An Ocean of Consequences

Chapter Eleven

(1818 words)

It had been nearly two weeks. Two painfully slow, stressful weeks.

After what happened in the market, people caught wind of what was going on at the Plateau. The Starumites stopped denying the various uprisings, and instead tried to quell them with transparency. At least what they pretended was transparency.

T told me that the Starumite leaders would not sacrifice the soundness of their mission by turning the public's opinion against themselves. The scene at the market was a perfect example of what they did not want to happen. He told me that any news was good news, that hearing something, even something bad, meant they were safe. In trouble, but safe. They would never draw attention to them, only to kill them later.

In twelve whole days, I had seen nothing. I knew they could not tell me if they heard anything about what was going on, but I made Valin promise he would tell me if the worst happened. To my good fortune, he had not needed to tell me anything yet.

I woke up earlier than I planned again and went out to make breakfast. I had been diving into any distraction I could find. This morning, I sat out to conquer a difficult meal, one I had successfully accomplished only once before. It was a delicate egg souffle and a sauce made from boiled fruits and yolks. If the flavors balanced incorrectly, it tasted curdled. But if they balanced, it was sweet, savory, and close to amazing.

I placed the souffles into the oven and tasted the sauce once more. I was happy with the outcome so far.

"It smells great in here." I turned to find Valin walking towards me with his irresistible swagger. He must have been restless, too. T had stayed up late with us, all of us getting drunk off my parent's two most expensive bottles of wine, and I could not visit him.

"Hey," I said. I watched him walk towards me. His sleep-tousled hair fell carelessly into his eyes.

He dipped a finger into my sauce, and I smacked his hand. He laughed me off while he tasted it. "That's fucking delicious," he said.

"Watch your mouth. And thank you," I forgave him for tainting my finicky recipe. "You're up early."

"As always," he said, then glanced around. "And it seems we're alone." He raised an eyebrow suggestively. I sneered at him, unamused, and turned back around to watch the pastries bake.

He snaked his arms around my waist and pressed himself against me. He brushed my hair back to trail slow kisses from my cheek to my neck. I inadvertently relaxed, and he turned me around to face him. He lifted my arms and wrapped them around his neck, then smoothed his hands down my back, and lower. He kissed me passionately, delving his tongue into my mouth, causing me to forget myself. I indulged for a few sweet moments before pulling away.

"We can't," I whispered to him. "What if someone wakes up?"

He looked at me and warred with his thoughts, but eventually took a hesitant step back from me. "Sorry. I've just missed you," he admitted. I dropped my arms slowly and returned to my cooking, trying to shake off my desire.

"I suppose your good mood this morning means you have nothing to tell me today," I said, feeling optimistic.

"It does," he said with a nod and leaned back against the counter to my side. My parents were still alive.

I breathed a little easier. "Good." I watched the oven's contents expand with the heat.

"How are you holding up?" he asked. "I know you're very stressed."

"I'm fine," I lied, still watching my baking. "Well, better than I should be, all things considered."

I looked up to see his dejected expression. "I feel like you're upset with me."