Page 22 of Sanctuary and Spices

“‘A handful.’ ‘Until it feels right.’ ‘The amount that fits in your palm.’” I laughed softly. “She said exact measurements killed the spirit of cooking.”

“Like gardening.” He pulled a sprig of something from his pocket—delicate purple leaves that released a sharp, sweet scent when crushed. “Sometimes you have to trust your instincts more than instructions.”

I took the sprig, rolling it between my fingers. “What is this?”

“Drelka root. Just harvested. I thought it might complement your festival menu.”

The herb’s aroma shifted as it warmed against my skin—first pepper-sharp, then honey-sweet. “May I?”

At his nod, I touched the edge of a leaf to my tongue. Flavors bloomed—sunshine and rain, earth and air. “Oh. That’s...” I closed my eyes, savoring. “The crystals in your garden enhance the natural properties?”

“They do.” His voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful. His markings pulsed brighter. “But I’ve never seen it respond quite like this. Usually it takes days to develop such complex notes.”

I grabbed my tablet, already planning combinations. “What if we infused it into the base sauce? Your crystals could amplify the?—”

“Wait.” Ronhar’s markings brightened as he studied the cookbook more closely. “This recipe. Baozi, right?”

“Yes.” My heart ached as I looked at the page, the smudged handwriting more familiar than my own. “It was one of my grandmother’s best sellers. I’ve been thinking about adapting it—maybe using the valthorn preserves.”

“Drelka root could balance the sweetness,” Ronhar said, his voice steady as though he’d already imagined the flavors.

“And Kyreth leaves for depth,” I added, surprised at how easily the idea came. I looked up to find him watching me, his golden eyes warm.

“Let’s try it,” he said.

“What, now?”

He was already moving toward the prep station, gathering ingredients with quiet efficiency. “Show me how your grandmother made baozi.”

I hesitated for only a moment before joining him. The familiar rhythm of the kitchen wrapped around me like a blanket as we worked. I guided Ronhar through the steps of kneading the dough and mixing the filling, adjusting measurements as we tested new combinations.

The first batch was a disaster—the dough refused to rise properly—but by the third attempt, we’d found the right balance.

“This one,” I said, holding up a perfectly shaped baozi. The aroma of drelka root and Kyreth leaves filled the air. “This feels right.”

Ronhar popped the dumpling into his mouth, his markings flaring with approval. “Your grandmother would be proud.”

Something in my chest loosened. For the first time in years, cooking felt like love again.

The kitchen plunged into darkness.

“Ronhar?”

“Power fluctuation.” His markings provided the only light now, casting everything in an ethereal green glow. “The garden’s environmental controls...”

We moved together toward the plants. Without the usual soft glow of the crystal formations, shadows turned familiar spaces strange. I bumped into the prep counter, swore under my breath.

“Here.” His hand found mine in the dark. “Follow me.”

His skin was fever-warm against my palm, grounding me. I focused on that contact as he guided me through the darkness, trying to ignore the way my heart pounded at his touch.

“The Jhyra.” His markings flared brighter with concern. “They’re the most sensitive to temperature changes.”

I heard leaves rustling, felt the brush of petals against my arm. “What do you need?”

“Help me move them closer to the remaining active crystals. Carefully—their roots are delicate.”

Working by touch more than sight, I slid my hands under the pot he indicated. His fingers covered mine, adjusting my grip, the weight of his presence pressing close.

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