Page 105 of Ulune's Daughter

Carrie squeezes Kellan’s shoulder as she passes, the wagon gliding in her wake.

The two Naga lay out pie-making supplies across the kitchen counter. Kellan stands stiffly for several moments, cuddling me, watching them. Finally, she puts me down and moves to help Jane as she measures out flour and sifts it through an old, wooden sieve.

“Make one pie without any cinnamon,” Kellan says.

“Abomination,” Carrie says, which draws a small laugh out of my mate.

I jump up on the counter so I can see her face. There’s a tiny spark of light in her eyes. The first I’ve seen in a week.

Cold water stings my nose.

I jump off the counter, hissing, and round on the culprit. Carrie stares me down, holding a spray bottle at her side. “No cats on the counter.”

Growling, I slink behind Kellan and sprawl across her feet, licking drops off my whiskers.

The Naga make small talk as they cook. They don’t ask Kellan any questions, and my mate doesn’t volunteer anything. Pies shuttle in and out of the oven. Pumpkin. Apple. Pecan. Cherry. Loaves of fruit bread and trays of crumbles cram into the oven around the pies. Extra fruit gets boiled down for jam. The house fills with the rich smells of caramelized butter, sugar, and fruit, replacing the faint scents of decay and despair. While the pies bake, the women sit at the kitchen island and weave trees of life for the Mother’s fires.

Carrie makes cups of herbal tea and cleans the last spatters of sugar and flour off the counters as Jane and Kellan pack the cooled pies into boxes. Kellan’s head bows over the apple pie without cinnamon as she wraps it in plastic and labels it.

A tear splats on the plastic.

Jane wraps an arm around Kellan’s shoulder while Carrie takes the pie from Kellan’s shaking hands.

Kellan turns her face into her mentor’s shoulder and whispers, “I’m afraid ... I’m becoming something ... I’m not sure I want to be.”

Carrie drops the half-wrapped pie on the counter and joins the other two women. Kellan bursts into tears. They rub her back and make soothing noises.

“Show us,” Jane says finally.

Kellan steps back, wiping her eyes. She spreads her arms and the cloak of raven feathers appears. Her face disappears in the cloak’s deep cowl. Only her icy blue eyes burn in the shadows.

“What is your name?” Carrie asks, the snap of some profound authority in her voice.

“Kay-len,” Kellan responds in a voice wholly unlike her own, rasping and resonant. It makes my fur stand on end. “I’m the youngest.” In her normal voice, she adds, “Of what, I have no idea.”

“Where do you reside?” Carrie asks.

“Ceòfuar. The Court of Cold Mist. I’m rebuilding it. All day, I pile stone on stone with Air. All night, I dream about it. It’s full of the dead. Even when it’s rebuilt ... I think it’s a place of shades.” Her voice cracks. “Am I doomed to live in the land of the dead?”

“You’re not doomed to any such thing,” Jane says forcefully. “My friend Kellan would never accept such a fate. It’s that cup. It’s affecting you.”

The cloaked figure shakes its head. “The cup of Sulis Minerva has no hold on me. It’s a small thing, a vessel of a forgotten power. It is mine to wield. When I rise, all will know my name.”

Kellan claps her hands over her mouth. Her cloak flickers back into the aether. Tears streak down her cheeks. “I have no idea where that came from. I have these thoughts ... I’m not even sure they’re mine.”

Jane wraps her back into a warm hug. “We start by getting that motherfucking cup out of here. Then we have Chaucer look at you.”

“Jane!” My mate gasps, laughing through her tears. “I’ve never heard you swear like that.”

“It’s warranted,” Carrie says. “Bring your pajamas and your cat. You’re staying with us until we know what’s going on.”

Kellan shakes her head. “I can’t. I can’t leave. I have to rebuild?—”

“You don’t have to do anything other than have a good meal and a big glass of wine. Or five,” Carrie says firmly. She snaps her fingers at me. “You, too, whatever you are.”

I glare at her, but don’t protest when she plops me beside a stack of pies in the wagon. Kellan argues that she can’t be away for long as we troop through the streets to Jane and Carrie’s townhouse, but she walks easier the further we get from her house. By the time we pass through the deep red door of the Naga’s home, Kellan’s smiling.

She picks me up and carries me through the house, showing me the blue and white guest room where she stays. She strokes me and kisses me between the ears, but there’s none of the desperation with which she’s clutched me for the last week.

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