Page 64 of The Princes of Stone and Steel

“Oh, yeah, like it’s just going to open up.” I placed my palm to the door backed by all my bodyweight to push. “Because I—whoa.” The door creaked open and flailing my arms wildly, I just about fell on my face.

“What was that, my love?” he teased.

Even worse, he was the reason I didn’t faceplant. With his hands to my hips, he caught and steadied me as if he’d anticipated this exact scenario happening.

I casually scratched the back of my head with only my middle finger to flip him the bird. He simply laughed at my antics. “Come on, prince. Quit being handsy and move.” I urged us along.

The oil lamps lit as if hooked to motion sensors flickering on the moment my feet stepped inside the threshold and just to say, it was hard to be taken aback once you’d spent any amount of time in Roshambo because you got used to the beauty around every corner. Right here, right now, I was taken aback. The inside didnotmatch the outside. The front room opened into this huge cavernous space with plastered walls painted a buttery yellow. Tapestries hung from the walls between paintings of wildlife representing all the clan lands.

Intricate patterned rugs in bold reds, greens, blues and more of that buttery yellow larger than any I’d personally ever seen covered the stone flooring. The interior reminded me of one of those millionaire hunting lodges minus the stuffed animal heads hanging on display to frighten pretty much anyone with a heart.

The whole back wall was taken up with a hearth and fireplace. Again, made of stone. If I had to guess, I’d say river stone. In front of that sat a—I stuck my finger out to count the chairs—twenty-two-person dining table. Ten sturdy, rustically hewn chairs ran the length of each side of the equally rustic table-board, and one flanked the head and foot. An opulent wrought-iron chandelier hung over the table lit by bulbs with swirling yellowish-orange gas inside each one. Probably a hundred bulbs.

Four massive archways, two to each side of the hearth, opened up more of the castle. The two outermost archways on either side led directly to staircases moving up to the higher levels. The inner two archways stayed dark.

Kori let out a puff of air, so small, I almost didn’t hear. But it was the first sound she’d made since we’d rescued her. I turned to see if she was okay and noticed her normally-shining rose-gold hair dulled under the light. Her skin appeared a sort of grayish hue.

My friend was fading fast.

“Steele, can you carry her?” I asked.

Like I had any doubt, this was my unwavering Steele, he’d do anything to help the people he loved and that, included scooping his sister up into his arms. Korrigan needed a bed, but she needed food and drink first. I picked a darkened archway behind the massive table by using the scientifically respectedeeny-meeny-miny-moemethod and headed to the left.

Again, with the motion sensors, the lights blazed when I entered a wide hallway. Doors lined the walls as far down as I could see, which wasn’t where the hallway stopped.

One of the doors popped open on its own. I walked over to check it out.

“Mils,” Steele called out to me sharply.

I ignored him and walked in anyway. This room looked warm and homey. A smaller fire sprang up in the fireplace. Wide, fluffy furniture took up the majority of the space: a tufted, brown-linen sofa long enough to fit five people, three wide matching tufted chairs, and closest to the fireplace, a chaise-lounger.

The softest-looking crocheted afghan in a warm taupe—somewhere between beige and brown—lay draped over the chaise. I walked over, picking up the afghan, and yes, as soft as it looked. I rubbed the softness against my cheek.

“Place her here,” I ordered the prince. Though I ordered him nicely.

He set her down and we covered her with the soft fabric, tucking it in under her legs.

“She needs food and drink,” I announced. Truth be told, I didn’t know what she needed. I’d spent the last couple hundred years in a drugged-up stupor with a Papyrus princess posing as my aunt. I knew pretty much nothing, but I had to start somewhere and food and drink seemed like the most likely place to do that.

I moved back into the hallway. Those doors didn’t call to me, like at all. Retracing my steps, I went back into the main hall, this time taking the archway to the right. Well, there was something to be said for listening to one’s instincts, as the overhead lights lit up with thousands of bulbs filled with a bright white, swirling gas.

This kitchen reminded me of the one back at Castle Metallum. Stainless steel and industrial, real restaurant quality. The kind of kitchen I’d love to make a mess in if I had someone else to clean it up. I noticed the giant tea kettle waited on the front burner of the stovetop for me. It had to weigh five pounds without water.

From there I moved it over to the sink, uncapped the lid and set it under the faucet, which didn’t turn on or off like the ones at home, but pumped. So I pumped using a well handle, no water at first. Then after a few more pumps clear, cool water flowed, cascading from the spigot into the tea kettle.

When I picked it up, I thought I was about to dislocate my shoulder picking the thing up. The thing weighed like ten pounds carrying it back over to the stovetop. I twisted a knob that connected to the front burner and waited. It click-click-clicked before a brilliant blue flame erupted.

While the water heated, I opened cabinets, but none of them contained any edibles. Plates, glasses and mugs. Bowls. Where did they hide the food in this place?

Across the kitchen, next to an old school icebox just like at Old Tom’s place, appeared a thin door. Like it actuallyappeared. I’d swear in a court of law it wasn’t there the first time I’d looked. But I followed my gut and decided to investigate.

And holy cow—jackpot.

It was a pantry stuffed to the gills with any and everything food-related imaginable. Small glass bins took up one full wall of shelves. Each bin was filled with dried twigs, leaves or berries. Oh, flowers, too. Labeled as Echinacea, chamomile, cinnamon. There were black, green and white tea leaves and a plethora of other pungent spices. Under each label, someone had written a list of ills that particular plant helped cure.

Since I didn’t exactly know what was wrong with Kori, I picked chamomile, lavender and dried bearberries. Then I got the bright idea to make her soup. It reminded me of the day I made bisque with Mother Merchant and Margret. The day I met Leland Barnabas. Right. Soup it is, no bisque. I promised myself to never make another bisque. The problem being, no matter how high or low I searched the shelves, the pantry simply lacked the cans of chicken noodle or tomato.

Tea would have to do.

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