“I saw your face. You were terrified too.”
She heard shuffling noises—Larran, walking around—and then a creak—perhaps a cabinet door or the wood-burning stove? Shaking out one of his shirts, Kiela held it up. It was twice the size of her, but at least it was dry. She pulled it on. It was soft as a lamb, smelled like pine trees and ocean air, and draped down to her knees.
Larran replied something to Caz, but she missed what it was—he’d moved too far from the door. She buttoned the shirt.
Caz replied, “She’s all I have. She took me in when—”
The rest of his words were swallowed by running water from the sink, but she knew the story, though she wouldn’t have said “took me in.” She’d been happy to have his help and honored that he’d chosen to assist her. She’d never had a competent assistant before who didn’t make her want to stick her fingers in her ears and say,For pity’s sake, stop talking.Plus he treasured books as much as she did, which had to be unusual for a plant.
“She was just as kind when she was young,” Larran said.
“Oh? Tell me about Kiela as a child, and don’t leave anything embarrassing out.”
And that’s my cue to return,Kiela thought. She left his pants—they’d never have fit, and the shirt was long enough to cover everything that needed to be covered—and padded back out barefoot, holding her wet clothes. “Do you have anywhere I can hang these to dry?”
“Yes, by the stove—” Larran began as he turned around. His voice died mid-sentence as he stared at her.
Self-conscious, she tugged at the hem of his shirt. “I know. I look ridiculous. But I’m dry.”
“Ahh . . .” Larran said.
Caz snorted. “I don’t think ‘ridiculous’ is what he’s thinking.”
Larran quickly turned away. “You can hang your wet clothes by the stove. They’ll dry fast.”
Huh,she thought. Was he . . . interested?
No, definitely not.She looked ridiculous, and the plant had no idea what he was talking about.And now we’re all embarrassed. Fun.She spread her wet pants and blouse out on a rack near the stove. It must have been where he dried his clothes after a day with the merhorses. The stove smelled like burning pine, a woodsy almost-cinnamon-like scent.
“What I came to ask—” she began at the same time he said, “Can I get you something to eat—”
Caz flopped sideways. “Ugh, you two.”
For the first time ever, she wished that Caz wasn’t here. If she were alone with Larran inside his house, what would he say? What would she say? What would she do? She thought of how she’d just been in his bedroom, and she felt a blush heating her cheeks and neck.It’s better that Caz is here.If she were alone with Larran, it would most likely be ten times more awkward than it already was, and even if he were interested, he’d quickly change his mind.
“You should sit near the fire, warm yourself up,” Larran said to Kiela. He repositioned one of his chairs next to the stove and then retrieved one of the quilts from his bed. He moved to wrap it around her as Kiela reached to take it.
She froze, and he stopped—their faces an inch from each other’s.
He has nice eyes,she thought inanely.
His breath smelled nice too, a little mint and a little cinnamon, and she found herself blushing. She didn’t usually notice other people’s breath, but then she wasn’t usually quite so . . . My, they were really nice eyes.
He retreated. “Sorry.”
She cleared her throat and then wrapped the quilt around her shoulders. It fell over her legs, and now she felt swaddled in the scent of him.Change the subject.“Why was the ocean so much colder today?”
“Same reason as the wheat stalks withering, the orchards sickening, the rain becoming erratic, and the fish becoming scarce—the magic is unbalanced, too concentrated in some areas and absent in others. At least that’s how I understand it. I’m not a scholar.”
Suddenly, she itched to get back to her library books. Somewhere in there were all the answers she could ever want. She remembered packing several about weather manipulation . . . Had the sorcerers caused all of this: the shrinking merhorse herds, the drastic fluctuations in ocean temperature, the gradual starvation of Caltrey? And if so, was there a way to reverse it?
There was silence for a moment, but it wasn’t a terrible, awkward silence—it was just the quiet of two people, plus a plant, thinking about what had been said.
Finally, Larran said, “I do apologize for Sian’s behavior. She knows better than that.”
“I’m the one who brought the tomatoes,” Kiela said. “I’m sorry. They were for you.”
“Oh? For me?” He seemed surprised. And pleased.
