Season notes: violence, death, attempted murder
The next morning, Mattin made sure to get up early. It was a surprise to wake in his new room, which smelled faintly of fabrics and lavender. He moved quietly as he dressed and exited the mistress’ suite, careful not to disturb her. And went looking for Cook.
Unsurprisingly, Mattin found him in the kitchen.
Mattin had seen the half-fae several times since his return from court, but they hadn’t had a chance to talk. Now, they fell into their old routine of preparing the day’s bread and catching up. Cook shared all the amusing gossip of the manor while Mattin filled Cook in on events at court. When the last of the dough was set to rise, they sat down together with hot broth and yesterday’s loaf-ends. In the yeasty heat, with food and a friend, Mattin finally relaxed.
“So, are you going to tell me about it?” Cook asked, ripping off a hunk of bread.
Mattin laughed. “Do I need to, or are you going to read my mind?”
“Read your mind?”
Mattin shrugged and took a long drink of the still-hot broth. “Yeah, I’m going to tell you about it.”
Thankfully, Cook waited quietly while Mattin pulled his thoughts together.
“Something happened yesterday. Marta… said something to the lady that was… wrong.”
Cook sighed. “You can’t expect her to be comfortable with Jahlene yet, lad. She may never be.”
Mattin shook his head. “After she left, the lady said I should have known better than to believe… believe what Marta said.” He took another drink. “I think… I think she thought I was angry with her, instead of being angry with Marta for saying…. those things.”
Cook humphed. “Those things which you have no intention of telling me.” He bit into the bread and chewed. The fingers of his left hand tapped the table in a rhythm that made Mattin twitchy.
“I take it you are wondering how Jahlene can misunderstand when she tastes your feelings through the glamour?”
Mattin nodded, and tension eased out of his shoulders—whether because Cook understood or had finally stopped tapping, he wasn’t sure.
“You know I have a tiny glamour, and it is different for a full fae?”
Mattin nodded again.
“Well, there is a taste to emotions. If you ever hear Jahlene talk about it, and she won’t often, she’ll mention a spicy anger, bitter grief, sweet pleasure. How strong passion can become like honey eaten from the jar—too much, and it clogs the taste and becomes revolting. When you eat a stew, can you tell which spices flavored it?”
Mattin thought about it. “Sometimes. Here… you use spices I’m not used to.”
Cook nodded. “Just so. But you can taste stew and say it is bitter, or sweet, or savory.”
“Yes.” Mattin thought he could see where Cook was going with this.
“So, Jahlene can tell that you are ‘bitter’ or ‘spicy’ or ‘salty’. But she doesn’t know you well enough to find the source of those flavors.”
Mattin nodded, then stopped. “But, wouldn’t she know she can’t tell? How hard it is to recognize what you don’t know?”
Cook laughed and swallowed the last of his bread. “How easily did you recognize that you didn’t know everything about glamour when you first arrived?”
Mattin blushed and got up from the table. “I think it’s time to check the dough.”
“Why, so it is.”
Mattin ignored the Cook’s amusement and started punching down some of the risen dough.
After beating down the first of the dough balls, Mattin cleared his throat. “So, it’s like someone who assumes that because the soup is bitter, it must be made with radish?”
Cook nodded. “Very like. When you first came here, you were mad, resentful, and scared of her. Ergo, every time you are mad, resentful, or scared, in her mind, it is about her.”
Mattin shook his head. “And you said I made everything about me.”
As Mattin left, Cook pulled out his flask and took a healthy shot. As the liquor burned its way down his throat, he grabbed a bit of scrap paper and pencil and started writing.
Steward,
I learned something this morning that I believe has an impact on a discussion you and I had some months ago. I hope this information may be of use to you. Apparently…
When Brit got Cook’s note, he tore it to pieces, then stalked about his room for some minutes. Spring was always a busy time, but by God and Mare, the next time he had a chance to talk with that girl in private, he would have a few things to say.
Mattin wished he could talk with the mistress about what had happened, what Cook said. But she remained distant. The next day when she suggested he have dinner with Marta, he accepted. He did want time with his sister, and it would be nice to spend time with someone willing to talk. Even if he couldn’t talk with her about Jahlene.
His happiness at the prospect was short-lived.
Marta had settled in well enough. She was willing to talk about the people she’d met in the manor and the things she did to occupy her day. Elose had taken it upon herself to help Marta smooth her way into the tight-knit community. Unfortunately, Marta wasn’t comfortable with Elose.
“She is wonderfully kind, I don’t want you to think she’s been mean or anything.” Marta hastened to explain at one point. “She’s so forward—she says all these things like they are normal and is always talking about how wonderful ‘the mistress’ is.” Marta shuddered. “I swear, Mattin, I’m starting to think she has everyone in this place under some kind of twisted control. At least… there… I was allowed to hate what was done to me.”
Mattin hadn’t figured out how to respond when she returned to the subject of Elose. “I like her well enough, I guess. I just… she’s not my type.”
Mattin would have thought Elose was just Marta’s type — pretty, smart, and with strong prospects for advancement. But he supposed that as important as Housekeeper was to the manor, it didn’t rate compared to the rich merchant’s children Marta used to pine after. And it was all too possible that her time with Oeloff had left her… less inclined to those games.
He satisfied himself with keeping his mouth full.
While Mattin took dinner with his sister, Jahlene sent for Parlen and Brit so the three friends could relax together. Brit, sensitive to her moods, restrained himself from discussing the mess she was creating with Mattin. She needed to relax before she’d be able to hear anything he said. And with time to calm down himself, he realized giving in to his initial impulse and yelling at her wouldn’t help.
So they relaxed together, Jahlene sprawled on the couch with her hair spread behind her. Brit paced the room, waving his arms while he described some of the escapades Toerff and Joth had gotten into while Jahlene was at court. Parlen, on the floor, shared her own anecdotes from court. And Brit bided his time.
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