She slid her stool out from beneath the worktable with her foot, stepped up onto it?—
And paused.
Something was not right. The worktable was … too low? Not by much, but her body knew this surface the way her hands knew her rolling pin, and something had definitely changed. She stepped down from the stool and stood beside the table without it.
The surface came to exactly the right height.
“What in all the stars …” she murmured.
Balthazar came strolling across the kitchen, tail high, and wound himself once around a table leg—which was as near the worktable as he ever came, the legs being plain wood with none of the lumyrite lattice that offended him so. He completed his circuit, sat at her feet, and regarded herwith the flat patience of a creature waiting for a slow human to arrive at an obvious conclusion.
And it was then that Lucie realized itwasrather obvious what had happened. “Oh. Kazrian? I—I mean … Lord Rowanwood.” Balthazar’s left ear flattened a fraction. “Yesterday, after I left?”
Balthazar tilted his head in the manner that generally meant ‘yes.’
“Well, that was very … very thoughtful of him. Very considerate. A perfectly professional thing to do.”
The feeling that rose in her chest was …
Well, whatever it was, she had no intention of looking at it.
“Right,” she said, and brushed her hands together. “Florentines.”
She pushed the stool back beneath the table and set about gathering her ingredients. Almonds. Candied orange peel. Sugar. The golden bottle labeledKindredon the shelf alongside its sisters.
She would not think about it. The table legs were simply one more item on a list of repairs. Kazrian noticed what was broken and fixed it. That was what his magic did, and the fact that this particular fix had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with paying attention toherwas …
Well, it was not something she was meant to be thinking about.
She returned her attention to the florentines. There was a deep and steadying pleasure in this part: the measuring, the slicing, the mixing, the slow turning of separate ordinary things into a single extraordinary whole. She prepared the rich caramel batter over a low flame, then brought the saucepan to the worktable and added the sliced almonds and candied peel, allowing the kitchen pixies to take over the stirring while she tidied up and returned the various ingredients to their places.
The morning settled around her. Through the side window came the busy drone of a bee at the window box; out in the courtyard the gnome muttered to his herbs. A kitchen pixie alighted on the high shelf—and Lucie tensed immediately, half expecting the small creature to be launched into the air.
Nothing happened. The pixie sat swinging its legs, perfectly content.
Lucie released a breath. Kazrian really had fixed it.
Another pixie nudged her hand, and she looked down to find it offering the wooden spoon to her. She took it, leaned over the saucepan, and gavethe mixture a slow, careful turn. Perfectly combined, though the mixture would need to cool before she placed spoonfuls on a tray.
She stood there for several moments, looking out across the kitchen. The back door stood open to the mild morning, and it was true, what Georgiana had said: the gnome did do lovely work. From where she stood, Lucie could see a corner of the courtyard, the herb pots crowded thick and green, the lavender just beginning to purple, a climbing rose throwing one bright spray of blossom up the stone wall. Beyond it the morning was soft and gold and full of bees.
It struck her, not for the first time, how happy she was here. Yes, it was a great deal to manage. Yes, the launch loomed, and the showpiece still terrified her. But Lady Rivenna had reached down into the ordinary world and chosen Lucie Fields, out of everyone, and Lucie did not intend to waste a single day of it. She would do this work, and do it well, for exactly as long as Lady Rivenna allowed her to stay.
The back door opened wider and in walked Kazrian, and Lucie’s whole body lit up as if she had swallowed a bottle of honey light.
“Good morning,” he said.
“I—ah—good morning.”
A prod on her finger made her glance down. A pixie was staring at her with an expression of considerable reproach. The spoon. She was still holding the spoon, but it was now hovering over the worktable instead of the saucepan, trailing a thin streak of caramel across the surface. She set the spoon back in the saucepan and quickly wiped the drizzle with a cloth.
“I was not certain you would be back,” she added. “Your note suggested the work was finished.”
Kazrian shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the peg beside the door. “It is finished. But I would not leave without saying goodbye.” He paused. “And I have not forgotten about the structure for your showpiece.”
“Oh—that. I had thought perhaps you were simply being … polite. When you offered.”
He looked genuinely confused. “Polite?”
