“Eight! That is a surprise. I would not have guessed it. Would you like a honey cake, Master Owen?”
He grinned, nodding cautiously, and she winked and bade him to follow her. She lifted the lid of a clay jar and pulled out a round flat cake with a hash-mark stamp on it. She offered it to him grandly and then slipped a second one to the princess, winking at her as well.
Owen took a bite and immediately knew he would want a second one. The wafer was thin, crisp on the outside, and chewy in the middle. It tasted of honey and treacle and another strange flavor he could not determine. He ate it hungrily, watching the kitchen bustle around them with big vats of soup, hunks of raw meat, and servants whittling carrots, potatoes, squash, and onions into smaller chunks.
“How be the queen, your mother?” Liona asked Elyse softly, dropping her voice lower.
“She is well, thank you,” Elyse said, smiling kindly at the older woman. “I saw her yesterday at the sanctuary.”
Liona’s expression darkened. “I miss Her Highness,” she confided. “What a grand palace this used to be. With parties and balls and so many birthdays to celebrate. The rest of the castle has been downright gloomy since the king came from the North. That is why I refuse to shutter the windows. We need more light. Even a flower withers without sunshine.”
Her words made Owen glance at the nearest window, high above them. Through it, he could see one of the thin spires of the castle rising up. It was the thin tower . . . the one that had put him in mind of a dagger. He wondered if that was where the king slept. A little chill ran down his back at the sight of the tower looming so high above them. Before he knew it, he had finished the honey cake.
“And my, what an appetite you have!” Liona said. She was not that much taller than him and he liked it that she was so short. She tousled his hair. “Look at you, Owen. What is this stripe in your hair? Is it flour?” She touched the white spot of hair on the side of his head and he leaned away from her.
“I noticed it, too,” the princess said. “Just a little tuft of hair . . . white as snow. I imagine when his hair gets long, you can hardly see it.”
Owen himself did not think of it much, but people were always commenting about it. It was just his hair. So what if he had a strange patch in it?
The princess touched the cook’s arm. “Would it be all right if he stayed here a little while? When I came into the hall, everyone was shouting and I could tell he was frightened.”
The cook shook her head. “Shouting in front of such a young man. The height of bad manners! Owen, you may come to my kitchen as often as you like. Your brother was always welcome here. If someone wants to scold you, well, I will scold him first, be it the king himself! Never upset a cook, or even the milk turns sour. You come this way whenever you are scared or lonely. All right, Owen? Will you keep me company now and then?”
He smiled, gazing around at the arches and the hanging pots on pegs. “I like it here,” he said shyly, feeling much calmer now that he was distanced from the king’s fury. He did not want to meet him again, yet he knew he would have to share breakfast with him every day.
The princess knelt down again next to Owen. Her eyes were serious and she petted him fondly, as if she had always known him. “Liona will help take care of you. I am going to find Master Ratcliffe to help him choose a governess for you.” She stroked his arm. “I will watch out for you, Owen. So will Liona. There are many here still . . . faithful.” She hesitated before saying the word. Then she straightened, her dress shimmered with colors in the light, and the beams made her golden hair radiant. She looked like a queen herself.
“Thank you,” Owen mumbled, gazing up at her.
Liona’s nostrils tightened. “The next round of loaves is nearly done. You can always smell them. I will look after the child, Princess. Fear not. There are so many here, he won’t be underfoot.” She gave Owen a look of intrigue. “My husband is the woodcutter of the castle,” she said mysteriously. “He knows all the best haunts to wander and wouldn’t mind a companion on his journeys around the hill. He decides which of the king’s trees to keep and which he will cut and make into firewood. He’s off tromping in the woods right now, or you’d find him here with a flagon of ale and his feet up on a barrel. But I keep a tidy kitchen, as you see, so he knows to leave his dusty boots outside. Let me fetch you another honey cake!” She winked again and quickly went over to the clay pot to do just that. Another girl had stepped in to remove the loaves from the oven.
“Thank you, Liona,” the princess said.
“Anything for Your Highness’s family,” Liona answered, her look dark and serious. She hugged Elyse again.