Page 64 of Lore of the Wilds

Finn had disappeared without a word. Lore peeked out of the door toward the bar where Gryph was sitting, sharing some mead with Flix. Apparently, Gryph’s invitation to breakfast hadn’t actually meant that he would be cooking it anytime soon.

Just fine. Lore washed her hands, along with one of the knives from the wall, and started chopping the small potatoes, removing the buds and any dark spots as she went. She’d cooked most evenings back at home. She wondered how the little ones were doing as she moved onto an onion. Especially Milo—he was going to be so big when she saw him next.

She pushed that thought away as she scooped the chopped potatoes and onion into a pan. She didn’t know when she was going to see any of them next; she wasn’t even sure exactly how long she’d been away already. She opened drawers looking for oil, salt, and rosemary, but found none. This meal wouldn’t be her best, but it would fill them up and hopefully soak up some of the spirits.

Nausea boiled up in her throat and she paused to let it pass. She was never drinking again.

She set the pan over the coals and sautéed the potatoes and onions, wishing she had oil when they kept sticking to the pan. She sipped her tea, wishing it were coffee, before adding a little water and covering the pan with a lid.

She sipped the tea again before making a face and setting it on the nearby table. There wasn’t anything with which to create a makeshift strainer, so there were quite a few dandelion leaves floating around the chipped clay mug.

She set to grating the little bit of cheese she found. The innate saltiness in the cheese would help, but this meal was going tobe bland. She pulled the pan over to a corner without flame and covered the potatoes with cheese. They looked a little burned, but she hadn’t had a lot to work with.

Just as she was wiping her hands on an apron she’d found, Finndryl walked in, long legs carrying him to the oven in a few strides. “What are you burning in here?” He sniffed, nose scrunching up.

Rude.“I’m cooking breakfast. If this place had a decent supply of oil and food, it wouldn’t have burned at all.”

Finndryl didn’t reply. Apparently, the few words he had said to her were already too many.

Well, if he didn’t want to eat her food, she wasn’t going to make him. She grabbed three plates from a cupboard and piled them high with potatoes and onions. She wished again she had a few eggs she could have fried to place on top. And a chili or five for some spice, but this would have to do. She and Asher wouldn’t be here for long—soon she would be back home anyway, and then she wouldn’t have to think about this place.

Lore balanced all three plates with ease. Growing up in the shelter, she was used to carrying as many as possible out to the table, what with there being so many mouths to feed. She pushed the door open with her hip. Gryph grinned from ear to ear when she placed it in front of him, not batting an eye at the few burned potatoes on his plate, and thanked her with a simple “Thanks, love.”

“Thank you so much, miss. I was mighty hungry.” Flix now had a big grin on his face, too. He was apparently in better spirits now that he’d had the hair of the dog and was working on his second ale.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. Eat every bite, okay?” She frowned a bit. Hopefully, his children at home had plenty of food.

Lore walked over to an empty table so she could eat. She drowned out Gryph’s and Flix’s chatter as she spooned potatoesinto her mouth. While Asher’s idea to travel south and play for time was a good one, she really needed to figure out how she was going to get back to Duskmere without being captured. Every minute spent away from home was another minute her people went without knowing that they were in danger.

She should have brought the grimoire down; she needed to spend these few days of safety figuring out how it worked and how to use it. The more access to magic the book had, the better her chances of getting home and telling everyone the truth—that the danger in the woods was a spell, and that, with the help of the book, they could end the control the Alytherians held over them.

She scarfed down the rest of her food. She would do the dishes, then come out here and wipe these tables. After all, she owed Gryph for his kindness. He was technically harboring a thief and a runaway soldier. She owed him and the twins for giving her and Asher a place to lay low and get their bearings.

She couldn’t pay them with coin, so she might as well do something for the family by leaving the tavern cleaner than when she’d arrived. And she wouldn’t let herself get distracted by any more drinking, games, or Asher’s dimples and pouty bottom lip.

She had a mission that was already taking too damn long.

***

By the time Lore had washed the dishes, scrubbed every table in the pub, and mopped the floors, her back ached, her hands were raw, and her fingers had pruned. She stood back with her hands on her hips and surveyed her work.

Every surface in the pub gleamed.

Lore wrung the rags out and hung them up to dry above the sink, returning the old mop and bucket to the small closet in thekitchen, while making sure to avoid the spiders and their thick cobwebs that lined the space.

As she walked up the steps toward the main room, she made a mental note to mention the state of the pub to Finndryl if he said anything else about her cooking. As if she’d summoned him, she found him standing behind the bar, leaning against the shelf that held the bottles of spirits, with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

She was pretty sure he was annoyed that she had given his portion of the potatoes to Flix, but at least Flix had been grateful to have them.

Lore averted her eyes from the scowling fae. She needed to bathe and change into fresh clothes. Isla was way taller than her, but Lore would worship at her feet if she had clean clothes Lore could wear.

“Wait, before you head out, Gryph wanted me to give this to you. For all this.” Finndryl spoke to her for the first time since he’d insulted her cooking that morning, gesturing with his long fingers toward the sparkling tables.

Lore couldn’t help but notice that he called his father by his first name, as if he were holding him at arm’s length. And she recalled him saying to Isla yesterday that he hadn’t even wanted to come home.

In a blink, Finndryl skirted the bar to stand in front of her. The black pants he wore fit him like a glove, outlining his strong thighs perfectly. He wasfast.

And close. Close enough that she could now see how long his lashes were. His dark eyes were haunted and deep, like swirling pools that could drown a girl if she wasn’t careful.

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