Page 11 of A Witch for Solstice
Or maybe I can.
We’re kindred spirits, both of us searching for something. A true love match for her, and a true home for me, a place where I can be happy and free.
Maybe I’ll even feel secure enough to wish for a true love story too, eventually. I’d love to experience a real romance that feels something like this.
That unbidden thought about our quick fling steals my breath.
“Is something wrong?” Matty asks.
“Not at all.” A literal queen wants to pamper me for a day. There’s no need to ruin the easygoing nature of this arrangement by overthinking my future to death.
“Good. We’re almost there,” she says. “You’ve got to meet my friends and help us with our annual soup tasting. It’s tradition!”
She greets the maids rushing around the back corridor and pushes through a set of double doors leading to the kitchen. A slim humanoid dragon sings as she pours melted chocolate into a bubbling cauldron. Teacup dragons wearing cream uniforms flit between cast iron pans hanging from the ceiling, pairing up in teams of two to carry steaming pots over to the fire range.
I suck in a breath, feeling the call of my element.
Don’t do it, Brigid.I grit my teeth.Do not make this kitchen burst into flames.
Matty squeezes my hand as my power surges against my ribs.
“It’s ok,” she murmurs into my hair. “You can control it. You’ve got this.”
Steadying myself, I avert my eyes away, focusing on the tiny dragons scurrying across the flour-dusted countertops on all four legs. They pick up cookie cutters and press them into a sheet of rolled dough, making tree and star shapes.
“What are you doing here, Matty?” a cerulean dragon asks without looking up from his boiling cauldron. He gives it one more stir before setting his spoon aside and striding toward us, standing about two heads taller than me. He even looms over Matty.
“This is Alistair. He’s one of my oldest friends from my time with the Dragon Peace Committee, and one of the best cooks in the entire territory,” she says. “Alistair, this is Brigid. She’s—”
Her mouth opens and closes, a smoldering line of burning embers showing between her scales as she fumbles for an introduction.
“I’m a witch!” I offer, extending my hand.
“How enchanting,” he says, his claws swallowing my fingers in a quick handshake as he winks at Matty. “I’m glad you made it. I thought for sure you’d be deep in a cup of spiked eggnog, wallowing in your misery over tomorrow’s events.”
Matty leans back on a counter. “I’m actually feeling better about things.”
“Really?” Alistair flicks his eyes toward me. “What’s changed since the last time we spoke?”
Matty lifts a shoulder. “I met Brigid.”
I flush beneath Alistair’s intense ruby gaze. If they’ve been friends for a long time, I’m sure he can guess what Matty means, and why she’s spending the day with me.
“Aha,” he says, giving me the same look I saw on her cousin’s face earlier. He flies up to a stone cupboard placed high out of reach, its hinges creaking as he throws it open, pulling out two linen satchels filled with hunks of crusty bread. “Then I’m so glad you both are able to join me for the annual soup tasting.”
Matty and I take turns dipping our bread into ceramic sampling bowls, soaking up different broths and ranking our favorites. It’s hard because I love so many of them. I think I could eat soup every day in the winter and never get tired of it.
“Alistair started doing this when the Peace Committee was negotiating a treaty with Mortellia. It was a harsh winter, and it helped to boost everyone’s spirits,” Matty explains, using a spoon to scoop a potato from a creamy stew and feed it to me. “Every year since then, we’ve taken a vote to see which one is the best. That’s the soup we serve for the Solstice.”
Two small pink dragons fly by, carrying a tray of gingerbread cookies shaped like wyverns over their heads.
“It’s time to make the decision," one of them announces, pushing the tray into the oven. “Let the voting begin.”
Matty sits on a stool and pulls me onto her lap as the miniature dragons tally the votes on a chalkboard in the corner of the kitchen. The winter vegetable and broccoli cheese are perilously close when they get to Matty.
Broccoli cheese. Broccoli cheese. Broccoli cheese.I chant it in my head, willing the best choice to win.
“Winter vegetable,” Matty says, bringing them both to six votes each. “Your turn. Be the tiebreaker, Brigid.”
