Ambrosia (Frost and Nectar Book 2)

I stood there, shaking, and stared out over the rocky cliffside. A loud crack echoed over the sound of the waves. The mantis had crashed below.

Torin was staring at me, his brow furrowed. “That was…interesting. Did you scream him over the cliff?”

My body crackled with electricity, but that was just the fear left in my nerves, right? I didn’t know if I’d summoned magic or if the wind itself had forced the monster off the cliff.

I caught my breath, nausea rising in my stomach. “Is the house empty?”

He nodded.

The battle fury started to leave my body, but my legs still shook. “Good.”

“I’m going to make us some food,” he said, “and you a hot bath.”

My throat tightened. When he’d first smashed through the wall into my cell, I’d thought he looked like a god. He was every bit as beautiful now, but my gaze slid down over his bruised arms and bloody feet. Shades of red and purple stood out sharply on his skin.

I inhaled sharply. “Your feet are bleeding. We can make bandages from my dress.”

“We’re both in rough shape, aren’t we? But that is the beautiful thing about a fae body. It heals.” He turned away, raking his hand through his hair as he walked into the house.

I arched an eyebrow. A good king was a caretaker and protector of his people, and I was starting to get the impression Torin needed to feel like a protector more than he needed to look after his broken body. I had the distinct sense that if he wasn’t looking after someone, he’d feel shattered. I’d have to be careful about how I phrased things.

“Torin?” I called out.

When he turned to look at me again, I reached behind my back. “Morgant healed my shoulder, but I still feel a little twinge of something. Did you see anything in the house that could be a sort of antiseptic or ointment?”

He turned to look at me from the doorway, and his eyebrows rose. “Just a twinge?”

“Very small. But it wouldn’t hurt to disinfect it so it doesn’t get worse.”

“I didn’t see anything inside.” He pointed to the purple-berried tendrils that climbed over the graves. “But the leaves of Eventide ivy are practically magic. They grow in Faerie, too. If you grab some of those, I can crush them into an antiseptic oil that will work wonders for your shoulder.”

I gave him a small smile. “Thanks.”

By the graveside, I plucked handfuls of glossy, deep blue leaves until my hands were stuffed with them. When I got inside, Torin was already kneeling before an enormous stone hearth, fiddling with a metallic fire starter. As it sparked, I caught glimpses of a cauldron that hung in the fireplace, one shaped like a large teapot with a handle and spout. A large bucket stood next to it. About five feet away from the hearth stood an enormous copper tub. It seemed a weird place for a tub, but I supposed that without running water, it would be the easiest place to get a hot bath.

I dropped the leaves onto the kitchen table and surveyed the dim interior. Apart from the streams of moonlight through the windows and the dull glow of small flames, there wasn’t much light in here. I breathed in the scent of dried herbs. After a few moments, my eyes adjusted to the shadows, and I was able to find my way around a little.

My footfalls creaked on the floorboards as I explored the space. Two heavy carved wooden doors led to other rooms. One was a bathroom with a stone toilet and little else. The other was a bedroom with a narrow four-poster bed. Dark wooden beams crisscrossed white walls, and white curtains hung over mullioned windows.

When I returned to the kitchen, Torin had managed to stoke the flames in the hearth. The fire bathed him in gold, and the light wavered over the giant copper tub.

I pulled a candle from one of the sconces in the wall and leaned down next to him to light it. With my guttering candle, I lit the candles in the other sconces, and soon, the little room danced with rusty light.

Now I could see the room more clearly. Knotted pine shelves jutted from a wall, each one piled with clay dishes and cups. A layer of dust covered everything, but it still looked cozy and homey.

Torin caught my eye. “Sit down, Ava. I’m going to get some water from the river. You wanted a bath.”

A bath sounded divine, but it was a struggle not to roll my eyes. The idea that he should be running in and out of the house on his injured feet while I sat on my ass was absurd.

He stood, and I could tell by the way he walked, back straight and stiff, that he was in pain.

“I need to heal my back,” I called out to him, trying to hide the irritation in my tone.

He picked up the bucket and went outside anyway.

I pulled a stone mortar and pestle from one of the shelves. Dropping the leaves into the mortar, I mashed them into a bluish pulp, an oily sheen forming on top. I poured the oil into a smaller bowl.

Torin pushed through the door again, ramrod straight, and poured the water into the cauldron.

I dipped my finger into the oil. It stained my pinkie sapphire, and I rubbed it onto my back, feeling absolutely nothing because my injury had healed. “Ahh,” I said loudly, pretending relief. “That’s better. Torin?”

He paused on his way back to the door with the bucket and turned to look at me, the firelight sculpting his chest with gold and shadows.

I cleared my throat. “I have a whole bunch extra here if you need any. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

I crossed over to him and handed him the oil. Torin’s pale eyes glinted with amusement, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “I know what you’re doing, and I have survived worse, changeling. You don’t need to make a fuss over me.”

“All I care about right now is food,” I lied. “And we’ll eat sooner if you can walk faster. If I don’t eat, I could die. And that would be on you, king.”

A small, rueful smile curled the corner of his lips. “I can’t have that.” He took the oil from me. “But you can sit down now. I’m getting us bathwater.”

I bit my lip, trying to layer a little desperation into my voice. “I’d actually feel better if I could move, Torin. I was cooped up for so long in a cell, being confined in here is the last thing I need. I’m desperate to feel my freedom. And also, I believe you promised me food? I am absolutely starving. So I’d prefer if you didn’t delay it by wasting your cooking time fetching water.” Before he could object, I snatched the bucket off the warped floorboards and strode into the marine-tinged air.

If Torin had any sense, he’d be cleaning and healing his feet right now. But maybe Morgant had beaten the sense out of him.

Outside, I kept my senses alert for the sound of oncoming soldiers, but I only heard the mournful call of an owl, the rush of wind through the boughs, and the waves crashing against the cliff. I knelt at the riverside to fill the bucket from the burbling stream.

Gods, it felt amazing to be out of that dungeon. I really did crave the freedom to walk around, even if my muscles screamed at me.

Rising on aching legs, I carried the bucket back to the house, the weight of it dragging on my arm. As I approached the faded blue door, Torin stepped outside, a lock of his dark hair falling in his face. This time, his muscles looked relaxed, his hands in the pockets of his dirt-stained pants. Clearly, he’d used the healing oil, and I felt a little twinge of pride that I’d helped him. “I’m going to get you food, changeling. Like you said, I don’t want you to starve to death on my watch.”

A smile ghosted over my lips. “I’m ravenous.”

In and out I moved, filling up the bucket and pouring it into the giant teapot contraption to boil, then dumping the hot water into the tub.

But I wasn’t about to fill this bath twice, was I? It would be just about large enough for two.

As I dragged the water in and out of the house, Torin returned with a pheasant and juniper berries. While I filled the bath, he plucked and salted the meat, then rubbed it with herbs and old port from one of the cupboards. He speared the pheasant on a spit to roast in the fireplace.

At last, the tub was filled with hot water, and steam coiled from the bath. The smell of the roasting pheasant made it difficult to concentrate on anything but what it would taste like, mouthwatering and succulent.

Torin turned the pheasant on its spit, his sharp jawline and high cheekbones cast in the warm glow of the hearth.

“Torin,” I said, “you are getting in this tub with me.”

He glanced at me over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “I…what?”

“That took over twenty minutes. I’m not filling it again. And I’m not dealing with the guilt of taking the only bath. We were both tortured in the cells. We’ll both take a bath, facing in opposite directions.”

His eyes danced. “If you really want to see me naked, changeling, you could just ask.”

“It’s not like that.” I closed my eyes. “We will each face the opposite direction. I’ll face left, you right. It’s only practical.”

“Whatever you want, changeling.”