Chapter 44: I Did Not Survive This Long To Let Isabella Steal My Soup! 1
The soup was ready by sundown.
Neve stood over it in the kitchen and breathed in the steam. Meat floating on the surface, broth a deep, rich colour, the herbs he had added from his medical memory doing something to the smell that salt alone never could. He had spent all afternoon on it. He had tasted it three times and adjusted twice, and now it was exactly what he wanted it to be.
Cael had tasted it an hour ago and gone quiet as he didn’t even expect it himself.
"It’s better than the first time," he had said.
"Of course, I had to make it better. I used herbs this time," Neve said.
"Herbs? What herbs?"
"The ones that work."
Cael had wished to ask more questions but had not pushed further, which was one of the things Neve appreciated about him.
Neve was in the bedroom adjusting his clothes when he heard the voices at the cave entrance. He stopped moving and listened.
Gideon first. Then his brother, Soren.
He stood still in the bedroom, adjusting his clothes and heard Cael cross to meet them.
"Is something wrong?"
"Nothing’s wrong," Gideon said. "The guests are arriving. There are a lot of them. Different tribes, more than usual."
"What about the dragon king?" Cael asked. "Has he arrived?"
Neve held his breath.
"Not yet," Soren said. "He hasn’t arrived."
Neve exhaled.
Not yet. Not yet meant eventually. The system had given him a mission, which meant the mission was completable, which meant Vaelthorn was going to be there tonight. He just had to be patient.
He finished adjusting his shirt and tied his hair back. He had cut a long strip from the leftover white linen and used it as a tie, pulling his hair up into a full-length ponytail that kept it off his face. He checked himself in the water barrel reflection.
Not bad. He was as pretty as always. He had gotten used to the word pretty.
He stepped out of the bedroom.
Soren saw the wrist first. His eyes dropped to it and then to Cael’s wrist, and something moved across his face — warm, tired, genuinely happy.
"You two are finally bonded," he said. "I offer my congratulations."
"Me too," Gideon said. He looked between them with the expression of someone filing something away and choosing not to comment on all of it. "Congratulations."
"Both of you," Neve said. "Thank you."
Neve smiled and turned to Cael. "You should go with your brothers. I’ll bring the soup."
"Bring the soup? Yourself?" Cael looked at the kitchen. "It’s heavy—"
"I can handle it alone."
"Neve."
"Cael. Go. I’ll be right behind you."
Cael looked at him for a moment. Then he leaned down and kissed him. The kiss was not a quick one. It was the kind of kiss that said something specific about what had happened last night and was not bothering to pretend otherwise.
Gideon and Soren both found somewhere else to look. They couldn’t stand and watch them kiss with a straight face.
Neve pulled away and placed his hand on Cael’s face.
"I’ll be fine,"
"Call me if you need anything," Cael said and left with his brothers.
Neve stood in the cave for a moment after they were gone.
He pressed two fingers to his own mouth and blushed. Then he went to the kitchen.
.
.
He stood in front of the soup and folded his hands. He definitely should have left the soup here since it was as heavy as Cael had said, but he thought about Isabella. He knew what that girl could do.
He had watched enough drama in his old world. The good-looking rival with the secret agenda and the resource she would tamper with, given access. The food competition where someone interferes with the other contestant’s dish. He had seen this specific plot so many times that he could write the next three episodes without being told.
He was definitely not leaving the soup unattended. Isabella and her girls could come here and poison it. Her girls had done it before, so they could as well do it again.
So, he put it in his inventory.
The pot vanished cleanly. It was right there on his screen.
"That’s much better," he clapped his hands.
Then he tucked some dried meat strips into his purse, which was folded into his clothes. Finally, the purse was reliable. He needed the meat in case he needed to munch on anything.
After dealing with everything, he stepped outside.
The snow was still there. More of it than this morning. It came up past his ankles and packed around his feet with every step, and he looked down at it with the complicated feelings he had about his own body’s opinions.
He had hated the cold his entire previous life. Layers, heated rooms, hot drinks constantly, the specific misery of wet shoes in winter. His body had been deeply anti-cold.
However, it was different now. This body liked snow.
He could feel it in some base level way... the cold wasn’t unpleasant. It was bracing and clean. He breathed it in, and his chest expanded happily, and he shook his head at himself and kept walking.
If he stopped walking, he could start creating a snowman. And that would make him forget the festival.
As he moved to take another step, he heard it before he saw it.
Someone was crying. The sound was contained, like someone trying to keep it quiet and not quite succeeding, coming from the trees at the edge of the path to the village.
He stopped and looked around.
Then went toward it because he was constitutionally incapable of walking past someone crying in the snow and had been since childhood.
The girl was sitting at the base of a large tree with her knees pulled to her chest and her brown hair half covering her face. She heard him approach and looked up.
She was young, maybe around his age. Her eyes were red from crying and also fear, which was a specific combination he recognised.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Please. You must help me call my brother," she said immediately. "I’m going to die."