The kettle let out a sharp, rising whistle, and Lucie turned toward it, but three kitchen pixies were already there, tiny hands wrapped around the handle, lifting it from the heat. They bore it to the counter where the teapot stood ready, and Lucie followed, measuring the leaves while the pixies managed the water.
“You will be splendid,” Henry said to her as she finished preparing the tea. “Trust me.”
She let the subject drop. He was probably right. She was worrying over nothing. She handed Henry his teacup before looking over at the sketches in her recipe book, telling herself the tight feeling in her chest was merely the ordinary anxiety of someone with a great deal of work ahead of her.
Henry was asking about Georgiana’s schedule when the back door opened.
“Turns out Hargrave has taken to closing early during the—” Kazrian was halfway through the kitchen door when his gaze landed on Henry. He stopped.
Lucie took an immediate step back, which was a ridiculous thing to do because she hadn’t been standing all that close to Henry to begin with. “Lord Rowanwood,” she said, her heart fluttering somewhere in the region of her throat. “You are back earlier than you said.”
“Ah, yes.” Kazrian stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind him, his gaze moving between Henry and Lucie. “As it turns out, Hargrave & Daughter closes early on certain days outside of the Season.” A small, self-deprecating laugh. “I did not know.”
Henry set his teacup down, crossed the kitchen, and extended his hand toward Kazrian. “I do not believe we have met. Henry Stratton. A pleasure.”
Something flickered at the edges of Kazrian’s expression—barely there and then gone. He had no doubt recognized the name she’d let slip on his first day here.
“Indeed,” Kazrian said, with a small nod, and shook Henry’s hand. “Lord Kazrian Rowanwood. And the pleasure is mine, Mr. Stratton. I have heard”—a glance at Lucie—“manythings.”
Lucie’s heart stopped.
He did not.
“Many things! All good, I hope.” He laughed.
“Only the most favorable,” Kazrian said pleasantly.
“Henry is Georgiana’s brother,” Lucie said, because she had to saysomething. Her words came out a touch strangled. She cleared her throat. “He stops by to visit her from time to time.”
“Ah, of course.” Kazrian gave another small nod. “Miss Stratton is a credit to the shop. You must be very proud of her.”
“I am indeed. The Strattons have always believed in making our own way, Lord Rowanwood. There is a particular satisfaction in work that is earned, not given.”
Lucie’s gaze shot back to Kazrian. She watched his expression—the courtesy still in place, the faint tilt of his head, as though he were listening not just to what Henry had said but to what lay beneath it, the way she had seen him press his hand to a wall and listen to the magic running through the stone. A beat passed, and then Kazrian said, “Quite so.”
“And we are immensely proud of our Lucie too,” Henry added, beaming at her. “Her honey light is extraordinary. Not even the finest fae confectioners have managed anything like it.”
Something crossed Kazrian’s face. Brief, quiet, not quite a frown, but that look he always got when something did not quite add up and he was working out why. Then it cleared. “Of course,” he said. “Miss Fields is remarkable. There is no one else quite like her.”
Lucie told herself that the heat rising in her cheeks was mortification. Purely and entirely mortification at the general state of this conversation and nothing whatsoever to do with the way he had said ‘remarkable,’ as though it were not a compliment but simply a fact he had long since accepted.
Kazrian gave them both a small nod. “If you will excuse me, I shall be upstairs reviewing the lattice schematics.” He turned toward the staircase, paused, then looked back and added, “The cooling enchantment on thecabinets should hold, but if you notice any change in temperature before you finish for the day, leave a note and I shall see to it in the morning.”
“Yes, of course, thank you. Oh—we are closed tomorrow. Lady Rivenna insists upon one day each week with no work whatsoever. She is rather immovable on the point.”
“Ah. Well then. The day after.”
Then he went up the stairs. They did not produce their extra step.
Henry turned back to his teacup as though nothing of consequence had occurred, while Lucie silently contemplated whether it might be possible to retreat beneath her bedcovers at home and remain there until Kazrian had completed every last repair and departed The Honeycomb for good.
Chapter Nine
“Who isHenry Stratton,”Kazrian said, “and what is honey light?”
Beside him, Rosavyn stopped walking and turned, gravel crunching beneath her boots. “I beg your pardon?” she said just as one of Elderbloom Park’s mischievous pixies alighted on her shoulder and tugged her earlobe. She swatted it away.
“Henry Stratton. He was at The Honeycomb yesterday. And honey light. He mentioned it as though it were something I ought to know, and I find that I do not.”
