He felt Shayera tremble behind him. But she didn’t utter a sound, a fact he appreciated. Normally when one came to his home, there’d be keening and gnashing of teeth. Of course, the fact that he played up his demonic nature might account for the fright.
His castle was built of the brilliant gray stones mined from the hills of Under. The stones might appear dull and mundane on the surface, but if you could look beyond the initial fear his palace elicited, you would see the perfect symmetry and craftsmanship of each square block, the silvery veins that ran like liquid mercury throughout and almost gleamed with each strike of electric light. Rock dwarves took their job seriously and none were as talented at stonework as they. Though it’d cost him a small fortune to build his castle, it’d been the one time he’d parted with his money gladly.
“We’re here,” he murmured, lifting himself off the seat and finally undoing the snarled knot he was forced to keep his hair in when he rode.
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright, but she nodded and carefully stood. He was almost sad to see her delicate legs covered by that ghastly burlap sack once more.
Rumpel smirked as she gazed around in wide-eyed wonder. It was easy enough to deduce the chit hadn’t traveled much in her life. In fact, he’d not be surprised if she’d never once left her tiny hamlet.
“Come,” he said, gesturing toward the carved doorway that led to his kitchens.
Clutching her arms to her chest, she followed his lead. The girl stank of fear, but he was impressed that she was at least reining it in.
The moment they walked off, Genesis roared to life and rode off in a cloud of fog.
“That thing is alive, isn’t it?”
It was the first question she’d asked since leaving. He was glad to see she was still among the land of the living.
“Aye.” He nodded.
“How?” She brushed a thick red curl out of her eyes.
Turning around, having no intention of answering any personal questions, he headed straight to his pantry area.
His larder was stocked with several years’ worth of provisions. Basketfuls of vegetables and fruits and cheeses and nuts were stacked up, and drying meat swung from the rafters. Canned jars of pickled goods and mulled wines lined the shelves, all of it guaranteed through magic to never rot or spoil. If an apocalypse should ever come, he’d survive it in grand fashion.
She gasped.
“Good goddess,” she breathed. “What kind of staff have you got to keep such a store of goods?”
“Dozens.” He shrugged. “A castle this size demands it, though none of them eat. It is just me. And now you.” He nodded. “If you’re hungry.”
She licked her lips and the pulse at the base of her throat jumped. “You plan to feed me?”
He grimaced. “Did you think I brought you here only to starve you, Carrot?”
Huffing, she ignored his obvious jab and finally gave a stern nod. “I am hungry, thank you.”
“Well…” He turned to his towering shelf of foods. “We’ve everything—what would you like?”
“Whatever’s on hand. I’m not picky,” she whispered meekly and his nose curled.
“Please gods, do not be a meek little mouse. I’ve no tolerance for it and what you’re about to experience will demand you not be. Say what you will, I will not bite.” He flashed his fangs, experiencing a cheap thrill when her ivory skin bloomed brightest pink.
Licking her front teeth, she ground out, “If you must know, I’m rather partial to stews and crusty bread. Have you any of that?”
“I’m sure Cook has something.” Pointing out the door that was straight ahead and led to the dining hall, he jerked his chin. “Go sit and wait for me. I’ll return promptly.”
A stubborn light flared in the depths of her ice-blue eyes. Shayera had fire, which would serve her well. Rumpel was beyond exhausted from his search; in fact, he was weary, though he’d never show it. But if he didn’t find what he was looking for soon, he’d have to resort to drastic, brutal measures. And as much as he enjoyed the reclusive solace his so-thought cruel nature afforded him, he didn’t really enjoy inflicting pain just for the sake of it. However, he’d do whatever he must to see this nightmare come to a quick end.
“Go,” he said, more forcefully this time.
With a final clenching of her jaw, she spun on her heel and walked to where he’d indicated.
“Cook!” he snapped the moment she’d gone, shoving his fingers through his hair.
Just then a funnel of black smoke apparated from the ground up, undulating and swaying like fog over waters.
“Massster,” he hissed with an echoing sibilance.
“The girl wishes breads and stews. Serve it in the great room, whatever we have on hand now.”