Page 18 of Midwinter Wiles & Valerian Dreams
“Of course, girl. He’s a guest. He and the kids are renting Redcurrant Cottage out back.”
A guest?
And did she say kids, plural?
“Oh,drown me,” I blurt. “Sorry, I meant…Storms. Sorry, Daria. I’m so sorry. I did something bad. I may have sort of freaked out on him…kind of…a tiny bit, after we went outside. It was a misunderstanding! But I made his kid cry. I didn’t mean to! Oh,sweet waters, I’m a terrible employee. You must want me to leave. I can go.”
“Don’t be silly,” Daria chuckles.
“But I insulted your guest. After Ijustpromised not to cause you more trouble! Not to mention the earlier stuff with the flour everywhere, or the meal I ruined, or the four glasses I broke.”
“Four?”
“Um, no? Pretend I didn’t say that.” I drop my face into my hands.
“Relax, Val. It’s been a tough start, but you’re trying, and that matters. I believe in second chances. Or, I guess, fourth chances in this case.” Her wink lets me know she’s not mad, which leaves me reeling. Any servant who broke four glasses at the palace would be summarily dismissed and shunned. Maybe exiled. Seeing Daria’s easy smile instead is…I don’t know what it is.
“Speaking of second chances,” she continues, “if you want to apologize to Lark, come down early tomorrow and you can take breakfast to their cottage. No way a man stays mad in the face of my freshkorvapuusti.”
Thinking of the cinnamon, sugar, and cardamom infused rolls I enjoyed this morning, I’m sure she’s right. That’s the answer, then. I’ll apologize to Lark and his family with a basket of baked goods, and then I’ll avoid them altogether, and I’ll stop messing up. Simple.
Chapter 8
Lark
Quiet mornings are a rarity in my life, but this morning is almost peaceful in Redcurrant Cottage. Only soft scratching from Hugo’s corner breaks the stillness. I roll over, cracking an eye open just in time to catch the troublemaking hedgehog flipping his water dish.
“Again, Hugo? Why are you worse than the kids some days?”
Hugo responds with an indignantsqueak, his tiny nose twitching furiously.
“Oh, don’t start,” I tell him, swinging my legs off the bed and stretching before padding across the creaky wooden floor. “I’m not your servant, you know.”
The prickly little bastard lets out a grumbly grunt as I scoop up the overturned bowl and refill it from the pitcher.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
More squeaks. Extra sass.
“Hold your quills, I’m getting there,” I mutter, opening the tightly sealed container atop the dresser and dropping three ofthe little wrigglers he likes so much into the second dish. He digs into the fresh food with all the grace of a drunken squirrel. “I’ve got enough chaos without you staging protests because you can’t learn patience.”
While he finishes his meal, I cross the room to the other occupant. “Morning, Happy.”
In her crib, Eevi rubs at her face and begins a soft stream of nonsensical chatter.
“Glad to see you back to your usual happy self, baby girl. Forgotten all about the big scary princess yelling at you, haven’t you?” I smooth her curls while she babbles back at me. “She’s not so scary, is she? Just confused. And loud. Do you think all royals are that loud? Probably.”
Eevi’s only response is to poke my cheek with her pudgy finger and blink at me with those big, wide eyes. When this girl starts talking in earnest, I have a feeling she’ll be able to talk us into anything. As if she doesn’t have us all wrapped around her little finger already.
Hugo is finished by the time I’ve got clothes on Eevi and myself, so I escort him to my pocket where he usually spends the days sleeping after his wild nights of scurrying around my room.
“Everyone set?”
Hugo squeaks from my pocket, which makes the toddler in my arms giggle.
“Understood. I won’t be saving any damsels in distress today, don’t worry. Can you blame me, though? She looked so stunned, like a kitten in a thunderstorm. I bet no one’s ever spoken to her like that. They probably broke her brain; that’s why she was so rude to us.” I chuckle, so of course Happy giggles along with me. “I just wish I knew what she thinks she’s doing here. Makes no sense.”
I’m rambling, but at least my captive audience of two can’t tell anyone what I say.
