I swallow hard, surveying the jars of what look like spices and nuts, dried fruits and pickled vegetables, the flour and eggs, and salted meats.
'I have lamb shoulder for tonight. Is that all right?' he asks.
I nod. Not that I know. I've never had lamb before, I don’t think.
He takes the meat out of another cupboard and begins to prepare it, putting it in a pot with potatoes, rosemary, and a bit of mint. He covers it and puts the handle on a hook jutting out from under the hearth, swinging it over the flames.
'What should I do?' I ask, feeling a bit useless.
He gives me a small smile. 'What would you like to do?'
I frown as I look around the room. 'I don't know.'
'You could chop the carrots and greens, if you like.'
I nod, a little bit more at home now that I’ve been directed toward a task, I realize with a sinking feeling. What if I'm like those other Dark Realmers who can't live in freedom, who go mad and try to set their new home ablaze?
As if guessing my thoughts, Morgan puts a massive hand on my shoulder that I try not to shy away from.
'It's folly to think that there won't be a time of adjustment,' he says gently. 'This is a different life than the one you left behind. Time, Bryn, that's all. Just give it time.'
I nod, blinking away the tears that suddenly threaten.
'Thank you,' I say, turning away to chop the vegetables.
Morgan then goes to the big table in the middle of the room and brings out his weapons, laying all his knives and swords out neatly before beginning to clean and sharpen each one in a ritual that looks as if it’s performed often.
When I'm finished chopping, I go to the table and he shows me how to take care of the blades as well. We sit in silence, polishing and sharpening. There’s something about Mogan’s quiet manner, his soft words when he’s teaching me, that make me able to relax in a way that I can’t usually. It’s nice.
He even shows me how to hold some of them properly in a fight as well as demonstrating a few moves he knows, and letting me practice them at my leisure. I’m glad I took the vial, my body copying his easily and without much pain as I follow the movements he shows me.
Hours later, when the light is starting to wane and the lamb is beginning to smell delicious, this is where Jak and Locke find us.
Morgan looks up from the thin, dangerous looking dagger in my hand that he’s instructing me with when he hears them coming down.
'Anything?' he asks.
Jak shakes his head. 'Naught useful yet. Just vague references to the hand of Fate and the rarity of the Kismet. Nothing about where they come from, or anything specific.'
Morgan puts all the knives into a rolled bag and stows it in a wooden chest in the corner. Then, he takes the meat off the fire. The other two get plates and cutlery, laying the table for the four of us. They all have their jobs, and it's clear that they've lived in the same house together for a while.
I'm struck by how domestic it is. How cozy. Is this what a home feels like?
When it's time to eat, I sit with them as an equal and listen to them chat about the village. Though Jak and Morgan barely speak to Locke, he doesn't seem to care. His gaze is on me whenever I look up, though he quickly glances away whenever I notice.
The third time I catch him, my eyes narrow at him. What’s his game?
'What is it?' I ask sharply.
He shrugs and looks away again.
I keep a surreptitious eye on him as I eat the rest of my meal. My plate is whisked away when I’m finished and Jak washes them in a large bowl of water.
After the meal is cleared and the leftovers put under some kind of conjure by Locke to keep them fresh, I wonder how we’re to spend the evening. What do freefolk do after dinner?
But Jak and Locke go straight back up the stairs, I assume to continue perusing Locke’s books. Morgan sits by the fire, and I join him in the other chair without a word.
‘What do you do here?’ I ask him. ‘In Halsford, I mean.’
