“And miss this? Not a feckin’ hope. I must say, until this exact moment, my day has been shite. Ruairi’s going to keel over when he hears—”
I sent the stubborn fecker to the oubliette.
Aveen stood her ground when I stalked toward her. “Feel better now?” I asked.
“I’d feel better if I’d stabbed you in the heart.”
Good luck with that. I gathered one of the golden curls from her face, brushing my fingertips against her petal-soft skin. I’d missed this. Her fire. Her light. “Get in line, my little viper. You’ll have to wait your turn.”
I longed to close the gap between us. But she’d made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing to do with me. And that was the way it needed to be. So, instead of pinning her body to the stones and making her moan so loud the walls rattled, I turned and started for the door. “Are you hungry? Because I am famished.” Maybe Eava would let me eat if I brought the human to meet her.
“I suppose even hostages need to eat.”
I changed my shirt into the blue one that Eava said made my eyes look pretty. “Would you prefer widow fingers or orphan ears?”
I swore she almost smiled. “Surprise me.”
We descended the stairs in silence, our footsteps falling in sync. By the time we reached the ground floor, she seemed to have relaxed. Eava hummed as she always did, meaning she hadn’t heard our approach. When she saw us, her black eyes sparkled the way they did every Saturday night after our proposals.
“There’s my boy! Is this who I think it is?” she said as if she hadn’t threatened to chop me up over not bringing Aveen breakfast only an hour ago. “Oh, she is a dote! Come closer, girl, give us a look at ye.”
Seeing the two of them together did strange things to my stomach. Strange, unwelcome, warm, fuzzy things. “This is Aveen. Aveen, this stunning young woman is Eava.”
“Oh, you!” Eava gave me a slap. “Deceitful wretch. Young woman, my arse.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet the woman responsible for the world’s best cherry tarts,” Aveen said.
She remembered me mentioning Eava that night. Was she remembering anything else that had happened? The way it felt when I’d been buried inside her. The way I’d left her crying out for more. I had to adjust myself to keep the women from seeing how much the memory affected me.
“I’m surprised this selfish bastard shared,” Eava said, side-eyeing me. “He must be smitten with ye.”
Oh, please. I was obsessed, not smitten. Being smitten implied an air of happiness. All this obsession did was make life hell for us both. “Eava’s mind is going. We only keep her around out of pity.”
“Careful, boy. Or the next time I make ye tarts, they’ll be poisoned.”
An idle threat if I ever heard one. She’d kill me outright before she’d risk her reputation as the best cook in Tearmann over a batch of poisoned tarts.
Eava gave one of the stools at the counter a pat. “Hop up there, and we’ll see what we have fer brekkie.”
For once, Aveen did as she was told.
“Where’s yer brother?” Eava threw over her shoulder.
After dying and coming back so often in such a short space of time, his magic reserves would be empty. And the moment he had a spark, he wouldn’t conserve it so that he could escape the black pit. He’d shift a bottle and drink till he was scuttered. He’d be lucky to get out of the oubliette before dinner. “Busy drinking himself into a stupor, no doubt.”
“Right so. He’ll be needing soakage when he’s through.”
Eava’s answer for everything: food.
I jumped onto the stool next to Aveen, watching her watch Eava bustle around the kitchen. When she caught me, she glared. Which only made me smile more. “Besides widows and orphans, what do you like for breakfast?”
Eava laughed as she stirred whatever was inside one of the black cast iron pots. Some sort of stew, by the smell of it.
“I’ll eat just about anything,” Aveen said.
“I didn’t ask what you’d eat. I asked what you like.”
For some reason, the simple question made her brow furrow. “I like . . . um . . . poached eggs and toast.”