But he doesn’t look angry now. He’s sitting in a far corner in front of a table. With him sit four young women—three of them Urisk, one a serious, blonde Keltic girl—all of whom look to be about the same age as me.
There are books and maps open in front of them, and Yvan is talking and pointing to something on one of the pages, almost as if he’s lecturing. Every so often he pauses, and the Urisk girls copy something down onto the parchment in front of them. Two of the Urisk girls nod at him when he speaks, concentrating intently on what he has to say.
These girls have rose-white coloration, like most of the Urisk in the kitchen, and are plainly dressed in aprons over work clothes, their hair pulled back into single braids. But the third Urisk girl is different. She reminds me of the Amazakaran—her hair worn in a series of beaded ropes, her posture defiant, her emerald eyes as intense as Yvan’s. And her hair and skin are as vivid green as her eyes.
The small, bubble-blowing Urisk child runs over to their table, to Yvan, and throws her arms around him, spilling almost the entire bottle of the bubble liquid down his brown woolen shirt.
I wonder what he’ll do, intense and angry as he seems to be.
But he surprises me. He reaches up and puts a gentle hand on the small arm that’s still wrapped around him, the little girl grinning at him widely. Then he turns his head to her and smiles.
My breath catches in my throat.
His broad, kind smile transforms him into a completely different person than the angry young man I saw earlier. He’s dazzling—more boyish than Lukas, but devastatingly handsome. The flickering lantern light of the kitchen highlights his angular features, and his brilliant green eyes, so hateful before, are now so lovely to look at—brimming with intelligence and kindness. Seeing him like this sets off a sudden bloom of warmth in my chest.
He says something to the Urisk child and squeezes her arm affectionately. The child nods, still smiling, and skips off with her bubbles.
For a moment I can’t take my eyes off him, and I imagine what it would be like to be on the receiving end of such a smile.
It’s all so wonderful. Friendship. Cooking. Children.
And, the icing on the cake, a large, gray cat walks across the floor.
It reminds me of home. And I know that once Yvan gets to know me, he’ll see that I’m not a bad person.
Everything is going to work out just fine.
I summon what little courage I have left, push open the swinging door and walk into the kitchen.
As soon as I enter, every last trace of friendly conversation snuffs out like a candle doused with a bucket of cold water.
My transient happiness evaporates.
Yvan stands up so abruptly he almost knocks his chair over, the look of hatred back on his face, his eyes narrowing furiously on me. The fierce green Urisk girl and the blonde Kelt girl shoot up, glaring at me with pure, undisguised loathing. The two other Urisk girls at the table take on looks of terror, glancing from me to the books and maps in front of them as if they’re thieves caught with stolen goods.
I blink at them in confusion.
Are the books not allowed in here? And what about the maps? Why are they so afraid?
One of the older Urisk women pushes the little girl behind her skirts, as if shielding her from me. Everyone in the room begins casting secret, furtive glances at each other, as if they’re trying, desperately, to figure out what to do.
Everyone except for Yvan, the heat in his rage-filled glare radiating clear across the room.
I struggle not to shrink back, an uncomfortable flush rising along my neck and cheeks.
The plump, elderly Urisk woman who was kneading bread comes forward, a forced smile on her face as she wrings her flour-covered hands nervously. “Is there something I can do for you, dear?”
“Um...” I hold out my papers to her with a quavering smile. “I’m Elloren Gardner. This is my labor assignment.”
The blonde Kelt girl’s mouth falls open in surprise. Beside her, the fierce Urisk girl eyes me murderously, and the small child peers out from her hiding spot curiously.
The elderly Urisk woman before me swallows audibly and keeps reading my labor assignment papers over and over, as if there’s been some mistake, and if she only reads it through enough times she’ll find it—as if my being there is just too awful to be true. The headache throbbing behind my eyes spreads out to my temples.
I can feel Yvan’s glare boring into me. He’s taller than I originally thought, and all the more intimidating for it.
“I’m supposed to find Fernyllia Hawthorne,” I offer.
“That would be me, Mage Gardner,” the old woman says, attempting another fake, wavering smile before carefully handing my papers back. “I’m Kitchen Mistress.”
“Oh, well... I’m ready to work.” I smile weakly at them, avoiding eye contact with Yvan. “Just let me know what you need.”
“Oh, Mage Gardner, you’re really not dressed for it,” Fernyllia points out, gesturing toward my fine clothes.
“Yes, I know,” I say apologetically. “I just got in and haven’t had a chance to change.” I look down at my intricately embroidered skirts. “My aunt bought these for me. These clothes. They’re not very practical.”
“Your aunt?” Fernyllia says faintly, like she’s having a bad dream.
“Yes, my aunt... Vyvian Damon.”
Fernyllia and some of the other kitchen workers wince at the mention of my aunt’s name. Yvan’s scowl hardens.
“Yes,” Fernyllia says softly, “I know of her.” She looks up at me imploringly. “I must apologize for my granddaughter being here, Mage Gardner.” She gestures in the direction of the child. “Her mother’s sick and...and I needed to mind her tonight. It won’t happen again.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” I reply reassuringly. “I like children.”
Why would it matter that the child’s here? Is there some reason she’s not allowed in the kitchen?
No one’s expression budges.
“And Yvan,” she explains nervously, gesturing toward him, “he’s getting a head start on his University studies. Such a good student he is. But I did tell him that he needs to get his work done elsewhere in the future. A kitchen is no place for books, what with all the things that can spill on them and such!”
I smile and nod at her in agreement, trying to prove myself worthy of their acceptance.
“I wish I was ahead in my studies,” I tell Yvan, attempting a smile as I turn to him and meet his intense eyes. “I’m already behind, it seems...”
His glare goes scalding, as if he’s wildly affronted. I can feel the anger radiating off him in thick waves, bearing down on me.
I swallow audibly, really hurt by his unrelenting, bizarre level of hatred. I blink back the sting of tears and turn to Fernyllia.
Ignore him, I tell myself. Force yourself to ignore him.
“So, what would you like me to do?” I ask with forced pleasantry.
Fernyllia’s eyes dart around, as if she’s trying to figure something important out quickly.
“Why don’t I show Mage Gardner what to do with the compost buckets?” the fierce-looking Urisk girl offers in a slow, careful tone.
Fernyllia’s eyes flicker in the direction of the books and back to me again. She puts on another false, obsequious smile. “That’s an excellent idea, Bleddyn,” she agrees. “Why don’t you go with Bleddyn, Mage Gardner. She’ll show you what to do. You don’t mind being around animals, do you?”
“Oh, no,” I respond with newfound enthusiasm. “I love animals.”
“Good, good,” says Fernyllia as she wrings her weathered hands nervously. “Just follow Bleddyn out, then. The scraps need to go out to the pigs. She’ll show you what to do.”
I feel like Yvan and everyone else in the room are holding their collective breath as I set down my books and papers and follow Bleddyn out of the kitchen and into a back room. A few large, wooden buckets filled with food scraps are lined up by a door.
“Grab two and follow me,” Bleddyn orders icily, her eyes narrowed to slits. I notice that she makes no move to pick up buckets herself, even though there are several more waiting to be brought out.