthright.

Immersed in the density of the weeds, I welcomed the song that poured out of me. It centered me, stripped away the things that marred the day and my mood. What happened from then on mattered only in the form of bulbs coming alight to protect the night, fulfilling their place in the order our era had crafted from scratch.

I completed the rounds, a wandering spirit, blessing the land.

When I found my way back to the clearing that sported Manor Dorn, I was welcomed into the slaves' approving midst. At first, I did not notice the separate figure standing off to the side beyond them, but he was there. His gaze penetrated my bubble of family and comfort, and my appeased smile faltered as I met those considering eyes. But they were not hostile, this time. Only touched by amiable wonder.

A little smugly, I broke my gaze and led my procession back