Chapter 100: You think Cyrus is funny too?
Cyrus cleared his throat, his voice smooth yet firm as he began explaining everything Isabella had painstakingly tried to drill into their thick skulls for the past hour.
"When using herbs and spices, you must understand their nature," he started, picking up a handful of bright green leaves. "This is basil. It adds flavor but should only be added near the end of cooking, or else its taste weakens." He placed it back down and picked up a small bundle of twisted brown roots. "Ginger, for warmth and spice. You crush it before using it to release its juices. This," he gestured toward a pile of dried red flakes, "is cayenne. Very spicy. Only a pinch unless you want your tongue to burn."
Isabella blinked. He’d absorbed all that? So that was why he’d been so silent.
The others were uncharacteristically silent, actually listening. She watched as he patiently repeated things when Ophelia, wide-eyed and innocent, tilted her head and asked, "But why does it burn?"
Shelia groaned dramatically. "Who cares, Ophelia? Just know that it does!"
Luca, arms crossed, looked almost suspicious. "And what about this one?" He held up a sprig of rosemary and sniffed it. "It smells like the bushes outside my den."
Cyrus nodded, unfazed. "That’s rosemary. It adds depth to meats and broths. You use it in stews like this." He pointed to a bubbling clay pot.
Isabella glanced at the group, and it seemed like they were starting to understand. Her eyes returned to Cyrus. He was so calm, so kind—and so patient with them.
Not once did he raise his voice when Luca said something ridiculous. Not once did he show irritation when Shelia kept asking the same questions over and over. And even when Ophelia apologized for the hundredth time, he never seemed frustrated.
He handled them all with nothing but kindness and patience, and for the first time, Isabella saw him in a new light.
How could such a nice person be capable of so much evil?