Page 20 of Dark Elf Makes Five

The kitchens bustle with their usual controlled chaos. Cook directs the preparation of bread while two assistants chop vegetables with mechanical precision. The head gardener has delivered the morning's harvest, and baskets of produce crowd the preparation tables in colorful abundance.

"Kessa!" Cook calls without looking up from her kneading. "Sort through those greens, will you? Pull out anything that's past its prime."

I roll up my sleeves and dive into the familiar rhythm of kitchen work. My hands move automatically through bundles of leafy vegetables, discarding wilted leaves and organizing the rest by type and quality. The repetitive motion soothes something in me that the careful concentration required for ledger work never quite manages.

"These strawberries are perfect," I murmur, lifting a particularly plump berry to examine its deep red color. "The gardens here produce better fruit than anything I've seen in town."

"Lord Zerion spares no expense on the grounds," one of the kitchen maids agrees. "Says there's no point in owning land if you don't make it flourish."

I arrange the sorted produce in neat rows, then gather several trays of the finest fruits to carry to the dining areas. The weight feels good in my hands—honest work that produces immediate, visible results.

As I navigate the main corridor with my burden, I become aware of footsteps that match my pace too precisely to be coincidental. A glance over my shoulder confirms what I suspected: two of Captain Draven's guards maintain careful distance behind me, their armor catching the light from the tall windows.

When I turn left toward the formal dining room, they turn left. When I pause to adjust my grip on the trays, they pause as well, suddenly finding urgent need to examine a tapestry that depicts some long-dead Morvath ancestor hunting mythical beasts.

I pretend the guards don't exist, delivering the fruit trays to the dining room with practiced efficiency. Their silent presence trails behind me like an unwelcome shadow, but I keep my expression neutral as I arrange the strawberries in perfect rows across the silver platters.

"Lovely work," Cook declares when I return to the kitchens. "Take another basket and gather what's ripe in the west garden."

I collect a wicker basket and step back into the afternoon sunlight, breathing deeply of air that carries no whispered gossip or suspicious stares. Here, surrounded by orderly rows of vegetables and fruit trees heavy with produce, I can almost forget the precarious nature of our situation.

How long will this last? The thought gnaws at me as I kneel between the strawberry plants, my fingers working automatically to select the ripest berries. Lord Zerion could change his mind tomorrow, next week, whenever the mood strikes him. One word from him and we'd be back on the streets, carrying everything we own in patched sacks.

But at least now, if that happens, we wouldn't be a breath away from starving. The children have gained weight these past weeks, their faces filling out and their eyes losing that hollow look that had haunted my dreams. Tobin no longer hoards bread crusts in his pockets, and Lysa's laughter comes easier. Whatever else happens, they've tasted what it means to have enough.

"You seem determined to avoid the town entirely."

I don't startle at Zerion's voice—I've learned to sense his approach by now, the way conversations quiet and the air itself seems to still when he draws near. I continue picking strawberries, not looking up.

"The town has made its opinion clear enough."

"And you plan to hide within these walls indefinitely?"

My hands pause in their work. "I'm not hiding. I'm working. Besides, you've made sure I have plenty to do here—I only just finished scribing, didn't I?"

"We will not allow gossip to dictate our movements." His tone carries the significance of absolute authority. "You will visit town when necessary."

I straighten, brushing dirt from my knees as I face him. The afternoon sun catches the silver threads in his hair, and his pale grey eyes hold that familiar intensity that makes me feel like he can read thoughts I haven't even formed yet.

"Is this about the Lady who came to call on you? Did she bring the latest gossip of Lord Morvath's new whore?"

He flinches, jaw clenching briefly.

"And, by the way, don't think I haven't noticed the two armed shadows following your every step." I gesture toward the guards who have positioned themselves at the garden's edge, close enough to intervene but far enough to maintain the illusion of privacy.

"The escort remains for your safety, whether you approve or not."

"My safety?" I ask, a trickle of concern sliding down my spine. "What did that woman say to you?"

His expression doesn't change, but something shifts in the quality of his stillness. "The town's mood grows uglier by the day, and the children's school experience has clarified that for me. I want to be certain nothing happens to you, either."

"Then perhaps⁠—"

"The matter is settled."

I watch his retreating form until he disappears around the corner of the manor, leaving me with my basket of half-picked strawberries and a mind that churns like storm clouds. The guards remain at their posts, silent sentinels who pretend they're admiring the hedge maze while keeping me firmly within their sight.

My hands resume their work automatically, fingers selecting the ripest berries while my thoughts spiral backward to that night three weeks ago. I can still feel the rough bark of the orchard wall beneath my palms, the weight of the stolen fruit in my sack, the cold terror that had seized me when his shadow blocked my escape.