Belle Revolte - Linsey Miller Page 0,27

either,” I said. “Was it one of the fancy apothecaries?”

“Very,” said Yvonne, smiling now. “What can I do for you, Madame?”

I shook my head. “The silver room makes me sick to my stomach and then not eating makes it harder to sleep and being tired makes it harder not to get distracted over breakfast, and I was wondering if I could get something to eat. Nothing fancy.” My stomach rolled at the idea of pigeon pie or heavy red wine–braised lamb, which had been the meals for the last few days. “Less fancy the better, probably.”

“Of course. Allow me a moment.” Yvonne vanished into another room or pantry and returned with a little bowl and small loaf of bread in her arms. “There’s a clean stool to your left if you’d like to sit. Unfortunately, this isn’t the main kitchen. Mademoiselle Gardinier is allowing me the use of this building in exchange for some recipes and alchemical work. It’s not as well stocked as the main kitchen, though.”

“That’s fine.” I folded myself onto the stool. “Do you need help?”

“No, but the offer is appreciated.” Yvonne focused on her pan, the violet tucked into her left hair bun bobbing. The familiar sound of sizzling egg hit my ears, and she flipped it with all the grace of a juggler before the king. In no time, she presented me with a small plate of bread with a fried egg in the middle. “Madame.”

“Thank you!” I shooed the moth away from my hands. “You sure there’s nothing I can help with?”

Yvonne’s pleasant facade shifted.

“Actually, Madame,” she said with a wide, tense smile. “I would like to ask a favor of you, since you are apparently very gifted in the arts.”

No one had ever called me gifted. “What’s the favor?”

She ducked her head in a half bow. “If you are willing, I would very much appreciate it if you could be witness to the fact that my alchemistry is real and sign a short note attesting to it, so I can have proof for the apothecary.”

“What’s the point in being noble if I can’t do something like that?” I looked around. “Do you want me to do it now?”

Emilie wouldn’t mind. Probably. And Vivienne was always going on about our responsibilities to the Deme people.

I wrote out a quick note with some paper and a quill Yvonne had nearby and signed it with a neat little signature far smoother and straighter than anything I’d ever written.

Looked like the words of a proper lady of Demeine.

I’d been practicing Emilie’s signature in case I needed it for Vivienne or Emilie’s mother.

“Good enough?” I asked.

She nodded, distractedly tucking it into her pocket. “Thank you very much. It is harder than I thought to start an apothecary.”

“Can I ask why you’re working as a chef, then?” I finished off the last of the toast, and she took the plate from me. “And in Bosquet? I saw you selling tea with your sister.”

“Oh. Yes, that’s Octavie’s thing. She’s saving up to travel with some cartographer to map the world before someone else does. Our parents were merchants, and our mother’s from a small city-state north of Kalthorne. They have a shop in Lily-in-the-Valley.” She waved off my question politely, and part of me relaxed now that she had. It was nice just talking to a person. No rules. No Vivienne judging. No lies. She talked with her hands too, great passionate gestures as if she were painting a picture. “I have some of her family recipes. We moved here before the Empire got huffy about worshipping the Lord and his Mistress. Mademoiselle Gardinier asked my mother to help with some Kalthorne recipes, but my mother wanted to stay at her shop. She’s enjoying having Octavie and me out of the house. So I took the job instead. It’s not a full job and doesn’t pay much, but it’s a job.”

She didn’t say they’re a bit hard to come by, but I heard it in the way she paused and her jaw tightened.

“I’m glad you did.” Listening to her be happy made me happy, and the alchemistry looked fascinating. “Thank you.”

“And you, Madame,” she said. The tone was light enough to be a joke to test the line.

“Really, I know folks say it all the time and don’t mean it, but I would like it if you used my name. If you want,” I said quickly. “I’ve never really used the title before.”

“Emilie.” Yvonne lifted her head. “Thank you.”

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