Dreams Made Flesh
Page 13

The cold box was a delightful discovery, especially when she realized the top third of it was a separate freeze box, but leaving hunks of meat wrapped in nothing more than brown paper was just . . . scandalous. The only other things in the cold box were a half-full butter bowl, the glass bottle of cream, and one egg.
Marian slumped in a chair. There had been no mention of wages last night, and she’d been too frightened to ask, but now she was glad she hadn’t.
The pine table and chairs in the kitchen were new. So were the stove, the cold box, and the furniture in Prince Yaslana’s bedroom. The furniture in her room was not, but it was good quality.
The rest of the rooms were empty.
Which made her wonder if Prince Yaslana was just getting by until it was time for the next tithe. After all, Luthvian had said he’d just recently become the Prince of Ebon Rih, so he wouldn’t have received any of the income yet that came with the title. Maybe he couldn’t afford anything more yet. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t mentioned wages.
Dark power washed through the eyrie, warning her that he’d returned. She jumped up and quickly shut all the cupboards and drawers so he wouldn’t wonder what she’d been doing. Then she stopped and looked around. Better if he found her doing something useful, but . . . what?
Yaslana walked into the kitchen, checked his stride, then advanced toward her more slowly, almost warily.
Marian’s heart leaped into her throat. It was midday, wasn’t it? He was expecting a meal, and she didn’t have anything to serve him.
Three dishes suddenly appeared on the counter—two large glass baking dishes with covers and a brown crock.
“Mrs. Beale sent these, with her compliments. She said it wasn’t likely that you’d get to the market today since you’d need a little time to settle in and—” He made a face. “And since she doubted I had more than salt and pepper on hand for spices, you’d want to make a list before you went shopping.”
Mrs. Beale, whoever she was, was an optimist, Marian thought as she eyed the dishes. She hadn’t even found salt and pepper when she’d gone through the cupboards and pantry.
“So this should take care of today’s meals,” Yaslana said.
While she was grateful for the meals, Marian really wanted to know how long she could keep the dishes.
“And there’s this.” He took another step toward her and held out a thin stack of papers.
She took them, fanning them out before she actually looked at them. Her heart leaped into her throat, and she had to bite back a squeal.
Silver marks. A lot of silver marks. More than she’d ever seen in her life.
“This—” She had to clear her throat before she could get the words out. “This is the housekeeping account?” Oh, the meals she could make with these kinds of funds.
Frowning, he shifted his weight. “I have accounts set up at all the shops in Riada. When you do the marketing, just tell the shopkeeper to put it on my account.” He tipped his head toward the marks. “That’s for you. An advance in your wages. Since you haven’t been in Kaeleer very long, I figured there were things you’d need to buy for yourself.”
She felt the blood draining out of her head as she stared at the silver marks. “You’re advancing me a month’s wages?”
His frown deepened. “Half a month.”
Now she did squeal as she thrust out her hand. “I can’t take this!”
He took a step back. “Why not?”
“It’s too much.” Too agitated to think about what she was doing, she took a step toward him, still holding out the marks.
He took another step back.
“Who says it’s too much?” He sounded testy. “Besides, I can afford it.”
Marian shook her head. If you can afford it, why don’t you have any furniture? “It’s too much.”
“Look,” he said, a snarl rising in his voice. “My father suggested that as an acceptable wage for a housekeeper, and he should know. Hell’s fire, woman, there are enough servants at the Hall to populate a small village.”
She finally looked at him—and realized he was defensive . . . and nervous. It suddenly occurred to her that he’d never done this before, never had to decide things like wages or define the duties of household staff. So she folded the silver marks, put them in her skirt pocket, and said, “Thank you, Prince Yaslana.”
He looked as relieved as a man walking off a battlefield. “Fine. That’s settled.” He took another step back toward the archway. “I’ll go out and chop some wood.”
Marian glanced at the dishes on the counter. “Don’t you want to eat?”
“Sure. I’ll be out there. Just yell when it’s ready.”
The man could certainly move, Marian thought as she stared at the empty archway.
It was rather sweet, the way he got all testy and nervous about giving her wages. And it was considerate of him to realize there were things she would need to buy for herself.
She pulled the silver marks out of her pocket, fanned them out again—and smiled.
It was still excessive for a half-month’s wages, but if she kept half of it for herself, the other half would give her a good start on buying the basics she needed for the kitchen.
EIGHT
Marian sipped her coffee, looked around her clean kitchen—and sighed. It was barely midmorning, and she’d already made a casserole, cleaned up the kitchen, stripped the beds and put on fresh linens, had all the laundry washed and hanging in the drying room, dusted the furniture, and swept the floors. There was nothing left to do—and Prince Yaslana would be gone for the next two days.
She still wasn’t sure how service in Lady Angelline’s court worked. It all seemed so . . . casual. She knew Prince Yaslana went back to SaDiablo Hall one or two days each week for a few hours, but she wasn’t sure if he went there for court business or just to visit family. He’d explained that since all the males in the First Circle had other responsibilities, his father, as Steward of the Court, worked out a rotation so that each male fulfilled his obligation to Queen and court by being on duty for two or three days twice a month.
So he’d left before sunrise, and she had the next two days stretching out in front of her. She could read, but reading was the reward after the day’s labor. She’d finished the weaving she’d started on her small hand loom and had made a decorative mat for the kitchen table. She didn’t feel like making something just to fill up time. So what . . .
Turning to look out the window, she studied the mess of rocks and weeds. It had been a garden a long time ago. She’d found herbs growing wild among the weeds and suspected there had been an herb bed and a kitchen garden on this side of the eyrie.
Why hadn’t Yaslana done anything to at least clean it up? For a man who was always aware of his surroundings, he seemed willfully blind to the fact that a natural meadow, which had its own kind of beauty, wasn’t the same as the tangled mess she was staring at now.
Besides, it would be so nice to have a little kitchen garden to tend.
Marian refilled her coffee mug and took a moment to admire the coffeepot she’d bought with part of her wages. Yaslana hadn’t said a word about the pot’s sudden appearance in his kitchen, but he’d definitely approved of the taste of the coffee she could brew in it.
She walked down what she’d labeled the “domestic” corridor, since it provided entry to the pantry and the laundry and drying room—and the small area between the pantry and laundry that had a door to the outside and a purpose she was still puzzling over. Opening the door, she studied the land in front of her.
The growing season was already well along, and she wasn’t sure what kinds of plants might be available. But the women in Riada would know—or she could ask Lady Angelline the next time the Queen stopped by for a brief visit. A few vegetables, a few herbs. Maybe some flowers. Yaslana wouldn’t mind if she cleared a little ground. At least, she was almost certain he wouldn’t mind.
He was, and wasn’t, what she’d expected, based on the things she’d heard about Warlord Princes and him in particular. She had no doubt he was a trained warrior and a born predator whose temper could turn deadly in a heartbeat. She could see it in the way he moved, the way he looked at everything around him. But she hadn’t actually seen a display of temper. Well, not much of one. The only time he’d snarled at her since she’d arrived was when he’d come home early one afternoon, taken a long look at her, and decided she needed something to eat. When she’d told him she wasn’t hungry, he informed her that anyone who worked as hard as she did was not going to deprive her body of food. Then he marched her into the kitchen and rummaged through the cold box until he put together a plate of food that he considered sufficient. His idea of sufficient was vastly different from hers, but her token effort at eating had satisfied him enough that he’d eaten what was left on her plate.
Since he didn’t seem to care what she did as long as she was pleased with the result, she didn’t think he’d mind her clearing some ground and having the pleasure of a little garden of her own.
After vanishing her coffee mug, then calling it back in so that it would reappear on the kitchen counter next to the sink, Marian pushed up her sleeves, stepped outside, and got to work.
As she stepped back into the eyrie, Marian understood the purpose of the little room. If it had pegs in the wall or a coat tree, wet or muddy outer garments could be hung in there to dry. Boots could be removed instead of tracking dirt or mud through the rest of the eyrie. And it was close to the big sinks in the laundry room for a quick wash if it was needed.
If there was a bench in here, it would make removing boots so much easier, Marian thought, groaning softly as she bent over to unlace her boots. At least Tassle was off doing his daily trot around the land surrounding the eyrie and hadn’t heard her groan. He’d just start howling again.