Nightshade: Chapter Six
Amara's morning is not what she expected.
“Your Majesty, Lady Charlock is asking to see you.”
“Thank you.” I put the hairbrush down on the dresser and left my bedroom as quickly as I could. If she wanted to see me this early in the morning, something must be seriously wrong.
As soon as Charlock saw me, she grabbed my hand and started pulling me down the corridor.
“Charlock, what’s going on?” Were we going towards the kitchen?
She looked back at me, eyes bright and excited. “You will want to see this. I promise you.”
Rowan stood at one of the long kitchen tables, kneading a lump of dough with strong hands. He lifted the dough up and slapped it down on the surface before pressing and rolling it as if he had been making bread all his life.
“Is that ready for proving?” Melantho – the head cook – asked.
“I think it is!” Rowan placed the dough into a nearby bowl and carried it towards her. The sleeves of his loose black shirt were rolled up to his elbows, his hands were covered with flour, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
Melantho covered the bowl with a cloth before carefully setting it aside. “If you still want to help, could you start chopping some apples?”
That was when she saw me. “Your Majesty! I…”
“Do you have a spare knife?” I asked. “Those apples will be ready quickly if two people prepare them – and I’d love to help, if I may.”
There was a moment of silence. Then Melantho placed a knife and wooden board on the table across from Rowan, and a selection of red and white apples between us.
“Have you peeled apples before, Amara?” Rowan asked. Melantho raised her eyebrows at the familiarity with which he spoke, but I didn’t mind. It almost felt like speaking with Charlock now.
Almost.
“I haven’t.” I preferred to eat them with the skins on.
“Let me show you.” Rowan made a tiny incision in the skin of an apple with his knife, then put the blade against the incision and moved the knife carefully. The skin came away in one long spiral.
I tried to do the same, but only managed to cut away a small piece.
“It takes practise,” Rowan told me.
After a few tries, I was peeling the apples as quickly as Rowan. We cut them up into pieces small enough to bake in the breakfast pastries; Melantho always made them with sweet honey from the flowers outside.
Once the pastries had been placed in the oven, I asked: “Is there anything else we can do to help?”
“I have never done that before.” There was flour on my dress, my fingers were crusted with pastry and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d smiled this much.
“When Aspen and I were growing up, Mother used to make us spend at least one morning or one afternoon every seven days in the kitchens helping to prepare the food. Now we do it because we love it.” Rowan smiled fondly. “Aspen doesn’t throw flour in my hair as much as he used to.”
Why hadn’t my mother asked me to do something like this? I would have enjoyed it.
I silently determined to ask Melantho if she would object to my helping. The kitchen was her territory the same way the healer’s quarters were Henbane’s.
Just then, the smile on Rowan’s face slowly disappeared and his gaze fell to the floor.
If Aspen were the missing brother, Rowan would be looking for him and he wouldn’t stop until he found him.
Without warning, Rowan stopped walking. “Is that a mirror?”
He rushed over to the wall and ran his hands over it. Frowning, I followed him and saw that he was right: there was an ornate mirror carved into the stone.
Rowan turned to look at me, his eyes bright. “May I see the human realm?”
“What?”
“Every faery palace has a mirror somewhere in its walls; if the current ruler of that realm touches it in the centre, anyone watching will be allowed to see anywhere in the human realm they want.” He touched my arm gently and I tried not to shiver at the warmth of his hand.
“Will you show me?” he asked.