Page 35 of Wizards & Weavers
Augustin clicked his fingers. “Of course. Hearty party soup.”
Now they were just making up words. Braiden clutched the edge of the counter. Elyssandra might have eaten those potatoes raw if she felt hungry enough. An elven solo traveler who couldn’t cook to save her life, and now the resident wizard was rambling about — what was it again?
“Hearty party soup?” Braiden asked wearily.
“It’s what they call it out in the encampment,” Elyssandra said, nodding eagerly. “Augustin is right. A bit of meat or a handful of turnips isn’t enough of a meal for one adventurer on their own. But if enough adventurers put all their ingredients together? Well, that’s a different story. So everyone chips in what they have, tosses it into this huge cauldron, and at the end you have a delicious, hearty soup to share with everyone.”
“Very common wherever you find adventurers,” Augustin said, arms crossed, grinning with smug authority. “I’m certain I saw a large cauldron by the fire pit back at the dungeon haven.”
“People can be very kind,” Elyssandra said. “I could go foraging for some mushrooms and make sure I wouldn’t go hungry for the day.”
No wonder the poor thing seemed so starved all the time. Just as well — Braiden was quickly discovering that the only thing he enjoyed more than cooking was having friends to feed. He scanned the kitchen as he rolled his sleeves up.
“Would you mind if I threw something together for dinner?”
Elyssandra nodded with such enthusiasm that Braiden was worried her head would wag right off her neck.
Augustin cleared his throat. “Actually, I was thinking of making one of my own specialties. You know, as a way to thank you both for being so kind to me.”
This time Braiden was sure Elyssandra’s head would fly right off her shoulders. The Wizard of Weathervale was volunteering to make her a meal? This was going straight into her journal.
“I see some dairy,” Braiden said, taking a closer look at the ice box. “A bit of butter, some milk. Elyssandra, are you sure the house came this way? You didn’t ‘accidentally acquire’ any of this stuff, did you? And please don’t tell me you ‘accidentally acquired’ the house.”
She huffed from somewhere behind him. “That is so catty of you, Braiden, and all because I might have accidentally stolen your bacon over breakfast that one time.”
It wasn’t a denial. Braiden made a noncommittal grunt that could have been interpreted as either accusatory or apologetic.
Augustin’s head poked into the ice box next to him. The wizard heaved a grateful sigh as he basked in the gentle chill. Braiden frowned, annoyed by the intrusion. This close, he couldn’t help breathing Augustin in. He smelled like the sea, a salty breeze with a hint of something fragrant and sweet. He smelled like the ocean wind.
“What’s this about accidental stealing?” Augustin whispered.
Braiden showed him a wildly exaggerated widening of eyes that was universally accepted to mean, “Shut up and I’ll tell you later.”
“No, really, I’m curious,” Augustin hissed, as if Elyssandra couldn’t hear him. Speaking into the ice box only amplified his voice.
“I can hear you in there,” Elyssandra said. “The two of you had better make something extra delicious to make up for this brutish attack on my character.”
“Eggs,” Braiden said, pulling out the carton, quietly tempted to shut the ice box’s lid on Augustin’s head. “I hope you like them, because it’s what we have the most of.”
With a little more time he might have had the patience to actually bake something. With a bit of cheese, perhaps he might even have enough for a savory pie. But some form of egg recipe would have to do.
“And I, too, will be demonstrating my expertise with eggs,” Augustin said, his skin looking oddly supple and refreshed from spending time among the dairy goods.
Elyssandra clasped her hands in excitement. “I’ll eat anything you put in front of me. Ask Braiden. Can I help?”
Augustin chuckled as he patted her on the shoulder, this smug savior of the Weathervale dungeon too heroic to need any help. Braiden smiled at Elyssandra and tipped his head toward the potatoes.
“I wouldn’t mind some help slicing some of those. Oh, and a few onions, too.”
Giddily, Elyssandra produced a chopping board from one of the drawers and reached for the knife block. It didn’t look as though she had pulled on the knife’s handle at all. Rather it seemed to slide out of the block with a metallic chink, as if the wood of the handle knew it would feel at home in her grasp.
She wielded the knife so gracefully, the blade slicing through whole potatoes as if they were no thicker than warm lumps of butter. In Elyssandra’s hands, the common kitchen knife became an artisan’s tool, every slice as graceful as the stroke of a paintbrush, every flick of the wrist as efficient as a wand-slinging wizard.
Yet through the practiced rat-a-tat of Elyssandra’s work at the chopping board, the flash of the knife, the uniform slicing of potatoes, Braiden could not help staring at her eyes. Within her gaze was an abiding coldness, as frozen as the elementals they’dfought, as blank as an empty sheet of parchment. For all of Elyssandra’s expertise, Braiden knew that her mind was a world away.
Of course, it could have all been Braiden’s imagination. Perhaps he had never seen a true master at work.
The knife hacked one final time at the chopping board, leaving the faintest mark of a perfect line in the wood. Even Augustin flinched at the sudden crack.
