Smolder (Crown of Fae #3) - Sharon Ashwood Page 0,11

cauldron.

The memory of Morran’s violence crawled through her, leaving her wounded and raw. His eyes had reminded her of the midnight desert—vast, dark, and alive with silent predators. He still had a hunter’s instincts, whatever else had been stripped from his soul. She was no coward, but she quaked as she imagined his warrior’s hands, large and strong, around her throat. He could snap her in two as easily as he could crush a gnat.

And yet, there was the shadow of a soul there, as subtle as a ghostly breath at the nape of her neck. A sentimental piece of her—the one that ached for wounded animals and lost causes—wished she could coax his spirit back to life. Such a leader must have been a formidable personality.

She stopped first at a small, splintering door on the landing below hers. Giving a quick knock, she walked in without waiting for a reply. This was Elodie’s apartment, which she shared with her mother. There were two rooms, one with a fireplace the women used for cooking. The old lady was hunched on a stool before the fire, stirring a pot of soup that smelled of spice and onions. Leena’s mouth watered, reminding her she was beyond hungry.

“Grandmother Vira,” she said, raising her voice. The woman was slightly deaf.

Elodie’s mother turned, her weathered face splitting into a gap-toothed grin. She’d borne a dozen children, although only three had survived to make the long march into Eldaban once their homeland fell. Elodie, a war widow and the youngest of Vira’s brood, was the last survivor.

“Well, girl,” Vira said, “have you come for a bite of supper?”

“No, thank you,” Leena replied politely. There would be little enough food as it was. “I came to tell you that Elodie is at the temple. There was a bit of an accident, but she’ll be fine.”

Vira rose from the stool, the wooden spoon still in her hand. At the same moment, a girl, barely four years old, emerged from the other room. She was a miniature of Elodie, with bouncing curls and sun-browned limbs. She leaned against her grandmother’s leg, her lower lip sucked in.

“Will she be back in the morning?” the old woman asked. The question was casual, but Leena heard the unspoken worries. How bad is it? Will my daughter be able to dance? If she isn’t, how can we afford to live?

“The Mother of Flame has taken a personal interest in the healing. Elodie will be back before you know it.” Leena forced a brave smile. “Will you be all right to look after Riya on your own tonight? I can stay and help.”

Vira sniffed, visibly gathering her pride. “I can manage one little girl.”

With that, she turned back to the soup and filled a small wooden bowl. She thrust it at Leena. “Here, take your dinner, girl. I can see you eyeing the pot like a starving dog.”

Shamefaced, Leena accepted the soup from Vira’s age-spotted hand. “Thank you, Grandmother.”

Riya giggled. “You’re not a dog.”

“I don’t know,” Leena replied, bending to meet the girl’s eyes. “Do I have a tail?”

Grandmother Vira flapped a dismissive hand. “Go home and wash your feet. You look like you walked the length of the riverbed, then dragged half of it onto my clean floor.”

Obediently, Leena left, barely making it up the last flight of stairs to her room before she paused to sip soup from the bowl. It was tasty and surprisingly filling, with lentils and barley swimming in the broth. Vira could make a meal out of nothing.

Leena’s room was smaller, with no fire. She had a washbasin, a small trunk, and a bedroll, but that was enough. She spent most of her time working, anyhow.

She finished her dinner and washed, changing from her dancing costume to a simple yellow shift. Once she was dressed, she pulled back the curtain of her single window to let in the night air. There were soldiers outside, bawling a drinking song at the top of their lungs. It broke off with a cheer and the sound of a smashing bottle.

She looked down into the street, spotting her younger brother among the handful of guardsmen. One man was telling a tale, and it must have been a good one, judging by the gales of laughter. Normally, the guards didn’t stray this close to the Temple, but Fionn made friends everywhere.

Leena frowned, wishing her brother weren’t quite so amiable, especially with Lord Dorth’s guardsmen. They weren’t on the same side—not really. With relief,