by T D Cloud
Khouri smiled a little and shrugged. Both were likely. “Seems the same as before,” he told him, tapping at the last few lines. “Though he really is getting stir crazy down there without me. I wasn’t expecting another letter for at least a week or two. This says right here that he sent this up only a couple of days ago. I’d think something was wrong if I didn’t know him as well as I do.” Still, it was a bit strange how Navidae kept pushing for him to come back sooner, if only for a short visit.
Not to mention these vague questions on whether or not Khouri had run into anyone while above. Strange…
“You going to write him back now?”
A shrug. Khouri ran his finger along the looping script of Navidae’s signed name. “Probably not right now,” he decided. He’d replied to one of Navidae’s letters last week, and there wasn’t a whole lot to tell him just yet. Navidae may have all the time in the world to write and send letters. Khouri preferred to enjoy himself a bit more first.
Mastha, who had been watching with narrowed eyes, cocked her head curiously. “Who’s it from?”
Khouri flinched. Sorin pulled away and rubbed the back of his neck. He cleared his throat and said, “Just someone from the Duskriven. He likes to check up on Khouri while he’s gone.”
“And he does that by leaving letters on a stranger’s doorstep in the middle of the night?”
Sorin didn’t falter. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s strange like that.”
Mastha raised a brow. “Alright then. Moving along. What are your plans for the day?”
Khouri looked to Sorin, who leaned back in his chair, still nursing his drink. “Well, I figured you had plans for us already in mind,” the man said, looking at his sister knowingly. “I want to show Khouri around a bit more, but there are some things I could do in town too.”
“I want to go to town—” Khouri tried to say, but Sorin was quick to give him that put upon stare.
“Don’t make me get into this again with you,” he sighed, pushing back his chair as he began stacking the dishes into a pile. “No one around here has ever seen a Drow but don’t think that means they’ll respond to you any better than any of the other towns have.”
Khouri rolled the scroll back up and tucked it under his arm. He then crossed his arms and glared at Sorin. “Really?” he said, quirking a brow. “You’re really going to do that here too?”
“Yes, Khouri,” Sorin snipped, “I’m really going to do that here because you still don’t seem to grasp what a bad idea it is to parade you around in public.”
“Wow,” Mastha mused, pulling them both from their argument before it could really take root. She was leaning against the stove, watching with amused eyes. “It’s just like Mom and Dad with you two, isn’t it?”
Khouri colored, but Sorin just rolled his eyes and carried the plates to the sink. “Don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” he muttered.
“Mmm, I’m sure. Don’t bother with those,” she said, batting his hands away from the sink before he could try to wash them. “You’re right to think I have chores for you to do, and they aren’t that.”
Sorin raised a brow. Mastha moved over to a counter, pulling out a spare scrap of paper and a pencil that had seen better days. They watched as she quickly scrawled some notes down before she smacked the paper into Sorin’s chest with a resounding thwack.
“Go into town for me today,” Mastha ordered, moving her hand so Sorin had to fumble else risk the paper falling to the floor. “It’s the end of summer, and that means it’s apple season. Get me everything on that list so I don’t run out of anything in the middle of canning, okay? It’s just the essentials, so it shouldn’t be too much to carry.”
Sorin looked at her and then looked at the list, his brows knitted tightly as his eyes scanned the paper. “You didn’t think to go before?” he muttered, wincing and flinching away when Mastha smacked his arm. “Fine, fine! I’ll go. Happy?”
“I’m overjoyed, Sorrie,” she deadpanned, turning her sights on Khouri next. Khouri sat as straight as a switch in his chair, every nerve on edge. Mastha’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Once you’re done with that, I’ll have you take the kids to the orchard and start the harvest. We want a steady supply so we don’t have to stop right when we’re in the middle of things.
Your little friend here can stay behind and help me in the kitchen. We can get to know each other a bit. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Khouri’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His heart hammered in his chest. Was this fear he felt? He’d faced down armed highwaymen before with little issue, but there was something so ominous about the gleam in Mastha’s eyes as she shoved Sorin towards the door, tossing his boots at him without so much as a warning to catch.
“Hey, come on,” Sorin grunted, doing his best to plant himself in the threshold as Mastha shoved at him with her shoulder. Sorin looked at Khouri pityingly. “You don’t want his help in the kitchen. He’ll eat all the apples before you even get close to canning them.”
“That’s my problem to deal with then, isn’t it?” she delivered, finally managing to push him through the door and out onto the porch. Flushed in the cheeks and breathing hard, Mastha smiled at him victoriously. “He’ll be fine, Sorin. I’m not going to skin him alive while you get me more flour.”
“Yeah, somehow that’s not what I’m worried about,” the man muttered, giving Khouri one last apologetic look before Mastha closed the door in his face.
And then they were alone in the kitchen together.
Khouri swallowed the duskmoths fluttering up his throat and tried to smile at Mastha as she assessed him. He slowly put the letter from Navidae on the table. Somehow, it felt safer there than on his person. What would she have him do? Dishes? He could do dishes. They weren’t that complicated, so he’d… probably be fine, right?
“Get up,” Mastha said, blowing past him as she walked off towards the hallway. “We need to get you different clothes.”
Khouri rushed to stand, nearly unbalancing the chair in his haste to follow. He quickly righted the chair and pushed it in, trailing after her before she disappeared out of sight. “Clothes?” he echoed, taking the chance to look around the first floor of the house. They were in a narrow hallway which connected to a decently sized inner room, one that housed a fireplace and an assortment of chairs and lounges. A few stray toys were scattered around the floor, and the whole place felt rather cozy. Almost like a place meant for the family to gather and entertain one another once the work was done. Navidae certainly didn’t have a similar room in their manor; in fact, Khouri couldn’t recall anything like this in any of the noble homes he’d been inside.
Mastha opened up a small door built into a far wall, kneeling down to root through it for something he couldn’t quite see over her shoulder. “We’re going to be getting a bit messy in the kitchen today,” she said, her voice muffled. “I don’t know what possessed you to dress like that in my house, but if you want those clothes to survive this visit, you’ll be better off wearing what I give you.”
Khouri flushed immediately at that. “Ah, well, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.” He shifted nervously, looking at a small shelf built into the wall beside his head. On it were little trinkets and knickknacks, some clearly made by little hands.
One looked like a little horse or something cobbled together out of driftwood and string. Cute. He looked down when Mastha pulled out a battered old box, dragging it into the open where she could dig through it properly.
“Here we go,” she said, pulling out a few articles of clothes. She held them out to Khouri. “These should fit you,” she said, dusting her hands off on her apron. “They’re a bit old but still good. Definitely better for the kind of work we’re going to do than what you’re wearing now.”
Khouri looked at the soft gray shirt and then at the ruffled white… white somethings. “What are these?” he asked, holding out the strange bottoms. They looked like trousers of some sort, bu
t they were thinner than the kind he usually wore. Ruffled bits of fabric added to the short legs, thin ribbons hanging from the cuffs. To tighten them?
She blinked as if realizing what she’d given him. “Oh, those are bloomers,” she said, looking back down at the box. She bit her lip. “Don’t have much menswear here. This is all old stuff of mine and Neana’s. If you don’t want to wear them, I can figure something out—”
Khouri held the bloomers close to his chest, shaking his head quickly. He’d feel terrible if he put her out because of something like this. “It’s fine,” he promised. “I’m actually used to wearing things that aren’t trousers. I don’t mind it at all.”
Mastha raised a brow, but her smile won out soon enough. She propped her hands on her hips and gave him a nod. “That’s good to hear. Feel free to help yourself to what I’ve got in here. I saw what you arrived in, and I can’t imagine you packed properly for this place.” “Well,” Khouri huffed, rolling his eyes. He set the clothes down on the chair next to him and stripped off his shirt as he turned to face the wall. The new shirt was much softer, light and breathable even though it went down to his mid-thigh. “That’s more my lover’s fault than anything. He’s the one who made me wear all that armor. It didn’t leave much room in my pack for variety.”
He didn’t realize what he’d said until he caught sight of the look of surprise on Mastha’s face.
“Your… lover?” she echoed, watching him trip and hop on one leg as he wrestled to free himself from the trousers. “Aren’t you with Sorin?”
Khouri froze, nearly tumbling over. “Uh…” Surface- dwellers were a lot weirder about that kind of thing, weren’t they? “Well, um. I am with your brother. I also have a lover in the Duskriven,” he said slowly, keeping his eyes on the wall in front of him. “I’ve been with him for… for about fifty years? But Sorin and I are together too.”
There was silence. Khouri swallowed and carefully reached for the bloomers, stepping into them quickly before Mastha caught sight of the scars lining his inner thighs. Thankfully, the bloomers ended at his knees. What a fun time it’d be explaining that aspect of his relationships too.
“And Sorin knows about your other lover,” she said plainly, startling Khouri a bit. It wasn’t a question. It almost sounded like a threat.
It hit him quickly that she wanted to make sure he wasn’t cheating on Sorin.
“Of course,” Khouri said, turning back around to look at her. “He’s met him and everything. We’ve discussed it all too. It’s… It probably sounds strange, but it’s something we’ve all agreed to.”
“Hmm.” She didn’t look accepting, but she didn’t look disgusted either. “So, I think it’s safe to assume your lover is the one who left the letter.” Khouri nodded. She looked contemplative at that, and Khouri decided to take it for what it was than ask for more.
Mastha gave him a one over once he was dressed, and the corners of her lips curved upwards. “You look pretty cute in that,” she admitted, no doubt wanting to embarrass him. Khouri hated how she accomplished it easily.
“Well, thanks, I guess,” he muttered, crossed his arms and shifted his weight from foot to foot. The bloomers were pretty comfortable. He’d have trouble wearing something like this down in Navidae’s place given how cold it always was, so the feeling of having his legs bare was novel and nice. “So… What exactly is it we’ll be doing in the kitchen? Sorin’s not exaggerating; I really don’t know how to cook or anything.”
Mastha huffed, leading the way back into the kitchen. She straightened framed drawings obviously done by her children as she went, and Khouri took them all in as they moved, smiling at the creativity being celebrated at every turn. Was this what it was like to have a family? Khouri couldn’t really imagine it; it seemed so nice. So warm…
“We’re going to do the dishes first,” Mastha said, breaking Khouri from his thoughts. She rounded on him once they reached the kitchen, opening up a cabinet and pulling from it a folded apron. She handed it to Khouri expectantly and then gestured at the table. “We’ll clean up from breakfast and get you familiar with the kitchen first. Then…”
A vicious grin split her face. Khouri fumbled with the ties on the apron, suddenly breaking out in a cold sweat. She was definitely Sorin’s sister, but he had to think she was a completely different type of intense, one he wasn’t sure he knew how to combat just yet.
“And then…?”
Mastha moved towards a long door, opening it to reveal a pantry filled with baskets of apples. Her grin was luminous. “And then,” she said, “we make jam.”
---
By the time Sorin finally came back, Khouri had learned the layout of the kitchen ten times over. His hands were covered in apple and sugar, his hair caught up in a hairband Mastha had saw fit to lend him after he kept getting flour in his fringe, and his tongue still singing with the spices and fruit he’d managed to sneak bites of when Mastha wasn’t watching him. Khouri smiled at Sorin as he shouldered open the front door. As scary as it had been being left alone with his family, he had to think he had managed alright on his own.
“Welcome back,” Khouri greeted, dusting off his hands on the front of his messy apron. “What did you get in town?”
Sorin didn’t answer right away. The big bag in his arms slipped an inch, and his mouth opened as he stared at Khouri. His eyes were wide, his brow furrowed in a way that made Khouri feel embarrassed on principle.
“...What are you wearing?” the man muttered, his eyes roving up and down Khouri’s body.
“Clothes, idiot. Either come in or shut the damn door,” Mastha called out, breaking him from his sudden stupor as she stirred a pot of simmering jam. “You’ll let the damn flies in.”
Sorin seemed to realize himself. He quickly shuffled through the door and closed it behind him, a glare thrown his sister’s way as he set his big bag on the only available counter space left in the room. Khouri turned curiously and tried to look over the top of it without leaving his post. It was hard to see inside, but his nose told him it was something fishy.
“Khouri, start in on the next batch, will you?” Mastha ordered. Khouri quickly whipped around and gave her a dutiful nod. The bowl in front of him was ready for the pot anyway. He pushed it towards Mastha and reached for another bowl to begin cutting another dozen apples, only to find there were no more bowls at the ready. Damn, did they run through them already?
Something warm pressed against his side. Khouri looked up, smiling at Sorin as he leaned against his shoulder. “Hey there,” he said, happy to see him back. “Could you get me one of those bowls on the top shelf? I can’t reach them, and Mastha got mad when I tried to climb the counters the last time.”
“Oh, I bet she loved that,” Sorin muttered as he looked where Khouri pointed. The pale blue bowl was resting on the topmost shelf, a head or so taller than Sorin and considerably out of Khouri’s reach.
“Yeah, she smacked me with…. with a spoon…” Khouri trailed off quickly, huffing in surprise when instead of reaching up and getting the bowl for him like Khouri expected, Sorin just took him by the waist, lifting him off the ground to get it himself. Khouri flushed and tried not to squirm, quickly snagging the bowl and holding it to his chest as he was carefully lowered back onto the floor. “Was that really necessary?” he asked, his voice dropping when the hands tightened on his hips. A kiss burned against his nape.
“You look good like this,” Sorin murmured, his breath tickling Khouri’s ear. Off to the side, Mastha snorted and stirred her pot a little louder until Sorin got the hint to pull away.
Khouri looked up at him as he did so, seeing Sorin roll his eyes. “Was he a good helper?” he asked, moving back to the table where his bags were waiting. “Surprised he didn't just eat all of your apples before you got anything made.”
Mastha put the lid on the pot and sauntered over to the table, sticking her nose into all the bags. “He did just fine,” she said, and Khouri quickly hid his pleased smile in hi
s bowl. “Unlike you, he knows how to follow directions.” Mastha raised a brow at him knowingly. “I didn’t ask you to get all this,” she said tersely. “What happened to ‘just the essentials’?”
“I got your damn flour too,” Sorin muttered, tossing a separate bag at her chest. She fumbled it and barely caught it, and she gave him a ruthless glare when he laughed at her attempt. “Lay off, Mastha. I bought it myself. Figured it’s Khouri’s first day seaside, so we should show him what it’s all about. The kids could use a treat too, you know.”
“And you thought lobster and crab was a suitable treat for three kids who can barely use a fork properly, let alone a claw cracker?”
Khouri looked up at that. Lobster? Crabs? He set down the bowl and inched closer to the table, peeking into the nearest bag. The scent of sea creature greeted his nose quickly followed by the sight of bluish shell, pinching claws, and copious amounts of antennae. “What are these?” he asked, looking at the two siblings with wide, horror-filled eyes. “They're like massive bugs or something.”
Mastha rolled her eyes and propped her hip on the table, giving Sorin a telling look. “And your little friend here doesn’t even know what they are,” she said, savoring every word. “You gonna feed him bugs, Sorrie?”
Khouri gaped. “Are they really bugs?”
Sorin dragged a hand down his face, giving Khouri a look that said he was being a brat. “They aren’t bugs,” he growled, glaring at his sister next. “You’re a menace, you know that? Will you just cook the damn things? I’m treating you too, you know.”
“Yeah, treating me to another sink of dirty dishes,” she snorted. “Break them down for me if you want them cooked. Khouri,” she called. Khouri perked up immediately, ready for the next order. Mastha smiled. “Finish up with that prep, put it in the pot, then start washing up. I think we’ll save the rest for after lunch.”