Page 43 of Eluvonia (Rift of Ages #1)

KAIDA

T he scent of fresh bread and sizzling meats greets us as we step into the kitchens.

Heat rolls out like a wave, carrying with it the clamor of a dozen different sounds—pots clanging, knives chopping, and the steady murmur of Fae voices as they bustle around.

The kitchen is enormous, the size of a ballroom, with stone walls that glisten from the steam.

Copper pots and pans hang from racks above the tables, their surfaces worn and gleaming.

Fae of all shapes and sizes dart about, some stirring large cauldrons of soup while others knead dough or carefully arrange pastries.

A group of smaller Fae—barely reaching my waist—scrub dishes in the corner, their hands moving quickly.

One of them glances at us and then goes back to work, whispering to her companion.

Declan walks ahead, moving with purpose.

His boots make sharp clicks against the stone floor, and he sidesteps a Fae carrying a tray of bread without breaking his stride.

His eyes scan the room, searching, until they settle on a Fae with her sleeves rolled up, her arms buried in a tub of water. He moves toward her.

“Excuse me,” he says, his voice calm but direct.

The Fae jumps slightly at the touch on her arm, her eyes widening in surprise. “Yes?” She hesitates, glancing at him.

Declan gives her a polite smile. “We’re looking for the head kitchen Fae. Can you point us in the right direction?”

She nods and gestures toward a woman standing on a stool at one of the tables. Flour covers her apron, her face, and her hair—though it’s clear she’s concentrating, rolling out dough with methodical precision.

“The one in the flour,” the Fae mutters, clearly eager to get back to her task.

Declan thanks her and leads me over to the woman, who doesn’t notice us at first, absorbed in her work.

“Excuse me,” Declan calls again, this time louder.

The woman freezes, her rolling pin slipping slightly before she catches it. She blinks in surprise, then looks up at us with wide eyes. Slowly, she sets the pin down and wipes her hands on her apron before stepping down from the stool.

“Can I help you, sirs?” she asks, her voice warm, though there’s a trace of tension behind it. She glances between us, clearly uncertain. “Is this about my testimony?”

I exchange a quick glance with Declan, surprised by how convenient this is.

“Yes,” Declan replies smoothly. “We need to go over your testimony again, just to make sure there’s no discrepancy.”

Her expression falters for a moment, but she recovers quickly. “Of course. Please, follow me. We can talk more privately.” She gestures toward a small alcove off to the side, a quiet corner far from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen.

She leads us over, then stands in front of us, arms folded, waiting for us to speak.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Declan says, his tone reassuring but businesslike. “Just start from the beginning.”

The Fae takes a deep breath and begins to recount the details, her voice steady as she describes what she saw. When she finishes, Declan’s brow furrows slightly, his fingers tapping lightly against his arm as he considers.

“Hm,” he mutters. “What did the male Fae look like?”

The Fae fidgets, her fingers curling into the fabric of her apron. “Uh, his clothes—he looked like he was from the stables, you know? Simple, worn.” She offers a small, hesitant smile.

I catch the flicker in her eyes and the way her gaze darts to the side. She’s holding back. Declan notices it too.

“And his face?” he presses. “Can you remember anything about him? Any distinguishing features?”

She hesitates, glancing away before speaking. “No, I didn’t get a good look at his face,” she says, her voice quieter.

Declan leans in a bit, his expression patient but sharp. “But you’re sure about the clothes?”

“Yes,” she nods quickly. “I remember the clothes. But…” She trails off, her eyes avoiding ours.

Declan waits, but the silence stretches. Finally, he pushes just a little harder. “Can you think of anything else? It’s important. If your statement is correct, two Fae are about to be executed.”

Her eyes widen at the mention of execution, and a bead of sweat forms on her forehead. She wipes it quickly with the back of her hand, her posture growing tense. “I—I didn’t get a good look at his face,” she repeats, almost too quickly. “Just… brown hair, I think.”

“Brown hair?” Declan repeats slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s all?”

“I—I’m not sure,” she stammers, clearly flustered. “I didn’t get a good look.”

Declan doesn’t smile, but his eyes narrow slightly, like he’s sizing her up. “Okay, thank you for your time.”

The Fae nods quickly, almost too quickly, before scurrying back to her station, her movements jittery as she tries to regain her composure.

I watch her leave, then glance at Declan. “She’s lying.”

Declan’s gaze lingers on the spot where she disappeared, his lips tightening into a thin line.

“No doubt about it,” he mutters, shifting his weight as he thinks.

“But we need more. We need something tangible—something that proves her testimony is false. If we can show the documents are forged, maybe she’ll finally come clean. ”

I cross my arms and lean back against the stone wall. “Where the hell are we going to get that?”

Declan snaps his fingers, his eyes lighting up with realization. “The documents your father showed us—they are copied from documents in your father’s study. Whoever forged them might have left something behind. Something we can use.”

A slow grin spreads across my face. “Now that’s a thought.”

Without waiting for further discussion, I turn on my heel. “Let’s go. We’ve got work to do.”