by Linda Kage
Chapter 22
Quilla
We made it through the canyon and out the other side with no hiccups. I mean, aside from the physical brawl that nearly broke out between Indigo and Melaina due to the fact that my aunt couldn’t stop heckling him about how flawlessly her plan to disguise ourselves to get into the canyon had worked.
At one point, after we were already through the pass—and Melaina was still harping on about how ridiculous his concern had been—he pointedly turned to me and asked, “Just how important is she to you again?”
Before I could answer, however, Melaina snorted. “Oh, that’s rich. You’re thinking of harming me now, are you, High Clifter? Just because we had a little difference of opinion? That’s so open-minded of you.” She rolled her eyes before lifting a finger. “Now, let me tell you something. You should kiss the ground I walk on. Because I was the sole caretaker of your one true love since she was eight years old. I hid her in her own home for nearly four years, disguising her as my servant so the rest of the family wouldn’t find her and try to kill her for her powers. And when she was discovered, I sent her to a girl’s academy with my own funds I’d accumulated over the years, because it was the safest place I could think to hide her. My husband tortured me for six years, trying to get me to tell him where she was. But did I ever break? No. The only reason Quilla is alive today—”
“Okay!” Indigo cut in harshly, lifting his bound hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll stop imagining how nice the silence after your murder might be. And I thank you for everything you did for her.”
“No,” Melaina snarked back, not ready to forgive him. “You know what would be really nice?” she demanded. “Your face not being around here anymore. The girl and I had a fine system going before you came along and disturbed our peace with your unwanted, intruding, and super annoying presence.”
Indigo glanced at me, making an exaggerated expression. Not for one second did he believe there’d been any peace between me and her before he’d come along. And he was right. It amused me how well he already knew that.
And that look on his face. So comical.
I blurted out a laugh without meaning to.
“Yes, it was so peaceful,” I stressed sarcastically, lifting one hand to my heart as if swearing by the lie.
Grinning, he watched me with such avid fascination that I became self-conscious.
Tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, I muttered, “What?”
He shook his head slowly. “Nothing,” he mumbled before immediately glancing away as if self-conscious. “It’s just nice when you smile. That’s all.”
My brow furrowed as I continued to watch him, wondering what he was thinking. Wondering what he was feeling. I was so curious about the inner workings of him that I began to wish I could get one of his marks, so I’d know right now exactly what his heart wanted. And that was such a surreal realization for me. This man right here could be my entire future. If I’d just allow it. All I had to do was accept him. That was all.
Except what if I did put my trust in him and the whole love-mark thing ended up being a ruse after all?
It was a leap of faith I couldn’t risk.
“That’s it,” Melaina spoke up suddenly, making me jump because I’d forgotten for a moment that there were other people in the world aside from Indigo. “I’m done for the day,” she announced. “Let’s find somewhere to unpack and camp. Preferably somewhere near a brook so I can take a nice relaxing bath.”
Frowning, I exchanged a questioning glance with Indigo. He blinked and shot back, “But there’s still two or three good hours of sunlight left for traveling.”
“Boy,” she snapped, sending him a scowl. “I said I’m done. I’m hot, sweaty, tired, and sick of riding on a damn horse.”
I opened my mouth to comment about the weather, letting her know I wasn’t hot at all. I rather thought there was a bit of a chilly nip in the air. “It’s not that—”
But Indigo nudged me quiet. “If you’re willing to veer off course from the trail a little,” he told Melaina. “I know of a couple of hot spring aquifers in these woods.” He motioned to the forest on our right.
Hot springs was the magic word where Melaina was concerned. “Hot springs?” She perked to attention, no longer appearing so bedraggled, exhausted, or temperamental. “Yes. Show me now.”
With a chuckle, Indigo led us into the woods. “I lived not far from here, so I know the area well,” he explained as he traveled deeper into the trees.
“That was after your grandparents died, right?” I asked.
Indigo glanced at me in surprise. Then he gave a stuttering nod, as if my attention flustered him. “Uh, yeah.” Clearing his throat, he held back a tree branch so both Melaina and I could walk through. “I went to live with my mother’s brother, Everett, and his family just outside Tyler when I was fifteen until I joined the king’s army when I turned eighteen.”
“Hmm.” He seemed very dismissive of that fact, which made me wonder why. He was usually all too eager to tell us more than we wanted to know about his family. So I pressed the issue. “And how was that?”
“What?” His brows rose curiously as he glanced at me again.
“How was living with your mother’s family?” I asked pointedly.
“Oh! Uh…” He blinked as if his mind had gone blank. Then he said, “It was, you know…” He shrugged. “It kind of sucked,” he finally admitted. “Since I was a High Clifter, my uncle treated me like something lower than a human being, expecting me to serve him and his family in gratitude for their oh-so-wonderful benevolence because they’d agreed to take me in at all. I had to earn every scrap of bread I was given, and most nights, I slept on the floor next to the ovens in the kitchen with the dogs. But it was better than being homeless, I guess. So I probably shouldn’t complain.”
“Wait.” Melaina held up a hand. “I’m confused. We’re in the kingdom of High Cliff right now. How could they have an issue with their own countrymen? Their own fucking family?”
“Ah, but this part of High Cliff was the kingdom of Teller before that,” he explained. “And my mother hailed from House Teller, the very line that ruled here. So her brother was determined to think of himself as a Tellerite.”
Melaina hummed in understanding. “Still sore about losing the throne, huh?”
Indigo shrugged. “Well, it was only three generations ago. My great-grandfather, Havern, was the last Teller king before High Cliff overthrew him and took the land for themselves.”
“So, wait!” I spoke up, blinking. “Are you saying that if High Cliff hadn’t invaded, and Teller was still its own kingdom, you’d probably be a fucking prince right now?”
He snorted and shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t. But my first cousin, Axel—Everett’s son—now he’d be a prince. Besides, I wouldn’t even exist if this land was still under Tellerite rule. My grandfather, Mikkel—that would be Havern’s only son—was taken to the capital city in High Cliff to be raised after the Bjorn family took over. It was their attempt to assimilate him into their culture, so he’d be less likely to ever try to reclaim his birthright. Both Everett and my mother were born there, which wouldn’t have been the case if Teller had stood strong, and thus my mother never would’ve met my father.”
“So if your uncle was raised in the heart of High Cliff, why did he hate it so much?”
“He learned he should’ve been the heir to his own kingdom, and he turned resentful. He moved back to Tyler when he reached maturity, and there his resentment has grown ever since.” Shaking his head, he drew out a long, sad sigh. “All I can say is that it's a blessing I had moved out of his control before the Great Lowden War. I heard he didn’t take it well when High Cliff defeated Lowden, and instead of claiming the land as their own, as they did with Teller, they let the House of Gill take back the rule because the Gills had been reigning there before the Graykeys stole the throne from them. Uncle Everett would have taken his anger and resentment out on me, I’m sure o
f it. He’s always believed the House of Bjorn should’ve allowed the Teller line to keep control after their defeat.”
Melaina snorted and rolled her eyes. “Your uncle sounds like a brute.”
Indigo didn’t dispute the claim. He merely pointed to the right. “The best hot spring is just this way.”
The clearing that we’d reached looked like the perfect place to camp, though, so I paused. “I’m going to set up here for the night.”
“Sounds good.” Indigo nodded and glanced my way. “I’m just going to show her where the aquifer is. Be right back.”
He was gone just long enough for me to unpack my horse and get a fire started.
“Your aunt didn’t wait for me to leave before she began to undress,” he announced as he appeared in the clearing. “I think I’ll be traumatized for life.” Then he gave a quick grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “Hey, do you want me to show you where the springs are later on?”
“You’re not seeing me naked,” I answered dryly, before realizing he probably already had that first day we’d skirmished at the spring. So I scowled and added, “Not ever again.”
With a husky chuckle, he squatted in front of the fire, just across the flames from me. “Ah, well. I had to try, though, right?”
I snorted and poked at the burning tinder, trying to get the heat up.
“So what’re you cooking tonight?” he asked. “Hey, can you show me how to make that stick bread stuff? It looked and smelled amazing.”
I glanced up, surprised he wanted to learn how to cook something. I hadn’t been planning on making any loaves tonight, we weren’t going to sell anymore anytime soon, and they took longer to make than I wanted to spend in front of a fire right now.
But I found myself saying, “Um, okay. I guess. Yeah, I could show you.”
“Great.” He rubbed his manacled hands together eagerly. “What do you need me to do?”
It was bizarre to have such a willing student. I was used to Melaina’s company, and she preferred to boss me around; she never took any kind of instruction from me. But guiding someone else actually sounded nice. So while I gathered the ingredients, I had Indigo find the mixing bowls, measuring cups, cooking board, and stirring spoons.
“Will this ladle work?” he asked, holding up the water ladle we used to drink from.
“There should be a wooden stirrer for mixing in one of the pockets on the left.”
“Oh, okay.” He went back to searching, only to cheer, “Found it.” Holding up the stirrer, he approached and held it out.
“Thank you.” After accepting the spoon, I began to pour the ingredients into the big bowl he’d already found for me. “So to begin, you need one-part water, two-parts flour. Then two big spoons of oil and a small spoon each of sugar, salt, and yeast.”
He shifted closer, watching curiously. “Yeast?”
“Yes. It’ll ferment the sugars in the flour, which releases bubbles of air inside the dough that make it grow bigger and lighter. Fluffier.”
“No shit, really?” he demanded incredulously. “Yeast is what makes your bread look so much more appetizing than the flat and hard, dry, tasteless crap I’ve been eating? Just one little spoonful of that grainy-looking muck?”
My lips tightened in the attempt to keep in a smile. “Your hardtack is unleavened, yes,” I explained. “But your bread will last longer and would be better to have on hand for extended trips. This type of bread we’re making here will perish and grow mold much faster.”
Did he not already know all this? I don’t think he did, because he seemed extremely interested to learn it, and his expression was full of shock. It was kind of entertaining to watch. I liked teaching something new to him.
“No, it wouldn’t perish,” he finally concluded. “Because I’d eat it a damn sight faster, way before it could even think of doing such a thing.”
I blurted out a laugh before I could stop myself. “Is that what bread would think?” I asked. “If it had a brain?”
A playful grin spread across his face as he shrugged. “What else would they think about aside from ways not to get eaten?”
“Like the gingerbread man?” I countered teasingly with a roll of my eyes.
His eyebrows crinkled. “Who?”
So I spent the entire time it took to mix the ingredients into dough telling him the story of the gingerbread man. That was nice too—being able to share stories and experiences I’d learned on Earth. I’d never been able to talk to anyone about any of that before. And Indigo was always eager to hear everything there was to know about the old world.
“Anyway,” I went on, returning to my bread-making instructions when I finished mixing the ingredients. “If we had the counter space, we’d knead this by folding the dough and kind of pushing it back down with the heel of our palms.”
“What does that do to it?” he asked curiously, lifting his attention from the bowl full of dough.
His blue eyes were so dark and sincere, I got caught staring at them, momentarily stunned that this man—this beautiful, lively, easygoing, quick-to-smile, and even-quicker-to-defend-me man—belonged to me.
I knew I could reach out right now and touch him, and he wouldn’t reject the contact. I could run my fingers over the dark stubble growing on his jaw, and he’d probably like it and invite me to do more. The thought of being so accepted and cherished was tempting. I nearly lifted my tingling fingers to stretch them his way but stopped myself at the last moment.
What the hell was I doing? This was stupid. It was all an illusion. Indigo didn’t know me. His mark was compelling him against his human nature to feel a responsibility and affection toward me that had nothing to do with his own mind or reasoning. If he didn’t have that magical tattoo telling him we were meant to be together, he would’ve killed me by now or captured me to turn me over to his king for a fate worse than death.
I hated his mark for forcing him to chase me down, for forcing him to protect me and talk to me and get to know me. In the natural order of things, we were supposed to be enemies. He would despise everything I was and he’d hunt me. And I would run and escape him every time.
The stupid love mark of his was messing everything up. It was making me get to know him. Now I was starting to like him. And that was dangerous. I was already loosening my guard around him. And a loosened guard was bad. It always led to death. I was going to get myself killed if I wasn’t careful.
“Quilla?” he said, making me jump and realize I’d spaced out.
Woolgathering. Another dangerous pastime that came about from a loosened guard.
Brow furrowing with concern, he reached for my arm. “What’s wrong? You went from a hopeful, sad, longing to fearful worry in the snap of the fingers.”
I scowled. There was another thing I hated about his damn mark. I hated how it showed him my emotions and coerced him to respond to them. It was just another illusion that he cared about me, though how could he really care?
“I’m fine,” I mumbled, lowering my attention to the mixed bowl of dough and remembering his question. “Kneading builds up the strength of the dough so it can capture more air pockets inside it, which helps the bread’s texture so that it ends up even lighter and fluffier in the end. But making stick bread a little denser will keep it from falling apart quite so easily when selling it at the market. So, at this point, we’d just wait for the bread to rise about double in size. Except…”
I pulled a pouch of powder from my cloak that sped the time-growth process along. The mage I bought it from sold it to women who wanted to immediately lengthen their hair. But it worked for this too.
“We don’t have the time for that, ergo, poof…” I released a few sprinkles and the dough immediately expanded in the bowl.
Indigo leaned closer to watch. “Cool,” he murmured.
Still drawn to his fascination, I bit my lip to hold in a smile, and I shook my head again. Gathering the dough from the bowl, I explained, “Now we divide this into about eight parts
.”
When I pinched it into two equal balls, Indigo held out a hand, offering, “I’ll take half.”
There was no reason to deny him, so I handed over one of the halves, and we each turned them into four more each before stretching them into sausage-shaped strips.
Picking up one of the cooking sticks I had fashioned from a maple tree, I handed it to him before getting my own, and we each spent a minute holding our sticks over the fire to sterilize them. Then I showed him how to pinch one end of the sausage dough to the sharpened tip of his spit and coil it down and around the stick.
“Find some hot embers,” I told him. “They’re the best to cook over.”
He followed my advice without question and rotated his bread every time I did mine so it would cook evenly.
“How long do they take to cook?”
“Whenever it’s a nice golden brown,” I answered. “Maybe about ten minutes or so.”
And so we waited until our bread was finished. As I slid my loaf from the pike that I’d cooked it on and set it aside, Indigo tore a chunk of his straight from his stick and popped it into his mouth.
My eyes widened. “Careful! That might be—”
“Hot!” He hissed, his eyes immediately watering and cheeks bulging. “Damn, that’s hot.”
I burst out laughing as he tried to deal with the temperature without spitting the bread out.
“Here.” Having mercy, I handed him a ladle full of water, which he gratefully accepted.
Mouth still stuffed full, he muffled out his thanks and drank eagerly.
I started to chuckle just as a voice from behind us said, “Well, isn’t this cozy.”
Jumping, I spun around to realize Melaina had returned. She had paused, poised at the edge of the camp, watching us curiously. Eyebrows perking up as her gaze met mine, she smirked as if she’d interrupted us mid-sex or something.
“Quilla’s teaching me how to make bread,” Indigo answered easily, finally having swallowed down his first bite. “It’s amazing.”
As he turned back to twist another strip around the stick, Melaina blinked at me. “You’re cooking? Together? How utterly domestic.”
