Page 32

ROPE AND RESOLUTION

Ember

N one of the windows in the bakery were broken, Ember was sure of it, but Severath seemed determined to get his brother away from her.

She’d been relieved to be introduced to Lazerath and then joy sparked in her chest when a baking lesson was proposed—she’d mentioned wanting to bake so briefly, but Severath had listened, had remembered, had cared —and then that flicker of hope was snuffed out the moment she was left standing across from a stranger.

But this Davarox—this was Severath’s stranger, and if Severath trusted him, then so would she. For now.

Davarox wasn’t richly hued like the other demons. Instead, his skin was the color of stone used in places not really meant for looking at. His disposition seemed to match the dismal gray, but Ember knew how to deal with grumpy males.

“The first thing you need to know about baking,” the demon said with a deep inhale, arms crossed over his wide chest and an apron that seemed far too whimsical for the frown he wore, “is that you must respect and understand the recipes.”

“I know how to cook.” She flicked her gaze to a bound stack of parchment that was probably full of ingredient lists and complex directions she couldn’t yet read.

She might allow herself to trust standing beside this stranger, but he didn’t need to know that she was still struggling with five-letter words.

“Oh?” Davarox tipped his great, black-horned head then shrugged. “Fine. Let’s start with bread then.”

Ember was a quick learner, and Davarox was an exceptional teacher.

He demonstrated every step twice and explained why each had to be taken, and unlike Severath, he knew the names and importance of ingredients—drayk eggs were quite fatty and Heck’s flour was much finer, all of which had to be taken into careful consideration.

She was still hesitant to ask questions, but when Davarox didn’t meet them with name-calling or violence like the cooks she’d learned from, she risked more complex inquiries and was rewarded with a sweet, eggy loaf that looked almost as good as the baker demon’s .

Two trays of flaky pastries and three dozen sweet buns later, Severath popped his head into the kitchen and asked if she was ready to go home.

Ember would have perhaps declined if he hadn’t said “home” with such a rumbling bass to his voice, but that word made her nod and smile sweetly—a thing that didn’t even disgust her when she realized she was doing it.

Though Severath had returned to the front room as she helped Davarox stack up bowls and wipe down counters, she could still see him in her mind’s eye, the lift to his brow, the tug at his lips, the gentle flick of his tail.

He was eager too—at least, she thought so…

or maybe he just wanted to leave. Or maybe—shit, no, she couldn’t do this to herself.

“Why are these back here?” Ember gestured to the high shelf above the washing basin and the row of cakes there, desperate to wonder about anything other than Severath’s covert behavior as they cleaned.

“These are charmed to keep from going off, so they can’t be eaten.

” Davarox rinsed a bowl at her side. “Normally they’re kept up front as an example of what we can make, but these aren’t selling well.

This one’s usually given in celebration of a first kill—the filling is meant to be made with the prey’s liver—but fewer demons are killing things these days, and the guards don’t usually indulge. ”

“Too much butter and honey ruining the taste of organs?”

“Maybe.” Davarox snorted. “Or they believe it’s a little too… tender to give one another sweets.”

“Too tender? But Severath’s a guard and he’s—” Ember shook her head. “I mean, that’s unfortunate—clearly you put a lot of work into them.”

“Quite a bit.” Davarox took a slow breath as he took in the row of cakes, an appreciative bend to his brow. “But they’re dated, and new courting rituals replace the old.”

Severath had mentioned courting once, a thing humans probably did too, not that she would know, but it seemed a little ridiculous. “Of course, demons give each other cake instead of talking about how they feel.”

Davarox chuckled, and Ember shot him a glare as she dried her hands on a linen. She might not have under other circumstances, but the minor show of mirth and his calm demeanor had made her surprisingly comfortable. “Finding communication with a red demon difficult, are you?”

“I didn’t say that.” She glanced around the kitchen for something else to tidy, but they’d done it all.

“You know, I’m trying to make these cakes more appetizing.

” Davarox graciously ignored her too fast answer, and instead pulled out a loose piece of parchment from his recipe book.

“This is the recipe for the pinkcurrant one. Why don’t you try it yourself?

Maybe you can give me some tips for improvement on your next visit. ”

Ember hesitantly took the page, the marks on it neat if nonsensical.

Davarox was only humoring her, she knew, but the offer of an armload of ingredients along with the parchment was too kind to reject.

She studied the cake he had pointed to, a yellowy sponge with layers of soft white cream and vibrant pinkcurrants dotting the top.

“What’s this one for? Losing your baby fangs? ”

“Companionship,” he said simply and then tipped his head. “Demons used to trade blightspawn hearts to show their affection, but those are quite a bit harder to find nowadays, so we call this a blightspawn cake, and it works just as well. Or it should.”

Ember decided she didn’t want to know what a blightspawn was and wrapped the illegible recipe up with a container of currants and other baking ingredients. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said with a knowing nod.

She and Severath walked home under the dim light of the moon, and though the day had been full and Ember had probably eaten a little too much bread, there was still plenty of room in her belly for nerves to rattle around.

They traded cordial words about the bakery, the city streets, the temperate air, all of it pointless.

The door to the cottage loomed at the end of its path, and Ember wanted both to sprint toward it and linger at the stone fence, but there was really no choice to be made.

Inside, the silence of the house wasn’t as inviting as usual.

Instead, she heard each of Severath’s heavy steps echo in the wordlessness as she watched him take Davarox’s package to the kitchen.

By the time he emerged back into the entry, she still hadn’t figured out how to move, but speech finally broke out of her.

“Severath,” came out before he could walk away yet again.

His one eye caught her, the look in it as unreadable as all the books and recipes she’d ever seen.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

The demon balked, stoicism immediately lost. “Get rid of—why would—did I say that?”

“After I told you the truth, I know you wanted to ask the council to take me away, but I begged you not to,” she said with a slow swallow, the thought that had been pecking at her skull finally roosting like a relentless drayk.

“And I was so weak and stupid at the festival, so it’s probably frustrating that I’m still here, wasting your time.

I know you prefer to be alone, and you just want to go back to defending the city, but…

would it help if I was dangerous again?”

He cocked his head, eye narrowing to a black slit.

“I could say something…mean?” She held out her empty hands, afraid for the first time she might not actually be able to summon the fury when she needed it most. “Maybe threaten you?”

“I do not wish to be threatened,” he said carefully. “And I fear you were never really dangerous to begin with.”

Her shoulders sagged, the weight in her chest too great.

“But I don’t find your presence frustrating, Ember. Not…not in the way that you mean.”

She gnawed on her lip and glared at the ground. Frustration. That was exactly it, but it didn’t bubble up into anger this time, it only festered. “What is it then?” she asked, voice cracking. “Why does it feel like you don’t want me here?”

“I do want you here. ”

“Then show me.” Her words were nothing short of a demand, eyes snapping up to meet his.

Severath took a cautious step forward as if being drawn like a bowstring, tense and powerful but restrained.

Another step brought him just before her, a figure so much taller than she, but there was no threat in his looming presence.

Instead, he seemed only like a hovering shroud she wanted to pull down and wrap about herself, despite that it came in the trappings of a mangled horn and scarred skin.

But she had asked him—no, told him to show her, so she kept absolutely still.

A clawed hand lifted to her chin, fingers sliding against her skin as they tipped her head upward. She tried to count her heartbeats against the demon’s unhurried movements, but they multiplied with every breath. His black eye descended, and then the world stopped.

Ember had never been kissed before—not softly, anyway.

She had felt someone else’s mouth on hers, wet and harried, during the few blundering tumbles she’d attempted in the past. She’d never succeeded in feeling whole after those loveless trysts, and her lips never felt revered when taken by another’s.

But Severath’s kiss was nothing like that.

His mouth gently pressed to hers, head tilted so that his nose grazed the side of her own.

Her flesh warmed like she’d been brought in from the rain and sat before a hearth, vigilant tenderness draping itself over her shoulders and drawing her close.

His hesitancy was palpable, and just behind it was a sweetness she didn’t know could exist.