The Kiss of Deception (The Remnant Chronicles 1)

“Thank you for the cider, Miss…?” The trader paused, waiting.

“I answer to Lia,” I said. “And you would be?”

After some thought, he finally answered, “Kaden.”

I turned to the fisherman, waiting for his introduction. Instead, he simply rolled my name over his tongue like it was a piece of corn stuck between his teeth. “Lia. Hm.” He slowly rubbed a week’s worth of scruffy stubble on his cheek.

“Kaden and…?” I said, smiling between gritted teeth. I’d be polite if it killed me. I couldn’t afford any more scenes tonight with the customers, not with Berdi looking over my shoulder.

His cool gaze lifted to mine, his chin angling to the side in a challenge. Small lines fanned out from his eyes as he smiled. “Rafe,” he answered.

I tried to ignore the hot coal burning in my gut. His face may not have been kind when he smiled, but it was striking. I felt my temples flush hot, and I prayed he couldn’t see it in the dim light. It was an unusual name for these parts, but I liked its simplicity.

“What can I bring you tonight, Kaden and Rafe?” I rattled off Berdi’s fare, but instead they both asked me about the girl I intervened for.

“She seems young to be working here,” Kaden noted.

“Seventeen, same as me. But certainly more innocent in certain ways.”

“Oh?” Rafe replied, his short response filled with innuendo.

“Pauline has a tender heart,” I replied. “Whereas I’ve learned to harden mine against rude inquiries.”

He grinned. “Yes, I can see that.” In spite of his baiting, I found his grin disarming, and I forgot the response that had been on the tip of my tongue. I turned my attention back to Kaden, who I was relieved to find staring at his mug instead of me, as if in deep thought.

“I’d recommend the stew,” I offered. “It seems to be the favorite here.”

Kaden looked up and smiled warmly. “Then the stew it will be, Lia.”

“And I’ll go with the venison,” Rafe said. Little surprise. I’d look for the toughest cut for him. The chewing might wipe the smug grin from his face.

Gwyneth was suddenly at my elbow. “Berdi would like your help in the kitchen. Now. I’ll take care of these gents from here.”

Of course, we both knew the last thing that Berdi needed was my help cooking or chopping anything in the kitchen, but I nodded and left Rafe and Kaden to Gwyneth.

I was banished to the kitchen for the rest of the evening after a hushed but heated lecture from Berdi on the perils of getting on the authorities’ bad side. I argued valiantly on the side of justice and decency, but Berdi argued just as hard on the side of practicalities like survival. She carefully danced around the word princess, because Enzo was within earshot, but her meaning was clear—that here my status didn’t amount to a fat cow patty, and I had better learn to dampen my imperious fiery tongue.

For the rest of the evening, Berdi served meals, popping in to give me orders or season a fresh pot of stew, but mostly making sure the soldiers had second helpings—all on the house. I loathed the compromise she made and chopped viciously at my onion.

Once the third onion was reduced to minced mash and my anger was for the most part spent, my thoughts returned to Rafe and Kaden. I’d never know if either one was a fisherman or pelt trader. By now they were probably far down the road, and I’d never see them again. I thought about Gwyneth and how she flirted with her customers, manipulating them to her will. Had she done the same with them?

I grabbed a knobby orange tuber from a basket and pounded it down on the butcher block. In less time than the onions, it was mash too, except for the chunks that flew out of control to the floor.

CHAPTER TEN

At the end of the evening, when Pauline had returned to our cottage and Enzo and Gwyneth had left for the night, I wearily scraped at the last empty stew pot. Some crusted remains were stubbornly stuck to its bottom.

I felt like I was back at the citadelle and had been sent to my bedchamber once again. Memories of my most recent banishment taunted me, and I blinked back tears. I will not tell you again, Arabella, you are to hold your tongue! my father had blustered, his face red, and I had wondered if he would hit me, but he had only stormed from my room. We’d been at a court dinner, my father’s entire cabinet present. The Chancellor had sat across from me wearing his silver-trimmed coat, with his knuckles so bejeweled I wondered if he had trouble lifting his fork. When the conversation turned toward trimming budgets and drunken jests of doubling soldiers up on horses, I chimed in that if the cabinet pooled their jewels and baubles, maybe the treasury would have a surplus. Of course I looked at the Chancellor and raised my glass to him to make sure my point wasn’t lost on their ale-soaked minds. It was a truth my father hadn’t wanted to hear, at least not from me.

I heard a rustle and glanced up to see a very tired Berdi shuffle into the kitchen. I redoubled my efforts on the pot. She walked over and stood silently by my side. I waited for her to berate me again, but instead she lifted my chin so I had to look at her and said softly that I had had every right to chastise the soldier harshly and she was glad that I did.

“But harsh words coming from a young woman like you, as opposed to an old crone like me, are more likely to ignite egos rather than tame them. You need to be careful. I was as worried for you as I was for me. That doesn’t mean the words didn’t need to be said, and you said them well. I’m sorry.”

My throat tightened. In all the times I had spoken my mind with my parents, I had never been told I said anything well, much less heard any shred of apology. I blinked, wishing I had an onion now to explain my stinging eyes. Berdi drew me into her arms and held me, giving me a chance to compose myself.

“It’s been a long day,” she whispered. “Go. Rest. I’ll finish up here.”

I nodded, still not trusting myself to speak.