Page 19 of Sanctuary and Spices (Tales of the Ardent Veil #1)

JANI

E merald light and crystal songs filled my dreams, Ronhar’s touch lingering like a ghost on my skin. I woke reaching for him, fingers closing on empty air.

The boarding house hummed quietly around me. A glance at my wrist unit showed 0400 - too early even for most of the market vendors to start their day. But sleep felt impossible now.

I pulled on clothes and padded down to the communal kitchen, following the scent of fresh coffee. To my surprise, Pix sat at the worn wooden table, staring into a steaming mug.

“You’re actually sitting still,” I said. “Should I be worried?”

They looked up with a tired smile. “Festival’s in two days. Too excited to sleep, too wired to tinker.”

“That might be a first.” I poured myself coffee, breathed in the rich aroma. “Want to help me with some early prep?”

“Really?” They perked up. “No lectures about explosions or safety protocols?”

“Not if you promise to follow my instructions exactly.”

“Deal!”

I pulled ingredients from the storage unit - flour, sweetener, dried fruit. The familiar motions of measuring and mixing centered me, even as memories of yesterday’s kiss tried to distract me.

“Your cheeks are pink,” Pix observed. “Thinking about anything special?”

“The recipe,” I lied, kneading the dough with perhaps more force than necessary. “Here, chop these berries. Small pieces, even sizes.”

Mai and Jun drifted in as sunrise approached, drawn by the smell of baking bread.

“Something smells amazing,” Jun said, stealing a warm roll.

Mai smirked. “Almost as amazing as that light show in the garden yesterday.”

I concentrated very hard on shaping another loaf. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Really?” Jun’s grin widened. “Because we could see the glow from three levels up.”

“That was just... crystal resonance testing.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Mai asked innocently.

“Who’s calling what these days?” Barou entered, her scaled hide gleaming in the early light.

“Nothing!” I said quickly.

“Ah.” She nodded sagely. “The station choosing its own again.”

“What does that mean?” I turned to face her, but she just smiled mysteriously and poured herself coffee.

The kitchen filled gradually as other residents woke. Ven’ra settled in her usual corner with tea and toast, dispensing cryptic wisdom between bites. Dex zipped through delivering messages, stealing bites of bread between deliveries.

I tried to focus on the familiar morning routine, but my mind kept drifting to the café. To Ronhar. To the way the station’s background hum seemed to shift when we touched...

A knock at the back door saved me from my thoughts. Erynn stood there, holding an ornate teapot.

“Special delivery!” She swept in, purple hair bright in the morning light. “Festival blend, just for you.”

“You didn’t have to?—”

“Of course I did.” She set up her equipment with practiced grace. “Besides, I wanted to hear all about yesterday’s garden adventures.”

“Does everyone know about that?”

“Honey, the whole Commons was talking about it.” She measured leaves carefully. “Do you know how rare it is for someone to affect the station’s crystals like that?”

I watched her work, trying to ignore the knowing looks from around the kitchen. “I didn’t affect anything. It was just... resonance testing.”

“Mhmm.” She added hot water, the scent of spice and flowers filling the air. “You know, there are old stories about the station responding to certain pairs. Choosing them, some say.”

“That’s what Barou said - about the station choosing its own.”

“Indeed.” Ven’ra’s voice drifted from her corner. “The old songs tell of crystal gardens blooming out of season, hidden passages opening, the very walls singing...”

“I don’t—” I broke off as something tugged at my awareness. A whisper just below hearing, drawing me toward the service corridors.

“Go on.” Erynn pressed a cup into my hands. “The tea will keep.”

I hesitated. “I should head to work...”

“Take the corridor past the old maintenance hub,” Barou suggested. “Shorter route.”

The others exchanged meaningful looks that I chose to ignore. I gathered my things and slipped out, the station’s hum pulling me forward.

The maintenance section was older, less trafficked. Crystal formations studded the walls in complex patterns I’d never noticed before. They felt... different. Ancient. Aware.

My fingers lifted without conscious thought, drawn to a particularly intricate growth. The instant I touched it, energy surged through me. The crystal chimed, a pure note that resonated in my bones. Others answered, harmony building until the whole corridor sang.

The station’s background hum shifted, aligning with the crystal song. Something inside me shifted too, clicking into place like a key in a lock. This felt right. This felt like...

“Home,” Ronhar’s voice finished my thought.

I spun to face him. He stood at the corridor’s end, markings already beginning to glow.

“How did you find me?”

“I felt the energy change.” He moved closer, drawn like gravity. “Felt you.”

His markings brightened with each step, painting patterns of light that matched the crystal formations. My breath caught as he reached me, backing me against the singing wall.

“This is happening more often,” I whispered. The crystal warmed against my shoulders, humming in harmony with his markings.

“I know.” His hands settled on my waist. “I can’t seem to stay away from you.”

“I don’t want you to.”

He made a rough sound and pulled me closer. The crystal song swelled around us as his mouth found mine. I arched into him, fingers sliding under his shirt to trace glowing patterns.

“...” He kissed down my neck as I mapped the paths of light across his skin. The wall thrummed against my back, energy building between us like a storm about to break.

A loud crash echoed somewhere above, followed by distant shouting. We jerked apart, breathing hard.

“That sounded like?—”

“Something near the upper promenade.” Ronhar’s markings still pulsed with my touch. “We should...”

“Yeah.” I straightened my clothes with shaking hands. “We should check that.”

The crystal song followed us as we hurried through the corridors, harmonizing with the station’s hum in ways I’d never noticed before. Or maybe I’d just never been able to hear it until now.

The commotion turned out to be a minor delivery mishap—someone had dropped a crate of fragile glassware meant for festival displays. Shards littered the floor, and frustrated voices filled the space.

Ronhar stepped in to help immediately, his calm presence settling the group as they sorted through the mess. I grabbed a broom and joined him, sweeping up the debris while the others salvaged what they could. The rhythm of working beside him felt as natural as breathing.

But even as we worked, I remained aware of Ronhar’s presence like a lodestone. Every accidental brush of hands sent sparks along my skin. His markings refused to dim completely.

I collapsed onto the stool at my prep station, wiping my hands on a towel as the kitchen finally quieted. My back ached from a full day of rushes, disasters, and solving problems that never seemed to end. But my heart felt full in a way I couldn’t quite explain—like I’d started to find a rhythm again, a purpose.

My tablet chimed. I sighed, expecting another logistics update or festival-related alert. But when I glanced at the screen, my breath caught. The message wasn’t from Pix or Soryn or one of the festival organizers. It was from my father.

Subject: Proud of You

,

I’ve been hearing things. Trade routes are stabilizing through the Veil, and word of the festival preparations has reached the Guild. Your work with the Wanderer’s Rest is impressive, and it’s clear you’ve found a place where your talents are appreciated.

I want you to know how proud I am of you. I know I didn’t say it enough while you were chasing perfection at the Crown, but your ability to create something remarkable—something that brings people together—is rare.

Your grandmother would’ve said, “Cooking is love made visible.” I hope you’ve rediscovered that.

Whenever you’re ready, I’d like to hear from you.

—Dad

I stared at the message, my chest tightening. His words weren’t what I’d expected. They weren’t the sharp-edged commands or formal reprimands I’d grown used to. They were softer, warmer—a glimpse of the father I’d always wished he could be.

I set the tablet aside, my father’s words still echoing in my mind. Cooking is love made visible.

My gaze fell on my grandmother’s cookbook, sitting on the shelf beside the tiny potted Velthryn ivy Ronhar had given me. I reached for it, brushing my fingers over the worn cover. The edges were soft from years of use, the pages smudged with flour and grease.

Flipping it open, I found a recipe for red bean cakes. The handwriting was slightly faded, but I didn’t need to read the words to remember the steps. I could still hear her voice, gentle and patient, as she guided my hands through the motions.

“Mistakes mean you’re learning,” she’d said once, wiping flour from my cheek. “There’s no love in perfection, little one.”

I traced a smudge of batter on the page, my chest tightening. “You wouldn’t care about molecular harmony,” I whispered. “You’d just want to know if it made people happy.”

The thought brought a bittersweet smile to my lips. My grandmother had always cooked with joy, with love, with a kind of fearless creativity that I’d lost somewhere along the way. But here, in this place, with Ronhar and the garden and the café, I was starting to find it again.

I closed the cookbook and set it back on the shelf, a quiet resolve settling over me. Tomorrow, I’d try the recipe with a new twist—maybe add some of the crystal-enhanced spices Mai had given me. For now, I let myself rest, my grandmother’s voice a gentle reminder in the back of my mind.

The boarding house dinner that night was a study in meaningful glances and whispers. Pix bounced between tables, spilling gossip about crystal resonance and strange energy readings. Mai and Jun traded knowing looks while Barou radiated quiet satisfaction. Even Ven’ra seemed more cryptic than usual, muttering about “patterns aligning” and “cycles returning.”

I escaped to my room as soon as I could manage it politely. But sleep proved elusive again. The station’s hum had changed subtly, or maybe I was just hearing it differently now. It sang of crystal corridors and belonging, of connections deeper than physics could explain.

Of home.

I touched my lips, still feeling the phantom press of Ronhar’s kiss. My skin tingled with remembered light.

The festival was in two days. In two days we’d face crowds and expectations and obligations.

But tonight... tonight I dreamed of emerald markings and crystal songs, and the way everything changed when he touched me.

The station hummed its lullaby, and I finally drifted off to thoughts of hidden passages and the man who made them glow.