Page 63 of Ash and Feather

Dravyn walked into the room a short time later.

A searingly hot wind preceded him. He still carried the wild scent of where he’d been, of sweat and scorched earth and smoke. His skin was unsettled, the divine symbols on it glowing faintly. His eyes were brighter than usual, too, a fiery gleam weaving through the steely blue—though their color settled somewhat when they fell upon the counters, which were full of my neatly organized rows of sweet and savory pastries, breads, muffins, and more.

His expression flashed between impressed and dubious as he said, “You made all of this?”

“I just…I needed a distraction, that’s all.”

“And you’re still going,” he commented, eyeing the bowl I clung to. “Moth will be thrilled.”

I nodded.

We stood silently for a moment, staring at one another as if it had been much longer than two days since we’d had a proper conversation.

Finally, he pointed to the latest piles of neatly-stacked ingredients I’d laid out and asked, “Can I help?”

I exhaled slowly, the deliberate breath finally breaking me from my stupor. “Yes. You can. But you have to wash up first.”

He smiled slightly at this, but obeyed, disappearing for a few minutes before returning with his hands and face scrubbed clean.

He presented himself to me as if for inspection, that slightly crooked smile still on his face. I played along, taking his large hands in mine and turning them over, one by one, tracing my fingers along the lines of his palm.

“That will do, I suppose,” I informed him.

He still smelled of broken and burning things, but I tried not to think about those things and focused only on the task before us once more. I grabbed a paring knife and handed it over,instructing him to gather and chop the chocolate I’d planned to fold into the bowl I held.

And I was fine.

Everything was fine.

For a few, blissful minutes I managed to believe that once again.

The night moved on and we transformed into the settled, easy version of us that I quietly, desperately longed for. Talking. Laughing. Tasting the things we’d made. Plotting ways to make them better. Making a mess that I was sure Rieta wouldn’t be pleased about.

But there was an ache building steadily in my gut as I went through the motions. A grief that grew heavier with each stir of a spoon, with every check of the recipe’s steps—with the increasingly clear realization that I would likely never, ever do these things with my sister again, even though she was alive.

It was as if she’d died all over again.

As I watched Dravyn adding the last ingredients to the cake we were attempting to make, a memory struck me—that of the first time I’d cooked after my sister disappeared. Of how wrong I’d gotten the dish without her there to look over my shoulder while I prepared it. Even though I’d been cooking on my own for years before that, without her there, everything I did had suddenly felt so…unbalanced.

A tremble went through me. I braced my hands against the counter, trying unsuccessfully to hide it.

“Karys? What is it?”

I shook my head, but Dravyn’s gaze was insistent.

“You’re doing it wrong,” I said quietly.

He gave me a confused look.

“It’s all wrong,” I said, angrier. The same anger I’d felt toward myself all those years ago was suddenly resurfacing,except now I couldn’t bear to keep it inside of myself as I’d done back then. There was no room for it along with everything else.

“It has to be all lined up perfectly,” I insisted, furiously. “It has to go in the right order. If something is missing or wrong, the foundation isruined. And if the foundation isn’t right, then everything else crumbles.”

I didn’t take my eyes off the bowl he held, barely resisting the urge to knock it from his hands.

“Everything crumbles,” I repeated, trying and failing to keep my voice from doing the same.

He slowly placed the bowl on the counter and started to reach for me, but I shook my head and backed away.

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