Dreams Made Flesh

“What do you mean I can’t put it on the account?” Roxie’s voice rose toward a screech. “He told me I could buy anything I wanted and put it on his account.”



“Unfortunately,” the proprietor replied, his voice condemning in its politeness, “Prince Yaslana has not informed me of that fact.”



Marian winced. She’d bought a few things at the shops she usually patronized, but then it had occurred to her that all the merchants would owe a tithe to Lucivar, so she’d taken one of the horse-drawn cabs over to this side of the village to spread her spending around a little. She’d felt self-conscious about walking into a shop that so obviously catered to the aristo families in Riada. Only the fact that she was buying these things for Lucivar’s home and Lucivar’s table had kept her from walking right back out.



That and the books. The merchant’s shop she usually went to had a small selection of books, and most of them were used—and there’d been nothing there that she hadn’t already read since Jaenelle was very generous about loaning her books. But there’d been so many to choose from in this shop, she’d lost track of time as she browsed the shelves. If she’d simply picked one that had interested her, she would have completed her purchases and been out of the shop before Roxie came in.



“He’s hardly going to tell every merchant in the village that we’re lovers,” Roxie snapped. “Especially since we’ve tried to be discreet about our liaison.”



Marian swallowed wrong and almost choked, so she didn’t hear the proprietor’s response.



“Oh, very well,” Roxie said. “You can open an account for me, and Lucivar will settle it with you later.”



“I am sorry, Lady, but I cannot open an account for you on the expectation that Prince Yaslana will pay it.”



“I told you, we’re lovers.”



“And it has been my experience that a man who is willing to share his bed may not necessarily be willing to share his purse. If you do not have the funds for the purchases, I can hold the items for a few days.”



“Don’t bother,” Roxie snapped. “The merchants in Doun wouldn’t treat me this way.”



“Then I suggest you do your shopping in Doun.”



When she heard the door open, Marian rose from her crouch. But Roxie hadn’t quite left the shop. For a long moment, their eyes met. Then something outside caught Roxie’s attention, and she left the shop in a hurry.



Working to steady her nerves, Marian approached the counter.



“Have you found everything you wanted?” the proprietor asked.



“Yes, thank you,” Marian replied, trying not to stammer. She swallowed hard. “Prince Yaslana instructed me to have the household purchases put on his account.”



“I see.” He flicked a look at the door as someone entered the shop.



Why had she come to this part of the village? Why hadn’t she kept to the shops where she felt she belonged? Why—



“What’s all this?”



Jaenelle was suddenly beside her, looking at the cookware with a gleam in her eyes that was downright scary.



“Lady Angelline,” Marian said.



Jaenelle smiled. “You finally informed Lucivar that he wasn’t getting another dinner until you had the proper tools to cook with, didn’t you?”



“Not exactly,” Marian muttered.



“You’re Lady Marian?” the proprietor asked.



“Yes.” Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised that he’d heard her name. After all, she and Lucivar were the only Eyriens living near Riada.



“Are you sure you have everything?” Jaenelle asked.



“Yes, I’m sure. I thought about—”



But Jaenelle was already heading toward the part of the shop that held household goods, and remembering their last shopping trip, Marian rushed after her.



“I don’t need the large cheese grater,” Marian said a few minutes later, trying to keep her voice from edging toward desperation. It wasn’t a question of taste, as it had been when they’d shopped for Lucivar’s furniture, it was Jaenelle’s unflagging idea that if Marian needed one of something for the kitchen, two would be better.



“Why not?” Jaenelle said. “You only have the little one.”



“The smaller one is all I need. Really.” She took the cheese grater out of Jaenelle’s hands and put it back on the shelf.



Since she couldn’t hold Jaenelle back, she tried to steer the direction of that energy and enthusiasm, so it wasn’t really her fault that they ended up buying a set of dishes . . . and glasses . . . and silverware . . . and a corner shelf for what use she didn’t know except Jaenelle thought it would look nice in the kitchen.



Numbed by the sheer quantity of purchases, she watched the proprietor tally up the cost and wondered how many years of tithes had just been eliminated.



Then the proprietor turned to the smaller stack of items on the counter.



“No,” Marian said. “Those don’t go on Prince Yaslana’s account. Those are my purchases.”



As he tallied up her purchases, she called in the wallet she’d bought on her last shopping trip. Most of her wages were tucked in the back of the dresser drawer that held her underthings. The wallet held the funds she allowed herself to spend freely. She opened it and riffled the copper marks just as the proprietor finished his tally.



Heat flooded her face. Not enough. She hadn’t come to the village to shop for herself and hadn’t checked to see how much was in her wallet before she left the eyrie. And she hadn’t expected to find that wonderful, soft wool material that she wanted to make into a robe for Lucivar as a Winsol gift. She could still afford the material, but . . .



After a wistful look at the two books she’d selected, she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring enough with me.”



“Perhaps the Lady would like to open an account?” the proprietor asked.



She just stared at him. Why would he give a housekeeper an account when he wouldn’t open one for Roxie, who came from an aristo family?



“That’s practical,” Jaenelle said.



That settled it—at least as far as Jaenelle and the proprietor were concerned.



“Thank you,” Marian said, after she reviewed the neatly written list and had initialed the paper next to the last item.



“It is my pleasure, Lady,” the proprietor replied.



“So,” Jaenelle said. “Are you going home to play with your new toys?”



“They’re not toys, they’re tools,” Marian replied as she vanished the material and books. Before she could deal with the rest of the purchases, they vanished.



Jaenelle smiled at her. “I’ll come back with you. Then you can tell me what all of those things do.”



“Do?”



“I’m not allowed in the kitchen at the Hall, so I don’t see most of the things you bought.”



“You don’t know how to cook? Not at all?”



“No,” Jaenelle said sadly.



Marian couldn’t believe it. Lucivar could put together an acceptable meal, and he’d mentioned a few times that his father was quite a good cook when the High Lord felt inclined. Why hadn’t either of them taught Jaenelle how to put together a simple meal?



“I can teach you,” Marian said. “But we’ll have to start with something very simple.”



Jaenelle beamed. “Simple is good.”



The proprietor looked amused.



As she and Jaenelle walked out of the shop, Marian wondered how long it would take for the rest of the village to hear that Prince Yaslana’s housekeeper was giving the Queen of Ebon Askavi a cooking lesson.



Since he’d been greeted by grinning merchants when he stopped in Riada on his way home, Lucivar expected to find Marian in the kitchen playing with her new toys. The counter was stacked with things, but his little hearth witch was just sitting at the table, frowning at two bowls filled with eggs. After studying the bottle on the table and considering the glazed look in her eyes, he doubted the two fingers of brandy in the glass near her hand was the first drink she’d poured.



Figuring he wasn’t going to see dinner anytime soon, he pointed at the eggs. “Are those cooked?”



“Mmm,” Marian said.



He took one from the nearest bowl and peeled off the shell. Just as he punched his thumb into the center to break the egg in half, Marian said, “No! Not—”



Raw yolk fountained up and flowed over his hands.



Lucivar looked at Marian. Marian looked at him.



“You let my sister play in the kitchen, didn’t you?” Which explained why his little hearth witch had indulged in several glasses of brandy.



Marian stared at the egg dripping off his hands. “She’s the Queen of Ebon Askavi. She’s the most powerful witch in Kaeleer. And she can’t boil an egg.”



“I know. That’s why we don’t let her play in the kitchen.”



Marian shook her head. “How can she not be able to boil an egg? You don’t even need Craft for it. All she did was put the eggs in the water.” She blew out a breath. “How can you end up with eggs that have the whites fully cooked and the yolks still raw?”



“I don’t know. My father thinks it’s because she’s so powerful that some things don’t react as expected.”



“I thought I’d explained something wrong,” Marian said. “So after she left, I cooked the rest of the eggs. They’re perfect.” She wobbled in her chair. “Jaenelle felt so bad when she left.”