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twenty-one

Bad Tidings

H eather concentrated on the scroll card recipe the considerate baker had gifted her.

The ingredients for the macarons were simple, but the pastry chef had stressed it wasn’t the components, but the rate they were mixed that was crucial.

She set the instructions down on the wooded kitchen table surface.

Clive hovered over, landing with his reedy arms on his hips as he stomped over to the scroll.

Heather tied on an apron she discovered hanging in the cupboard.

He was not by any means thrilled by her presence in what he considered ‘his domain.’ She watched him inspect the recipe as she gathered ingredients.

As she pulled a small sack of sugar from the pantry, she was surprised to also find butter and eggs there, magically chilled. Back at the human court, they would have to be stored in a cool root cellar.

When she cracked four eggs and separated the whites from the yolks, she wondered at how the eggs were pixie sized?

The pixies must shrink all kinds of things the way that Tarragon had shrunk this very castle.

Were there miniature chickens wandering around somewhere?

She’d have to ask Skye. Was it possible to do the opposite?

Tarragon and Skye had reverted this castle back to its original size…

but could they enchant her home big enough for humans to live in?

Could they make giant sized chickens and eggs?

The baker had stressed heating the egg whites would be the easier way to bake the macarons for a beginner. And she warned against adding too much flour, as the consistency would be ruined. There was only one ingredient Heather failed to find in the castle’s stores.

“Clive, do you have any almonds?” she dared ask the obstinate, glowering little male. The recipe required she grind them in a pestle and shift them until the desired fine powdered flour was produced. It would be a lesson in patience, undoubtedly.

The aroma of fresh baked bread hung heavy, and Heather breathed it in deep. Clive and his hive had a productive morn. An open flour sack remained on the worktable.

The hob stomped over to the flour and kicked some straight up into her face. Thoroughly dousing Heather. She sputtered and coughed, creating a powdery cloud as it escaped from her breath.

Skye chose that moment to enter the room. He caught sight of her and huffed a laugh.

“I see things are going well in here.” He said as he looked suspiciously down at Clive, who had the audacity to pull his hands behind his back nonchalantly, then sway back and forth on the heels of his curled boots.

Avoiding Skye’s direct gaze. The perfect facade of innocence. What a funny little devil.

Skye chuckled, plucked a handkerchief from his tunic pocket and began to wipe away the flour from Heather’s face.

“I dared ask Clive if we had any almonds for the macarons.” Heather laughed between the gentle sweeps across her eyelids.

Skye clasped her jaw with his other hand, and he leaned down to place a quick kiss on her forehead.

Heather quickly dipped her pointer finger in the flour and bopped him on the nose, leaving a fingerprint of flour there.

She grinned. “Welcome to Clive’s kitchen. ”

“And pray tell, what did he say?” He looked at Clive pointedly. The hob zig-zagged in the air and spoke a series of chirps and chortles. “You need to apologize to Lady Heather, Clive.” Skye crossed his arms over his chest and stared down the little faerie.

Clive sunk back down to the table, gazing at his feet.

He released a heavy sigh and bowed before Heather and chirruped an apology.

Heather scooped up a handful of flour and blew into her palm, coating Clive in flour.

She giggled, “Now we all match.” Clive huffed, fluttering out the open window beyond the work counter.

Heather looked to Skye, thinking, so much for the almonds.

Skye rolled the long sleeves of his tunic up to his elbows.

Heather’s eyes returned to the curvature of his strong forearms, again and again.

There was an allure in seeing something that was too often hidden from view.

Forbidden. Mayhap that was why he was captivated by her ankles as she adjusted her stockings in the square.

He retrieved a dishcloth from the table and slung it over his shoulder.

Skye slid the recipe scroll across the table to examine it.

“We’re supposed to heat the egg whites but avoid scorching them. It might be challenging to do over the open hearth,” said Heather.

Skye picked up the bowl, whisking the eggs with skill, as if he had done it many times before. She raised her eyebrows at the sight.

“Do you do much baking?” she inquired. Skye gave her an easy grin. The dimple to the left of his mouth making an appearance.

“A little. My mother would bake all the time, and Aster and I were always involved. I know a thing or two.”

He carried the bowl over to the hearth. His green magick swirled around the flame and then met with the bottom of the bowl, all the while whisking.

“That should do it.”

Magick. Magick made everything so much easier. What incredible things could Heather do if she had her own?

Clive returned through the window, struggling to stay afloat with a weighty sack of almonds in tow. He dropped them into Heather’s palm.

“My thanks,” she told him, already forgiving his previous tantrum.

“We need to make these into flour.” Heather informed Skye.

He took them from her, threw them up in the air, freeing the nuts from the bag.

Once again, his green magick swirled around the almonds, creating a whirlwind, gathering them and churning the nuts until they were reduced to a fine powder.

Heather watched on, relieved she wouldn’t have to spend precious time and energy using the pestle.

Skye’s spinning magick deposited the almond flour into a bowl on the counter.

“Next, we’re to sift the powdered sugar and almond flour together. Then whisk in the egg whites, salt and sugar. I have some beetroot ready to add color,” said Heather.

They added the ingredients into a larger bowl, Skye’s magick this time stirring the mixture.

She took the opportunity to gather the items required for the filling.

It was an icing largely made from butter and sugar.

The baker had called it buttercream. The challenge with it lay in the sugar needed to be reduced to a fine powder confection.

She didn’t think that this recipe could be achieved without the faerie’s magick.

“Where do you keep the baking pans, Clive?” asked Heather. The faerie looked over to Skye, then released a deep sigh. Relenting, he pointed to the counter below his feet. “Chirrp.”

“He says ‘below,’” interpreted Skye.

Heather retrieved two baking sheets from the cabinet under the preparation table.

She was prepared to painstakingly spoon out their macaron batter into inch wide dollops, when Skye’s magick, as if by unseen hands, began dishing out the mixture onto the pans.

Heather laughed, “We could do this every day with your magick.” She watched as the magicked spoon filled both trays.

Skye’s eyes latched onto hers. “I would do this every day to make ye happy.” Heather imagined that her face was as pink as the macaron batter.

Clive watched the entire process intently.

He wandered from the recipe scroll, over to the batter on the sheet, and then over to the filling Heather was mixing.

The cream was beginning to thicken into an airy, fluffy mix.

He flew past the bowl and made a seat on her shoulder.

She didn’t know what to expect next from the winged creature.

Mayhap he was warming to her? Or devising more mischief?

Heather was determined to win him over. She held out the spoon. “Clive, would you like to taste test the buttercream?” The little devil licked his lips and nodded, then stuffed his face. He came up for air once and then planted himself back into the mixture, clearly lovestruck.

“Alright, that’s enough. Don’t be a hog. Let someone else try it,” reprimanded Skye.

“Here, you can have this spoon, Clive,” Heather set it down, with the faerie still aboard, onto the table. Then she selected another spoon, scooped up a healthy amount, this time offering it to Skye.

Tarragon entered the kitchen, “Ella told me this is where I would find you two.”

Heather’s heart beat double time. In all truth, she had hoped when she saw the male next, Jessa would be at his side.

“I’ve just returned from the human realm. I searched the castle kitchens and couldn’t locate your friend anywhere. In fact, Jessa seems to have disappeared.”

“Disappeared? What do you mean?” asked Heather.

Someone must have hurt her or taken her.

Jessa wouldn’t have simply walked away from the only home she’d ever known, Mae and her position, her bees.

How deadly were the circumstances in the village?

Heather’s insides twisted. What if Uster acted on his evil whims now that Heather was unavailable to torment?

Was she to blame for Jessa’s sudden disappearance?

Did the king take his anger out on Jessa when he found both Heather and the child’s castle gone?

She envisioned Jessa locked in the cold dungeon under the castle.

It was not uncommon for the king’s enemies to go ‘missing.’ Her hands were suddenly clammy.

“I overheard something alarming,” Tarragon said hesitantly. Heather’s wandering thoughts snapped back to attention.

“Is Jessa in the dungeons?” she asked, palm pressing into her riotous stomach.

“No…” Tarragon looked over at Skye and grimaced. “Based on the sudden disappearance, courtiers believe Jessa was your poisoner, or rather King Willem’s.”

Heather needed a chair. Mayhap she misheard the male. Skye magicked in a seat from another room and helped her to it. She held a hand over her temple. It was difficult to form words.

“No, Jessa wouldn’t do that.” Memories of Jessa haunting the kitchen alcove, wringing her hands in her apron, fearing for Heather, the concern written on her expression.

She shook her head. She simply refused to believe it.

The king’s court were fiends. Spreading vicious lies was their specialty.

Heather had firsthand experience of their cavalier cruelty.

“What was Jessa’s role in the kitchen? Did she specialize in anything?” Skye asked gently.

Heather’s thoughts whirled. Years of the two girls maturing side by side.

Then surviving their low rank at court on a daily basis.

Growing alongside the garden they tended each day.

Dodging the greedy hands and plans of the lustful lords.

Sharing their small room. Plaiting each other’s hair and exchanging their hopes, dreams and innermost feelings. Heat built behind her eyes.

She struggled to utter the words, “She works with the bees, gathers truffles and forages the wilds.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “But she wouldn’t do this. Not to me. We lived as sisters.”

Heather needed to lie down. Too many possibilities assailed her. She was second guessing every moment of their shared lives. Memories over the years struck her with force. Did she misconstrue their interactions? Was their friendship one sided?

The room spun, and she held tighter to the arm of the chair. If the deceit came to fortuity… Heather would never be able to heal from the deep wound the betrayal would spear into her heart.

Skye leaned on one knee beside her, taking her hand in his. Her cold fingers warmed in his palm. Even kneeling, his height shadowed hers.

She peered up at him. “Jessa wouldn’t do that to me. It had to have been someone else. That court thrives on lies. And she was aware I tested everything. Any poison meant for the king would have struck me first. She’s not a devious person.”

She pleaded with him with her eyes to trust her judgment. Then she looked Tarragon in the eye and held his gaze.

“You have to carry on with your search.” She repeated to him, her voice resolute. She would not know peace until she understood what happened to her only friend in the world. “Verily, some danger has befallen her.”

Tarragon looked to Skye for instruction. Skye nodded in agreement with Heather.

“Heather knows Jessa best,” said Skye.

Clive flew to her side, clasping a wooden spoon, top heavy from a scoop of butter cream. Heather took it from him, half-conscious that she did so.

“My thanks,” she murmured, overburdened by the information presented to her.

“I’ll journey back to the human court and take another look, then.” replied Tarragon, before he promptly left the room.

Skye handed Heather a steaming mug of mint tea. Through her worry, she gladly took it from him, marveling that he remembered.