left, and after a pause to allow him to get out of earshot, she said, “Well, I can see for myself that at least one thing is going well.”
“What?” I asked, baffled.
“Oh, nothing,” Svyer said. Then her smile faded. “Truly, Sarah. How are you?”
“I’m well,” I said with feeling. “Truly, Svyer. We’re safe, for the moment. Ben’s been fussing over me in your place, so don’t worry about that.”
“Good to hear,” Svyer said with a straight face. “Is he giving you enough to eat?”
I rolled my eyes. “Rather too much.”
“Good. And regularly checking you for any more surprise infections?”
I shifted. “Well, I’m sure he would have, but we’ve been a bit busy.…”
Her eyes narrowed in worry again. “So Ben said. But when Ben says ‘busy,’ and doesn’t answer my calls for over a day, that usually means ‘in mortal peril.’”
“Does it now,” I said, flushing a bit.
“Just what happened last night? And where are you? No one in the know has said—if they even know more than the fact that Ben’s not dead and doesn’t need a search party sent out for him—though I hear the King ordered a battlewing to be on standby all night at Kergin Hold.”
I hadn’t known that, but presumably Ben had. No doubt the reason he hadn’t called for them when the lish struck was because they couldn’t have gotten to us in time. Especially in the dark.
I hesitated, mostly because I didn’t want to worry Svyer. “We…had a rough night, but we survived. We found cover, and we’re safe now.”
“Where, though?” Svyer said. “That’s just the thing: there isn’t any cover in that whole massive jungle, and no gate close enough for Ben to have taken you somewhere else. Are you sure you’re safe?”
A quiet little something inside me held my tongue for just one second. Before I could overcome it with guilt or eagerness to soothe, it occurred to me for the first time that part of the reason for our current respite was that no one, except maybe the King, had any clue where we were. And even we knew little more than what we were in—not where.
But the what was still universe-shatteringly significant, perhaps even more so than the fact of a lish on my trail.
I trusted Svyer. But could I—should I—ask her to keep this kind of secret?
Was friendship—was leadership—sometimes more about what you didn’t need to burden someone with, rather than telling all?
Oh, how I wished Ben were there to tell me.
Svyer’s eyes tightened, her lips pressed, and she leaned forward earnestly. “Please, Sarah. This is my cousin. And—mind, I’m going to totally deny this if you tell him—he’s my favorite one. What’s more, he’s our Heir, a good one—the best we could have hoped for. But, unfortunately, one who has a dangerous tendency to get himself in over his head. And I’m fond of you as well, now. So it’s been driving me crazy, not knowing, wondering if I should have been there with you. And if I should come searching for you now.”
“Don’t!” I said, more quickly than I should have. I took a breath. “Svyer, stay, please. We’re fine. And you wouldn’t be able to find us, trust me.”
She leaned in further, eyes soft. “Then trust me. Don’t be like Ben, Sarah. Don’t feel like you have to save all the worlds on your own.”
I hesitated one more time.
Then, decision made, I took a deep breath and opened my mouth.
I jumped when I heard a suave voice in the doorway. “What a sound for sore ears. Is that Svyer’s dulcet voice I hear?”
Smooth as silk, Kor strode into the room and bent down to our level, slinging an arm around my shoulders as he did so. “Svyer, darling! How good to see your beatific face.”
As if to defy him, Svyer leaned back with a scowl. “Kor. How good of you to interrupt.”
Kor only smirked as he fingered a smooth, shiny blue stone etched with runes and embedded with mica-like flecks, which hung on a woven black cord around his neck.
“Impeccable timing is only one of my many considerable skills. Among—”
Svyer’s face vanished, only to be replaced with what had been underneath the image all along: the smooth convex surface of a gold, tear-drop oval.
Kor cursed under his breath.
“What happened?” I asked in alarm. “Is she OK?”
“Lost connection,” Kor said as he straightened. He dropped the stone he’d been fingering and crossed his arms, displeased. “It happens. Not surprising in this case, considering the possible interference.”
The explanation made sense (it was miraculous they had any communication method that worked across solar systems at all), but the timing was suspicious. I scrutinized Kor, but the scowl on his face appeared genuine—unlike the charm he had been oozing before.
That made another suspicion form in my mind.
“Kor.…” I said slowly. “Is there a…history between the two of you?”
Kor looked down at me with a start. Then a slow, catlike smile came over his face. “I keep forgetting you aren’t an idiot.”
I snorted. He laughed. At least he seemed over his pique about both my refusal to help him with the archivals and Svyer’s dropped call.
“It’s less of a surprise each time, don’t worry. Sorry to disappoint you, Sarah: there is no ‘history’ to report yet.”
His eyes narrowed as he gazed at the gold oval on the wall. “But if my instincts are correct…there will be.”
I raised an eyebrow. I couldn’t see it working between them, but Svyer seemed aware of that. “Then just a friendly hint: you might want to tone it down. Like…way down.”
His face darkened, and he fingered the blue stone again. “Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing, Sarah. Trust me.”
again, he seemed jumpy around me for some reason. Still, he helped me cobble together dinner, since even Kor had made himself scarce again after Svyer’s call had ended. (I decided he reminded me of nothing better than our deceased, cunning cat, Felix.) Ben had been the only one I could find when I stepped out onto the center-chamber balcony that I was beginning to think of as the Rim.
Ben showed me how to cook and prepare a few easy dramá dishes from things we found in the freezer room. We could have eaten some of the food we’d brought with us, but Ben said that would keep (apparently nothing aged in the nothing-place they put their stuff in), and it would be a shame to waste the food in the freezer, now that I’d broken the seal and restarted the entropy clock. We also could have eaten bread, vegetables, cold-cuts and the like instead of cooking something, but Ben said the cooking smell would lure his wings in better than any other method, and he was right.
Besides, the cooking seemed to settle Ben. I didn’t know why it still surprised me that he seemed to know his way around a kitchen, but it did. I guess I figured that, sure, he might stay in guest rooms, clean for himself, and make his own beds, but surely cooking was the one thing that had fallen to the wayside among the many other things an Heir had to do—and especially with all the travel he’d been doing. Yet there he was, chopping, sauteing, and flipping like he was an expert chef. The longer he was in that element, the more his stress seemed to melt off him, until he was smiling unconsciously. Then he began singing.
Soft and low, in a fully masculine baritone and a jaunty tune that wouldn’t have been out of place in an Irish pub. And he was.…
Happy. Well and truly happy, for perhaps the first time I had ever seen. With that simple contentment setting him off with a golden glow, and his smooth, rich singing voice winding through the mess’s killer acoustics.…
The sight and sound of him filled me with a nameless ache I’d never felt before, one so deep and yearning that I couldn’t breathe.
I hadn’t realized I’d stopped my vegetable chopping to stare until he glimpsed me and silenced abruptly, looking away with a blush. “What?”
I hurriedly resumed chopping. “Nothing,” I said as casually as I could, though my throat was dry and heart pounding. “Please, don’t stop.”
But I’d popped his bubble, or let out some of the air. He didn’t pick up the song again, but to my relief, his contented smile slowly returned as he flipped the vegetables in his pan with a skill I watched in sidelong envy.
“I’ve missed this,” he said with a sigh.
“How’d you get so good?”
“At what?” Fortunately, with him concentrating on measuring some things into a bowl, the question didn’t seem to make him so self-conscious this time.
“The singing. And…this.” I gestured with both hands at the counter spread with food, utensils, and cookware.
Though I’d helped carry things, he had selected everything with a swiftness and surety born of experience and practice, and with about as much admiration of the stock and tools as Yvera had in the armory and Kor in the library. Only now did I realize the restraint it must have taken for him to leave behind the kitchen and storage rooms without giving away his interest the first time.
“Surely an Heir doesn’t have time to cook?”
“Ah, well, those all have the same answer,” Ben said, his smile fading.
Then my heart clenched, and I knew I’d done it this time. “Your mother.”
“Avvi,” he agreed.
“Ben, I’m so—”
“No, don’t be sorry,” he said calmly as he stirred. “I need to remember. And right now…with you…”
His eyes narrowed, and something seemed telling about how hard he was concentrating, on how he was not looking at me.
“…it’s easier,” he concluded.
I dutifully went back to chopping. After a moment, I tentatively asked, “She taught you to cook?”
“Among many things, including singing,” Ben said with a chuckle. “But cooking—and singing while cooking—were her favorite.”
“So they became yours.”
“So they did,” he agreed. “You had a point: a Monarch, and even a Monarch’s consort, doesn’t always have time to cook, but Avvi did, whenever she could. It made her happy, and it showed her love for Avva and me. And it was something we could do together. So yes, it became my favorite. And remember how I was talking about balance? This was one thing Avva suggested I do for myself. So, I made the time, whenever I could. Took classes when I could. Just like she did. And it made Avva happy, too. Because what’s the point of cooking just for yourself?”
“I hadn’t ever thought of it that way. I…haven’t ever had to. There’s always so many mouths to feed in my family.…”
I didn’t mention that cooking in our house was often either a chaotic mess that ended in tears or was frozen pizza. Even when it was my turn, and I was left mercifully alone, and it turned out perfectly, and everyone liked it, cooking had always felt like a chore. Like scrubbing the toilet: it was a dull and thankless task which had to be done.
It occurred to me that my attitude was perhaps why, even though I’d done my fair share of cooking, I had nowhere near Ben’s skill.
He paused and shook his head in wonder. “I forgot. Twelve.”
“Counting my sister-in-law and nephew,” I reminded him.
He chuckled. “That’s right, sorry. I’ll get over the shock soon, I promise.”
He glanced at me, then asked almost as tentatively as I had about his mother, “What was that like? Growing up with…seven siblings.”
I smiled to myself at the audible pause required for him to do the math. I paused, trying to think of a neutral description, since I’d also heard the wistfulness in his voice.
“Loud,” I said finally.
After another moment, I asked, “What was it like, being the only one?”
He paused. “Quiet,” he said.
“I imagine it would be,” I said awkwardly. Then, trying to change the subject, I inhaled deeply. “Well, if this tastes anything like it smells already, it’ll be amazing. So, thank you for doing this, and showing me.”
He chuckled as he dumped the contents of his skillet onto a platter. “Thanks for indulging me. Like I said, I’ve missed this. It’s not often that I’ve had access to stores of food and a kitchen in the past year. Much less ones as good as what you have here.”
He sighed. “It’s also one thing I feel guilty about, being away from Avva. He has others to cook for him—because, believe it or not, he’s hopeless—”
“No!” I said with a gasping laugh. I couldn’t imagine the King I had seen being hopeless at anything.
Ben gave a laugh of his own as he took my tray of chopped vegetables and dumped them in the empty skillet. “I swear, it’s the Fire’s truth. Avvi used to tease him that he could burn water. Anyway, he has others to cook, thank the Flame.”
His voice lowered. “But though he never complains, I know no one can make things as close to the way Avvi did as I can.”
Hands and mind free now, I turned to look at him. I hesitated, but my loathing of that renewed tightness in his expression overcame my inhibitions.
I crossed to him and laid my hand over his, the one holding the skillet handle. He looked down at me in surprise, but not as if the touch was unwelcome. Though he started going red at my expression and glanced away. I was becoming too fond of how adorable the combination of blush and beard was on him.
“I understand the guilt,” I said quietly. “But you are a good son, Ben.”
He said nothing, but his hand tightened its grip on the skillet.
“You are. And your father is proud of you. Trust me. If even I could get that impression after fifteen minutes or so, then it must be true.”
Ben shifted away, ostensibly to check something in the oven. I took over stirring the vegetables, but I saw him swiping at the corner of his eyes when he thought my view was blocked.
“Thanks,” he said, coming back while blinking rapidly. “But—er—be careful about those elik. They’re stronger than usual.”
He nudged me aside, and I let him. I didn’t mention that the small, red, onion-like bulbs he’d warned me about hadn’t bothered my eyes, either when I was chopping them or stirring the skillet.
“Dinner ready yet?” Yvera said as she strolled in, making me jump. “I’m starving.”
Her hair was wet and loose, she was dressed in loose-fitting clothing, and she wore a small towel around her shoulders, so I assumed she had worked out her frustration in the armory and showered.
Ben didn’t even look up. “Almost. It would be ready sooner if you’d set the table.”
“Fine,” she huffed and strode over to a table.
“Sarah can show you where—”
“We have our own things, don’t we?”
Without giving Ben a chance to argue, she began pulling plates, cups, and utensils out of thin air, her hand only shifting the slightest bit for each item before she set it in place on the table she chose.
Kor’s timing once again proved to be impeccable. Just as I was helping Ben set the last dishes and serving utensils on the center of the table, I asked Ben if we should go looking for him, and Ben only had enough time to shake his head before Kor casually strode into the mess, hands in his pockets, looking pleasantly surprised.
“Ah, dinner, is it?”
“As if you didn’t know,” Yvera muttered just loud enough for me to hear as she served herself.
Ben rolled his eyes but answered without resentment as he dished his own plate. “It is. So, sit down and help yourself.”
At least, I thought Ben had been serving himself, but he grabbed the empty plate in front of me and set his overflowing one down in its place.
“Ben,” I groaned.
“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
He’d no doubt heard my stomach growl and caught me snitching, so it wasn’t as if I could deny it.
“Not this hungry! And I won’t want to be facing…whatever it is we’re facing tonight…while I’m as stuffed as a turkey.”
“What is a—” Kor began, eyes alight.
Ben ignored him. “Sarah, you’re still recovering from the healing, let alone everything else we’ve asked you to do since.”
“Yes, but Ben, this binging isn’t making me feel great, either. I know this may be surprising to you giants, but my stomach is only about this big at rest.”
I held up a clenched fist, and all of them stared. Fortunately, I was getting somewhat used to being the human freak, and if it got my point through Ben’s well-meaning head, then I’d take it.
Ben shook his head. “Fine. Just eat your fill, and we can set the rest aside for you somewhere so you can get to it without asking one of us if you get hungry again.”
He frowned and eyed my torso for a moment, as if picturing that fist. “Now that I think of it.… Maybe it’s better for you to eat more frequently rather than more at once, anyway.”
I snorted. “You think?”
“From my research,” Kor offered in a neutral tone, not looking up from his food, “humans appeared to eat less than dramá, yet more frequently.”
“What do you mean, more frequently?” I asked. “I’m used to about three meals a day, and that’s what you all seem to eat.”
Kor was already shaking his head. “We’re exceptions to the norm, given how much energy we spend normally, let alone in the past couple of days.”
Ben put in, “Plus, in situations like this, we never know when we’ll have the chance for another good meal, so we eat as much as we can, when we can.”
“What is the norm, then?” I asked, now more fascinated than exasperated.
Ben shrugged. “About two meals. One in the morning to get the body going again before the sun can do the rest, and one very large one in the evening.”
“To get through the night,” I concluded thoughtfully. “The most dangerous time.”
“And the time we lose our greatest source of power.”
That explained the veritable Thanksgiving feast Ben had cooked up and spread out before us, which the drakón were already making quick work of. Particularly Yvera, who was already on her second plate. Though Ben’s cooking was incredible (I already knew that from what I’d snitched), that couldn’t have been the only explanation for how she was packing food away.
I realized that if she spent much of her time being this hungry…that explained quite a lot about her in general.
“You said humans eat three meals a day?” Ben said.
“Give or take.” I shrugged. “That’s my culture’s norm: breakfast, lunch, dinner. But I eat smaller meals and snack in between.”
Ben grimaced. I knew what was behind it, so I hastily added, “You meant well. I know you did. So don’t beat yourself up about it. And I was starving this morning. It’s just that I fill up much faster than you all do.”
“She needs more sustained energy,” Kor mused to Ben. “She can’t draw what she needs from the sun throughout the day.”
Ben sighed again and looked at me. “We’ll need to find some foods that are easy for you to carry around in that pack Svyer gave you. Nuts, fruit, rolls, things like that. That way you can eat when you need to.”
“And you won’t immediately starve if you get separated from us,” Kor said cheerfully.
Ben grew still, but his hand gripped his cup so hard that I heard the metal groan and saw it cave, and the liquid inside sloshed over the rim. I tried my best not to stare, but my heartbeat sped up.
Ben acted like a normal person (albeit a ridiculously tall and ripped one) most of the time, so it was too easy for me to forget he was so much more—that the potential for becoming a mammoth of a dragon lay just under his golden skin. Just how strong was he, even in this form?
“Ben!” Yvera snapped after a quick swallow. “Those are from Mysha.”
Ben blinked as if waking up and released his grip sheepishly. “Sorry.”
Sure enough, the sturdy, thick metal cup looked like a crushed soda can in the middle. Again, I tried not to stare.
“Shoulda grabbed the ones from the storeroom,” Yvera grumbled under her breath, stabbing a sautéed elik with more force than before. And shot me a glare as if I were the one at fault here.
I might have been, indirectly. My heart was touched by the severity of Ben’s reaction…and was still beating faster than normal as I imagined the same thing he had, with only a fraction of Ben’s knowledge of all the horrors that awaited a helpless human like me out there.
While mopping up the spilled liquid, Ben cast me a glance with tight eyes. “Just…don’t get separated from us, please.”
Perhaps because my mind was on the dragon inside him, my memory flashed to the moment I’d first seen him—and run from him as if my life depended on it. And how, in his desperation to not lose me in the jungle, he’d changed to human and tackled me to the ground.
Now I knew that my life depended on quite the opposite of my first impulse. I needed to stick to these drakón—but particularly Ben—like glue. No matter how my whole body ached when he sang while cooking us dinner, or when he looked at me like that.
I nodded. “I’ll do my very best.”