Page 30 of Sanctuary and Spices (Tales of the Ardent Veil #1)

JANI

T he early station cycle brought a hush to the Wanderer’s Rest. I balanced on a ladder, reaching for a stubborn Jhrya vine that had wrapped itself around one of the overhead beams. Below me, fragments of conversation drifted up from the breakfast crowd:

“Did you hear about the new trade routes?”

“Three ships lost in the outer sectors...”

“They’re saying the resonance patterns are all wrong...”

I tugged at the vine, careful not to damage the delicate leaves. “Come on, you little troublemaker.”

“Need help?” Ronhar asked from behind me.

My heart jumped. Even after weeks of marriage, he still snuck up on me. “I’ve got it. Though you could tell your plants to behave better.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” His hands settled on my waist, steadying me as I stretched further. “Besides, they like you better anyway.”

“Flatterer.” The vine finally came loose, releasing a shower of silver petals. “Catch!”

He plucked the vine from my hands before I could drop it, his hands gentle as he touched the delicate plant. “You’re getting better at handling them.”

“Had a good teacher.” I climbed down, brushing petals from my hair. “Though some are still more stubborn than others.”

“Like someone else I know?” He pulled me close, his markings brightening at the contact.

Heat pooled in my belly. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“No?” His fingers traced up my spine. “So, you weren’t the one who rearranged my entire herb storage system yesterday?”

“It needed organizing.”

“It was organized.”

“By color? Really?” I poked his chest. “What kind of system is that?”

“One that worked perfectly well until someone decided-”

The kitchen timer chimed, saving me from defending my obviously superior organizational skills. “That’s the bread. Don’t think this conversation is over.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I slipped from his arms, heading for the ovens. The morning rush would start soon, and we still had prep work to finish. But his presence followed me, a warm awareness through our bond that made my skin tingle.

The kitchen smelled of fresh bread and brewing tea. I pulled the loaves out, setting them to cool as the first real wave of customers arrived. Their chatter filled the café:

“Those new trading restrictions are getting ridiculous-”

“Did you try the blend from yesterday? Amazing!”

“The garden looks different somehow...”

Ronhar moved through the space with practiced grace, delivering drinks and greeting regulars. His markings pulsed subtly whenever he passed near me, like he couldn’t quite help responding to my presence.

I wasn’t any better. The bond sang between us, stronger each day.

“You’re glowing again,” I murmured as he reached past me for clean cups.

“Your fault.” He nipped my ear. “You’re distracting.”

“Me? I’m working.” I gestured at the dough I was kneading. “Very professionally.”

“Uh huh.” His hands settled on my hips. “And that thing you did with the bond earlier?”

Heat crept up my cheeks. “I was... experimenting.”

“During breakfast service?”

“Had to test the theory sometime.” I twisted to face him. “Did it work?”

His markings blazed. “You know it did.”

I grinned. “Good to know.”

The kitchen timer saved him from replying. Or maybe saved me - the look in his eyes promised delicious revenge later.

The morning passed in a blur of orders and preparations. I lost myself in the familiar rhythm of the kitchen, but part of me stayed aware of Ronhar’s movements through the café. The bond let me track him without looking, his presence a constant warmth in the back of my mind.

Finally, the rush slowed. I wiped down my station, watching Ronhar tend to our ceremonial vine. The plant had grown exponentially since the wedding, its gold-silver blooms unlike anything I’d seen before.

“She’s thriving,” I said, moving to join him.

“She knows she’s loved.” He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me against his side. “Like someone else I know.”

I elbowed him. “Sap.”

“Your sap.”

“Always.” I reached out to touch the vine, marveling at how it curled toward my fingers. Through the bond, I felt Ronhar’s satisfaction at the sight.

“I never thought I’d have this,” he murmured into my hair.

“What, a café full of semi-sentient plants?”

“A home.” He turned me to face him. “A mate who understands both parts of me - the warrior and the gardener.”

“Lucky for you, I have a thing for competent men who can both kick ass and nurture things.”

His markings flared. “Lucky for me indeed.”

The kiss started gentle but quickly turned heated. I pressed closer, sliding my hands into his hair as the bond sparked between us.

A crash from the kitchen made us jump apart.

“Sorry!” Pix called. “The new resonance-powered mixing bowl had a slight... adjustment issue.”

“No fire this time?” I asked.

“Minimal fire! Barely worth mentioning!”

Ronhar growled. “I should-”

“I’ve got it.” I pressed a quick kiss to his jaw. “You focus on the garden. We can continue this discussion later.”

His markings pulsed. “Count on it.”

I headed for the kitchen, but his presence followed me through the bond - a promise of things to come. The ceremonial vine bloomed brighter in my wake, as if it approved.

Who knew plants could be so romantic?

The rest of the morning passed in controlled chaos. I dealt with Pix’s latest invention (only slightly scorched), helped Mai reorganize the spice storage (my system was better, no matter what Ronhar said), and experimented with a new pastry recipe that had the crystalline formations singing in harmony.

Through it all, Ronhar’s presence stayed steady in the back of my mind. Every brush of contact sent sparks through the bond. Every shared glance promised more to come.

By the time we closed for the afternoon break, the air between us crackled with tension. I barely waited for the last customer to leave before pouncing.

“Finally,” I breathed against his mouth.

His markings blazed as he pulled me closer. “Missed me?”

“Always.” I slid my hands under his shirt, tracing the glowing patterns on his skin. “Though someone kept distracting me through the bond.”

“Payback.” He nipped my lower lip. “For that trick you pulled during breakfast.”

“You liked it.”

“Troublemaker.” His hands settled on my hips. “I nearly dropped an entire tray of drinks.”

“Worth it.”

He growled, the sound vibrating through me.

A chime from the front door made us spring apart.

“We’re closed!” I called, trying to steady my breathing.

“It’s just me!” Erynn’s voice carried through the café. “Though if you’re busy...”

“What do you need?” Ronhar asked, his markings still pulsing with frustrated desire.

“The archive sent over those old recipe books you requested.” She appeared in the doorway, arms full of data crystals. “But I can come back...”

“No, it’s fine.” I smoothed my hair, ignoring Ronhar’s quiet growl. “We were just discussing... inventory.”

“Sure you were.” She winked. “That’s why the garden’s glowing like that.”

Oh.

The plants had responded to our passion, their leaves gleaming with inner light. Even the ceremonial vine seemed to shine brighter.

Heat crept up my cheeks. “The resonance patterns are just... strong today.”

“Uh huh.” Erynn set the crystals on a nearby table. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your... inventory discussion. Though you might want to dim the markings a bit, Ronhar. They’re a bit obvious.”

He growled again as she sauntered out, clearly enjoying our embarrassment.

“Well.” I cleared my throat. “Should we look at those recipes?”

“Later.” He pulled me back against his chest. “I believe we were in the middle of something.”

The bond sparked between us. “Were we?”

“Tease.” His markings blazed as he claimed my mouth again.

This time, no one interrupted.

The café had long since quieted, the hum of the station lulling everything into its evening rhythms. I sat at the small desk in our quarters, the soft light from the ceremonial vine spilling over my grandmother’s cookbook. Its worn cover felt familiar under my fingertips, grounding me.

The latest page was half-filled with notes from the day—adjustments to the Jhrya-infused glaze, an idea for pairing Ronhar’s Kyreth leaves with the Pel’ax mushrooms. Recipes flowed more easily now, as if the bond between us had unlocked something I hadn’t realized was missing. These pages were no longer just my grandmother’s legacy—they were becoming mine.

Through the open window, I could hear the faint laughter of the station’s late-night crowd mingling with the soft chime of the garden crystals. Peaceful. Whole.

I picked up my tablet, hesitating for a moment before powering it on. My father’s last message—his unexpected words of pride—echoed in my mind as I stared at the blank screen.

Cooking is love made visible.

I smiled softly. He’d been right.

I didn’t feel the need to prove myself to him. But I wanted to share this part of my life with him. Not because I owed him anything, but because I’d found something worth sharing.

I opened a new message.

Subject: Thank You

Dad,

I wanted to let you know that I’m okay. More than okay, actually. I’ve found a place that feels like home, surrounded by people who believe in me and what I can do.

I’m married now. His name is Ronhar, and I think you’d like him—he’s steady, kind, and makes me feel like I belong.

I’ve been using Grandma’s cookbook a lot lately. The baozi recipe came out almost as good as hers, though I think she’d have some notes. Thank you for reminding me what cooking really means.

I hope we can talk soon.

Love,

I hit send before I could second-guess myself. The message disappeared into the ether, leaving me staring at the blank screen.

A warm hand touched my shoulder. “Everything okay?”

I tilted my head back to look at Ronhar, his golden eyes soft in the dim light. “Yeah,” I said, leaning into his touch. “It’s just… I sent my dad a message.”

He nodded, the gentle smile still somehow able to take my breath away. “I’m glad.”

The ceremonial vine swayed lightly in the corner, its petals catching the soft glow of the station’s artificial stars. I closed my eyes, feeling the bond between Ronhar and me humming with quiet contentment.

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was running from anything.

I was exactly where I needed to be.