The Ciphers of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood #2)(14)

“Do not trouble yourself,” Sabine interrupted graciously. “I was showing her part of the grounds. Have you had supper yet?”

“No,” Suzenne replied, still wringing her hands. “I remembered on my way to the learner kitchen that I was supposed to start coming here for my meals. I checked inside and Collett said she had not seen you yet.”

Maia wondered why Suzenne looked so disturbed, but she smiled and said nothing about the friends who had beckoned the other girl to join them. Perhaps she was feeling guilty about her choice. Together they opened the door to the kitchen, and a delicious spicy smell wafted out.

As Maia gazed inside the opening, she was struck by how immaculate it was. This was not a kitchen full of flour dust and spilled seeds. The floor was swept, the trestle tables were perfectly aligned, and every pan, ladle, and crockery was hanging from a measured peg or sturdy shelf. The kitchen had a vast aroma of wonderful smells—yeasty bread, cinnamon, cloves, salted stew. The head cook, Collett, was an older woman who wore a clean apron and her hair pulled back in a tight bun. She stood when they arrived, and her expression was quite sour and grim. She gripped a wooden spoon like a sword hilt.

“Well, your supper is half cold now, I suspect,” she said primly in a slightly raspy voice. “I serve meals at sunup and sundown. It pleases the Medium when we are on time.”

“I beg your pardon,” Sabine said, smiling at the other woman with obvious affection. “I made us late and bear the blame. What is that delicious smell, Collett?”

She fidgeted a bit, trying not to look pleased. “A cobbler for the Aldermaston and one for us. They are nearly done.”

“It smells divine. I miss your cobbler, Collett. What fruit did you use?”

“I had some moldering apples in the cold storage,” Collett said with a sniff. “Not much good for anything else.”

“Even better,” crooned Sabine. “This is my granddaughter, Maia,” she said, taking the younger woman’s arm. “And her companion, Suzenne Clarencieux.”

“I know Lady Suzenne, of course,” Collett said with a dignified air. “Welcome to the Aldermaston’s kitchen, Lady Maia.”

Maia gazed around, remembering the stories she had heard of how her ancestor, Lia Demont, had been raised in this very kitchen. There were large ovens in the corners and a high sloped ceiling that ended in a cupola, supported by struts. The heat from the fires hung warmly in the air, and the wonderful smells from the kitchen entranced her. Two scullery girls, probably the same age—around eight or nine—sat eating on a bench in the corner of the room. They were talking in very low voices and pointing at the new arrivals with wonder.

A sturdy loft had been erected on one side, and Maia could see it was packed with barrels and sacks. Every article in the room had been arranged just so, all a declaration of Collett’s keen sense of organization and discipline. She was taken aback when she spied an older gentleman with snowy white hair, and a mustache to match, sitting on a barrel by the ovens. He was eating a bowl of soup, his leather cap resting on his knee, but he was so quiet she had not noticed him.

“Well, I will not allow you to stand idle and unfed,” Collett announced firmly. “There are bowls and spoons over in that cabinet as you see them. I do not waste food, so I did not serve you yet.” She waved a hand at a large pot. “I need to tend to the cobbler.”

Maia fetched the dishes and ladled herself a generous helping of the savory stew. She then took her bowl and walked over to the two empty chairs near the bench where the younger girls sat. “May I sit with you?”

One of the girls had light hair with reddish streaks, braided into a crown, and she nodded vigorously, her gray eyes bright with interest. “Yes. Are you a wretched like me? You serve the king’s daughter?” she asked, nodding her head toward Suzenne, who was following with her own bowl. Suzenne’s face went scarlet with shame.

“I am the king’s daughter,” Maia said, smiling at the mistake. She mussed up the girl’s silky hair, loosening some of it from the braid. “And yes, I do feel a little like a wretched sometimes.”

“You should not have said that, Aloia,” said the little girl’s companion, a girl with dark hair and blue eyes and rosebud lips. “You are always saying silly things.”

“Is she now?” Maia asked, then took her first bite of stew. It was a tantalizing blend of onion, carrots, potato, and venison. The broth was creamy and salty. It was delicious.

“She is always saying too much,” said the dark-haired girl. “She never stops talking.”

“That is unfair,” the girl said, pouting. “You like to talk as much as I do.”

“What are your names?” Maia asked, looking from one girl to the other. Suzenne settled on a chair next to her, blinking with surprise that Maia was speaking to the younger girls. Sabine and Collet spoke in low tones about one of the cook’s recipes.

“I am Davinia,” said the dark-haired waif, smoothing her skirt. “She calls me Davi.”

“I am Aloia,” said the braided girl. “And I am not stupid.”

“Of course you are not,” Maia said, reaching out and pinching her nose softly. “Have you always lived in the kitchen?” she asked.

“Always,” said Davi. “Since we were left behind. It does not happen so often now. There are only five wretcheds in the entire abbey.”