Walking faster, Terlu followed the winged cat to another door and opened it—to be greeted with a whoosh of winter wind and a swirl of snow. She shut the door. “Not that way.”
Landing on the ground, the cat pawed at the door.“Rrr-eow.”
“You don’t want to go outside. It’s cold.”
There wasn’t anything out there but snow and trees… was there? The gardener had said his cottage was outside the greenhouse, nearby. Could that be what the cat wanted? Or did he just want to chase birds?
The cat rubbed against her ankles and then headbutted the door. Terlu noticed there was a hook near the door with a heavy beige coat hanging on it, as well as a thick red scarf.
“What’s outside?” Terlu asked the cat.
He meowed again.
She took the coat off the hook and wrapped herself in it, then added the scarf for good measure. It was soft wool, and it smelled faintly of pine and cloves and nutmeg. The far-too-large coat swallowed her, which she didn’t mind since it would keep her warm. “All right, but if you just want to chase sparrows, then I’m coming right back in.”
Ready this time, she opened the door and stepped out into the snow. It had piled up as high as her ankles and drifted even higher against the side of the greenhouse, and it was still falling, now in fat flakes that clumped together, dotting the sleeves of the coat and the ends of the scarf. Flapping his wings, the cat flew out of the greenhouse toward the forest.
“Wait for me,” she told him.
Testing the handle to make sure the door wouldn’t lock behind her, Terlu closed it and then waded into the snow. After all the flowers, the wintery air tasted like fresh mint, clean and sharp on her tongue.
Ahead were the pine trees, their branches painted with snow, and between them—was that a cottage? It was! With the winged cat flying beside her, she headed for it. She saw a curl of smoke rising up from the chimney and smelled woodsmoke, tangy in the air. Snow coated the cottage’s roof, and icicles had dripped down in front of the windows. It looked like it was laced with sugar.
Closer, she saw it had gray shingles, green shutters, and a green door, the same colors as the winged cat. Snow-filled window boxes were in front of the two windows on either side of the door, and the walkway had been cleared at some point—the snow was half the depth as elsewhere. Someone must have swept it aside before the latest batch of snow. The gardener? Was this his cottage? He’d said it was just outside the greenhouse, but how could she be certain she’d chosen the correct door to exit the vast structure? Surely there were other inhabitants in other cottages on the island as well.
Well, I did say I wanted to find a different gardener.
The cat glided to the front door and landed on the stoop. He pawed at the door, and Terlu joined him, knocking with her chilled fist. She shoved her hands back into the coat pockets as soon as she’d knocked, waiting for whoever lived in the cottage to answer the door.
When no one came, she knocked again and then peered through the window. She could only see a bit of inside, given the position of a cabinet, but she saw the corner of a wood table and a fireplace beyond it. Within the hearth, amber flames danced merrily.
Hehadsaid she could rest in his cottage, so she wouldn’t really be breaking and entering if she went inside, right? Unless, again, it wasn’t his cottage.
Terlu tried the doorknob, and it twisted easily. Pushing the dooropen a few inches, she called out, “Hello? Anyone home? May I come in, please?”
Propelling himself with his wings, the cat darted past her ankles inside the cracked-open door. She supposed this must be where her new furry friend lived.Not a stray.She was a little disappointed. She’d started to, privately of course, think of the gray-furred, green-winged cat as her cat.
She stepped in and closed the door behind her. Inside, it was toasty warm. And tiny. And perfect. Dripping snow on the front mat, she looked around and loved every inch of it. Beneath a window on her right was a bed piled invitingly high with pillows and blankets. A narrow desk with neatly stacked papers and envelopes sat beside it. On her left was the kitchen with a sink and cabinets, all very neat and clean with plates and bowls stacked beside cups. Opposite the front door was the fireplace, with a hefty cushioned chair that looked perfect for curling up with a book, and in the center of the room was a table with a bouquet of lilacs in a pitcher. A little wooden door near the sink most likely led to the washroom. Dried herbs and flowers hung from the rafters, and it all smelled like—
“Soup.” She breathed the word like a benediction.
It wasn’t just the dried herbs she was smelling; it was the rich, heavy aroma of cooked… whatever was cooking over the fire. She didn’t care what kind it was. It was glorious, beautiful soup! She started toward it before it occurred to her that it was rude to help herself when she didn’t even know if this was in fact the gardener’s home.
The judge who had condemned her wouldn’t look kindly on her if her very first act after being restored was to trespass and steal.
On the other hand, the judge wasn’t here, and the soup was.
Ithadto belong to the gardener, she told herself, didn’t it?
She dithered by the door for another moment, while the winged cat curled up on the comfy chair and spread his feathers out to dry in the heat of the warm fire.
Hunger won, as well as the amazing smell of the soup.
I’ll only have a little.
After taking off the borrowed coat and scarf and hanging them on a hook by the door, she retrieved a bowl from the kitchen cabinet, crossed to the fire, and ladled herself two scoops of cut-up vegetables and broth. She didn’t hesitate when she sat at the table—she immediately put a spoonful in her mouth.
At the Great Library of Alyssium, all the librarians’ meals were prepared by unseen cooks in a kitchen on a level devoid of books. Several of their cooks were high-caliber chefs, with a pedigree that included many noble houses and often even the imperial palace. They were expected to provide meals for the sorcerers who consulted the library, and so for that reason, they often turned out perfectly roasted meats, delicately spiced pastries, and mouthwatering desserts with custards that looked like they were made of molten gold. Terlu had often ordered just desserts for her meals, especially near the end, when she felt she needed more and more comfort food. Once, she’d gotten an exquisite puff pastry swan, a leftover from an imperial party that had been held in one of the grander rooms of the library. Her fondness for sweets was part of why a lover had once described her as “pleasantly huggable,” a description she was perfectly fine with if it meant she’d gotten to eat pastry swans. She’d also had some amazing meals on her home island of Eano: a coconut curry made by one of her aunts that had been known to reduce grown men and women to tears, a duck roasted over a fire pit after marinating in a special secret sauce, and dragonfruit jelly on a hot, buttery donut…
