Page 10 of Bound By Blood
She ladled up some broth from the pot that simmered over the low fire and cooled it with a touch of water before giving it to him. As he lapped it up, she checked the door and made sure everything was ready for her to rest.
What a night.
She washed her face and then patted it dry with a towel. By that point, the little dog had returned to her side. If he wasn't a dog yet, he certainly acted like it. When she stretched out on the bed, he hopped up beside her, placed his head on her chest, and closed his eyes.
Strange as it was, the day had turned out all right. And that bizarre blood fae—well, he hadn't done nearly as much to her as he might have. The trade didn't require it, but she would find some way to thank him. And now—thank all that was good—she had a dog all her own.
"Buttons, I think," she whispered.
He licked her nose.
"Do you like that name?"
She hugged the little beast closer and drifted into dreamless slumber. Even with the heat and the humidity, she didn't mind him being close. Life had gotten better. Even if some parts remained uncertain.
HEALING SOUP
Afull roster of chores required Erryn's attention as soon as she woke, and Buttons had his own needs, including time out in the grass, a little run, exploration, play, and, of course, food and water.
He scurried about, wagging his tail so hard that his whole body moved. He barely held still long enough to eat the shredded chicken and broth she gave him for his breakfast. For not being a real dog to start off, he certainly acted like it right now. He even sat, scratched behind his ear with his little hind leg, and nearly toppled himself into a blackberry bush like a real dog.
As much as she would have liked to spend all morning playing with him and watching him explore his new home, she had to get to work on the soup.
The broth in the large pots had simmered all night, both in the cauldron over the fireplace, where she prepared her special broth, and the pots on the stove. The riverstone fireplace took up a good portion of one wall. The woodstove directly beside it could hold up to six pots of soup at a time.
Come midday, her customers would begin arriving. Some would bring their own large containers with heavy lids to transport the soup for their businesses or homes or travels. A few regulars rotated through containers here at her little shop. She always stocked a few extras for the travelers who stopped through who just needed some food before starting off into the wilds.
It was a simple job. Rarely did anyone have any special or unusual requests for her. The soups were usually variations of vegetable soup, bird and barley, and seasonal soups. Those were Nan's standard recipes. Erryn had made these so many times at this point she could do it in her sleep, but that meant she had more time to pore over the cookbooks Nan had left her.
Those dusty old books sat on the shelf on the eastern wall. They had autumnal-colored bindings of faded leather with thin pages. When she had first gotten here, she had taken each one down and looked through, delighted to see all the distinct recipes and notations for their various purposes. Then, all too swiftly, she had discovered that she was only expected to make those basic recipes, the ones on the plain cards in the top drawer on the far-left counter.
Not that she had complained. Nan and Loto had given her a place to stay as well as a livelihood for the time being. It was generous.
But now, she had a purpose for going through those beautiful books once more.
By late morning, all the ingredients for the main soups had been chopped, and the soups themselves simmered on the stovetop. The massive pots steamed and bubbled, making her grateful for the open windows and the constant steady breeze.
She prepped the containers for pickup and ladled up the standing orders. Next would come the couriers. She put Buttons back in the bedroom and closed the door so he wouldn't be underfoot or raise uncomfortable questions about where she had gotten him. Then, she propped the main door open with a coarse green stone, and one by one, the couriers and customers came by, trickling in at a comfortable pace. Most were regulars who stopped in at least once a week, so she knew them decently well. If any of them were knowledgeable about such things, she asked for help tracking down ingredients or information about what could be done to improve or restore fae magic. When they asked why she needed such knowledge, she said it was just for a possible business opportunity in the future and her own curiosity.
Povro was one of the customers, though not one she asked for help in restoring fae magic. He was a pleasant-faced man with ruddy cheeks and wide-set blue eyes. Despite his occasional error—such as failing to properly consecrate the windowsills and his tendency to cut corners—he was impossible to dislike. Mostly because no one had died because of his errors. At least, not yet.
Though he was almost always in a good mood, his new friend, a red-cloaked man with a pheasant-feathered hat appeared to put him in even better humor than usual.
"Erryn, come over here. Come meet Traelan." Povro indicated the newcomer.
Traelan had loosely curled red-brown hair and bright-green eyes that sparkled. There was something rather unnatural about him. Fae or elf or shifter, perhaps. She’d never been particularly good at identifying the different races when their defining traits weren’t on display. Still, his features were strong and chiseled, his skin tanned from hours spent in the sun. He moved with grace and confidence as if he owned every step he took, and now, he surveyed the cottage with an air of someone appraising the value.
“Traelan.” Erryn dipped her head forward in greeting, offering a mild smile in response. “Povro, your chicken soup is there, but I need to see you privately at some point. It’s important.”
“Anything you need to say to me, feel free to say in front of my friend.” Povro grinned as he picked up the large wooden container filled with steaming soup. “He’s a locksmith, a runic cartographer, and an artifact hunter, among other things.”
“None of which matters at the moment. For now, I'm just a traveler.” Traelan gave her a far more charming smile than she warranted, his eyes twinkling. “But if the young woman needs to speak with you, I will not intrude. I’ll examine the runes on the boundary markers.”
“I’ll see you shortly then.” Povro waited until he disappeared out the door and beyond the hickory tree to return his focus to her. “You should be nicer to him. He’s a real charmer.”
“I’m sure he is.” She folded her arms. Povro thought everyone was charming and good unless circumstances showed otherwise. “But I’d rather the magical protections and wards around my home not be a subject of discussion.”
“It isn’t his type of magic anyway.”
