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“So what’re you cooking tonight?” he asked. “Hey, can you show me how to make that stick bread stuff? It looked and smelled amazing.”
I glanced up, surprised he wanted to learn how to cook something. I hadn’t been planning on making any loaves tonight, we weren’t going to sell anymore anytime soon, and they took longer to make than I wanted to spend in front of a fire right now.
But I found myself saying, “Um, okay. I guess. Yeah, I could show you.”
“Great.” He rubbed his manacled hands together eagerly. “What do you need me to do?”
It was bizarre to have such a willing student. I was used to Melaina’s company, and she preferred to boss me around; she never took any kind of instruction from me. But guiding someone else actually sounded nice. So while I gathered the ingredients, I had Indigo find the mixing bowls, measuring cups, cooking board, and stirring spoons.
“Will this ladle work?” he asked, holding up the water ladle we used to drink from.
“There should be a wooden stirrer for mixing in one of the pockets on the left.”
“Oh, okay.” He went back to searching, only to cheer, “Found it.” Holding up the stirrer, he approached and held it out.
“Thank you.” After accepting the spoon, I began to pour the ingredients into the big bowl he’d already found for me. “So to begin, you need one-part water, two-parts flour. Then two big spoons of oil and a small spoon each of sugar, salt, and yeast.”
He shifted closer, watching curiously. “Yeast?”
“Yes. It’ll ferment the sugars in the flour, which releases bubbles of air inside the dough that make it grow bigger and lighter. Fluffier.”
“No shit, really?” he demanded incredulously. “Yeast is what makes your bread look so much more appetizing than the flat and hard, dry, tasteless crap I’ve been eating? Just one little spoonful of that grainy-looking muck?”
My lips tightened in the attempt to keep in a smile. “Your hardtack is unleavened, yes,” I explained. “But your bread will last longer and would be better to have on hand for extended trips. This type of bread we’re making here will perish and grow mold much faster.”
Did he not already know all this? I don’t think he did, because he seemed extremely interested to learn it, and his expression was full of shock. It was kind of entertaining to watch. I liked teaching something new to him.
“No, it wouldn’t perish,” he finally concluded. “Because I’d eat it a damn sight faster, way before it could even think of doing such a thing.”
I blurted out a laugh before I could stop myself. “Is that what bread would think?” I asked. “If it had a brain?”
A playful grin spread across his face as he shrugged. “What else would they think about aside from ways not to get eaten?”
“Like the gingerbread man?” I countered teasingly with a roll of my eyes.
His eyebrows crinkled. “Who?”
So I spent the entire time it took to mix the ingredients into dough telling him the story of the gingerbread man. That was nice too—being able to share stories and experiences I’d learned on Earth. I’d never been able to talk to anyone about any of that before. And Indigo was always eager to hear everything there was to know about the old world.
“Anyway,” I went on, returning to my bread-making instructions when I finished mixing the ingredients. “If we had the counter space, we’d knead this by folding the dough and kind of pushing it back down with the heel of our palms.”
“What does that do to it?” he asked curiously, lifting his attention from the bowl full of dough.
His blue eyes were so dark and sincere, I got caught staring at them, momentarily stunned that this man—this beautiful, lively, easygoing, quick-to-smile, and even-quicker-to-defend-me man—belonged to me.
I knew I could reach out right now and touch him, and he wouldn’t reject the contact. I could run my fingers over the dark stubble growing on his jaw, and he’d probably like it and invite me to do more. The thought of being so accepted and cherished was tempting. I nearly lifted my tingling fingers to stretch them his way but stopped myself at the last moment.
What the hell was I doing? This was stupid. It was all an illusion. Indigo didn’t know me. His mark was compelling him against his human nature to feel a responsibility and affection toward me that had nothing to do with his own mind or reasoning. If he didn’t have that magical tattoo telling him we were meant to be together, he would’ve killed me by now or captured me to turn me over to his king for a fate worse than death.
I hated his mark for forcing him to chase me down, for forcing him to protect me and talk to me and get to know me. In the natural order of things, we were supposed to be enemies. He would despise everything I was and he’d hunt me. And I would run and escape him every time.
The stupid love mark of his was messing everything up. It was making me get to know him. Now I was starting to like him. And that was dangerous. I was already loosening my guard around him. And a loosened guard was bad. It always led to death. I was going to get myself killed if I wasn’t careful.
“Quilla?” he said, making me jump and realize I’d spaced out.
Woolgathering. Another dangerous pastime that came about from a loosened guard.
Brow furrowing with concern, he reached for my arm. “What’s wrong? You went from a hopeful, sad, longing to fearful worry in the snap of the fingers.”
