Page 52 of The Enemy's Daughter

Tristan clears his throat. “I’ll speak to him. It’ll happen. He’s not usually so... he just needs time to get used to the idea.”

I raise a doubtful eyebrow as we start walking again and enter the kitchen. “Whoa!” Tristan wasn’t kidding about the food. The counters and table are covered in rows of buns, pies, platters of sandwiches, and large dishes of prepared meals like stews, some of them stacked on top of each other three layers high.

Tristan laughs, and it somehow rebounds deep in my belly. “Yeah. I don’t know what we’re going to do with it all. It’s a lot, so dig in.”

“Where do you even start?”

“These are amazing.” Tristan grabs a couple of cookies and hands one to me.

Without a thought, I take a bite. My eyes flutter closed as sweet and salty flavors explode in my mouth. Flour is a rare commodity because we have to grow our own grain and mill it by hand. “Wait.” I lift the cookie to the light, eyeing the white crystals sprinkled on top. “This isn’t made with honey; this is—this is blossom sugar!” Blossom sugar is more precious than flour. In fact, traders have only brought it to the clans twice in my life.

“Yeah. We had a delivery of four hundred pounds come in last month. If we get lucky, that usually happens once a year.”

I’m stunned speechless.

You can’t fault us for having more resourceful traders.Isn’t that what he said the other day?

Incredible. I want more. “What else do you recommend?”

Tristan thinks for a second, then reaches for a rolled-up bun-like treat. “These are really good.”

As I take it, my fingers accidentally brush his. His heat bleeds into the skin of my thumb and forefinger, even though we’re no longer touching. Tingles race up my arm, weaving through me like a needle sewing cloth. The already-vigilant tether between us crackles to life. Though we may not be connected enough for me to take on his pain or sickness, my awareness of him is through the roof. I try to not be affected by the pleasure of it, the rising heat of the room.

Cursed connection!I can’t decide if it’s pulling us together or simply amplifying our attraction to unbearable levels.

Inhaling, I bite into the bun in my hand, and pray the temptation to touch Tristan again can be quenched with the miracles of cinnabark and blossom sugar. I chew. Swallow.

My gaze flicks to Tristan.

His eyes are closed.

Any doubt that I’m going through this alone goes up in flames.

I spin back to the food. “It’s delicious,” I force out. “I make something similar with bannock, honey, and cinnabark—when we have the ingredients.”

“I’d like to try that.” His words are slow. His voice husky.

I busy myself with the magic boiling pot, then open the cupboard above the sink. There’s a large bundle of fesber there. “You found more.” I brush my fingers over the furry plants.

“I thought you’d like it fresh.” His whisper-soft voice seems to do something to my legs.

I grip the counter. Exhale excessively. “Tristan.” That’s it. That’s all I say.

That’s all I know.

“Isadora.” My name comes out almost as a purr.

Something achingly tender and hopeful caresses my mind. It surrounds me as soft as a cloud and as pure as a mountain spring. Only it’s filled with wonder.

And it’s originating from him.

I turn around, and the energy in the air shifts as our eyes lock and hold. My heartbeat feels too loud. Enola said one of the purposes of the connection was to bring closeness. It protects our bond and holds us together. That must be what’s happening right now.

But it means the door is also open for other things, right?

“Show me a memory,” I say quietly.

He cocks his head.

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