Promise the Sky

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Kiara

 

 

 

"Kiara! You're soaked."

"Of course I am." I grumble, hanging my coat on a hook and drawing down my apron. "It is raining."

The jacket drips glumly onto the floor. As sodden as it is, and with no one inside it, it looks thoroughly depressed. I cannot help it; my lips curl at the sight, a metaphor for myself. Damp, bedraggled, empty, alone. And it just looks so sorry for itself.

Tying the apron's straps tightly around my waist, I return to the job at hand. No time for self-pity when there is edible art to be created. Besides, my heart still rushes giddily. There are parts of this city, high parts, free parts, that belong only to the horizon and I, and it has been too long since last I paid them visit.

The kitchen is hot, it always is. Deep in the bowels of the town hall and surrounded in enough stone to defend an entire city. The fires never go out, but even if they did, this place would stay warm for days.

I brush past Jamison, the cook, where he stands central, surrounded by three tables and so many varying foodstuffs that there is barely an inch free to work in. Not that he needs the space, of course.

Silently, I make my way to my tiny corner. Far less exciting, but I find it comforting to have three foot of solid oak between myself and the rest of the world. I have interesting things also, on my table; petite sugar-paper flowers and things that sparkle. But, honestly, I can make a tiny slice of heaven with nothing more than eggs, flour and sugar.

"Melissa only just made it too." Jamison calls. He knows what I'm like when it rains, he knows. But six years we have been working together and not once has he cared.

I say nothing, checking briefly on the dough I have left to rise before cracking a single egg into a bowl.

"It's lucky really," He says, "tables take hours to set; she doesn't have the time to stand in front of the fire. You on the other hand..."

I look up briefly and there he is, encroaching upon my corner, standing in my space. Behind him dinner continues to cook itself, knives and vegetables hovering in the air with undisguised surety. It is a blatant display of his magical ability, no concession to my condition, or the weather, or my feelings. He just does not care.

I huff discontentedly and crack a second egg. I use only my hands.

"Come on, kid, this godforsaken place becomes horrifically claustrophobic when you go all thunder and lightning; no one's allowed to be happy."

I get the third egg in the bowl before his hands slam down on my shoulders.

"Seriously, Kiara," he says, "you're making a puddle."

I grab a wooden spoon angrily and force it into the bowl. I refuse to look up, I refuse to shrug him off. He can just stay there for all I care. I didn't choose to be this way.

"Right that's it, girl. I won't have anyone catching a cold in my kitchen." Jamison declares, ever jovial.

I growl angrily but I do not even have the time to drop the spoon before he has hoisted me off the ground. His arms are clamped firmly around my waist but I can still feel his magic curling around my body, trying to get some kind of grip on my resistant skin.

"Jami!" I scream, furious, as the scent of lilies begins slowly to drown me. I am choking on it; a sickly taste, so potent, and filled with everything I hate about myself. "Jami let me go!"