Silence from beneath the oven.
A long silence.
Her confidence wavered. Perhaps it was too much. Perhaps she had described it poorly, or?—
“That sounds incredible,” Kazrian said.
Lucie ducked her head over the marzipan and felt a flush fill her cheeks. “There are still a number of details to work out, of course. Flavor combinations for the flowers, all the different enchantments, that sort of thing. And I do not know about the initial structure. The framework for spinning. I have sketched several ideas, but I’m not sure what materials would?—”
“I could make something for you.”
“Oh. No, you do not have to?—”
“It is no trouble at all. That is precisely the sort of thing I enjoy.”
Of course it was. She could hear it in his voice. “Well,” she said, “if you are certain it would be no trouble.”
“Entirely certain.”
The rain went on against the glass. Lucie set down the rolling pin and began cutting petals with a small blade. A kitchen pixie drifted down to inspect the marzipan, found it not yet interesting, and drifted up again.
“I should confess something,” Kazrian said.
Her blade paused.
“When I first arrived here,” he said, “I did not know anything about honey light. I had never heard the term before.”
She blinked. “Oh?”
“My grandmother did not tell me. And then—well, it was mentioned in a way that suggested I should already know of it, so I asked Rosavyn. And then I felt too awkward to say anything to you, because by then it seemed I ought to have known all along. But I cannot let it go on without commenting on it. It sounds extraordinary, Lucie. The whole concept. Capturing light, weaving it into confections, giving people something they can taste andfeel. It is … yes. Amazing. And I look forward to—well, if you ever have anything spare—or I could place an order?—”
“You do not need toplace an order, Kaz—ah—that is … Lord Rowanwood.” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, grateful he was half hidden beneath the ovens and could not see her embarrassment at having stumbled over his name yet again.
Although … had he not just called herLucie? Without a pause, as if he had not even noticed that he’d?—
SCREECH.
The sound was enormous. A shriek of iron against stone as the great dark mass of the ovens dropped—toward Kazrian—and her own voice tore out of her in a gasp. The blade fell from her hand. The ovens halted, juddering, a bare few inches above the floor, one canted at an odd angle.
“Kazrian!” She was off her stool and across the kitchen before she knew she had moved, down on her knees on the cold stone, bending to peer into the dreadful narrow dark. “Kazrian—answer me?—”
“I am fine! All is fine!” His voice was strained but steady. “Well—perhaps not. I am … I would not saytrapped, exactly, however …”
“However?”
“The oven that has tipped is pinning down part of my trouser leg. Just fabric. I am in no danger whatsoever.”
Lucie sat back on her heels, still kneeling on the cold stone. Her handfound the ring on the chain at her throat and closed around it. She shut her eyes, her heart slamming hard enough to hurt. He was not crushed, he was fine, and the relief that surged through her turned, in the space of a breath, into something a great deal more like fury.
“How,” she said, opening her eyes and finding Balthazar pacing alongside her, ears flat and sparks flickering along his purple-blue markings, “howcould you attempt something so unutterably reckless?—”
“It was not reckless. It was very well calculated, I assure?—”
“You said it wassafe.”
“It is safe. The enchantment held. It merely held a few inches lower than intended, which is a calibration error, not a?—”
“You were nearlycrushed!”
