A Court of Magnolias and Ash

Six

Nesta:

"Prick of all warriors, bastard of all men," I muttered under my breath as I pressed the heavy, mahogany door against its frame. Wood had split, screws had bent—there was no way I would be able to fix this. Several minutes went by before I fully gave up, leaning the door back against the forest colored walls in hopes someone would use magic to fix it.

I gathered my clothing for the day, staring at the boots Cassian had given me, before deciding on another pair. Those boots, those damned beautiful boots had brought me an ounce of joy and for some reason, that bothered me to no end.

Shaking my head, I walked into the bathing room to finish getting ready. I rapidly combed out my golden-brown locks. Once my smooth hair neatly fell pass my shoulders, I carefully braided it down my left side.

Training with Azriel wasn't for another few hours, I shifted on me feet as I slid my foot into the beige colored pants. My gurgling stomach echoed against the frames of glass and mirrors as I dropped my other foot into the pants and pulled up. I tucked my plain lavender tunic in, then stretched out the sleeves to fit more loosely around my wrists.

The townhouse was empty, no scraping plates or quiet conversations. I had the freedom to roam. I glared at my broken door then headed downstairs to the kitchen, hunting for that orange mash I had received last night.

I had never visited the kitchen before, not here anyways. The only way I could find it was from the constant clinking of spoons against pots that only grew louder with each step.

"Emissary," a slim figure of gloomy gray slime bowed her head, wooden spoon in her webbed hand. She lifted her pitch-black eyes to meet mine, a dim golden shimmer circled in the center.

"You're mistaken. I am no one's emissary," I spoke firmly, my eyes shifting from her to the empty wooden counter and finally to the carved cupboards that were stacked with dishes and silverware of all shapes and sizes. No sign of the orange mash.

She lifted from her bow, "my apologies." Her hairless head had several small gray spikes that formed a crown from ear to ear. A silver and onyx dress layered around her bony frame, creating a cascading waterfall over her spiked shoulder.

"It's alright. Do you," I paused, looking her over and softening my own features. She was not beneath me, nor was she responsible for my demise. "Do you know if there are any left-overs from last night? Orange mash, perhaps?"

"There wasn't any served last night, at least I didn't make any. The menu was specifically lamb, russet potatoes and willow beans." Her voice grew higher as her bulbous eyes searched the kitchen just as mine had.

"Willow beans? Are those a greenish tan color? With purple markings?" I asked faintly, realizing I sounded more desperate than I intended.

The fae woman braced herself against the counter as she gulped, "willow beans are...are long, wispy things. Br...bright green, sometimes a little yellow depending if we pick them before the season. And, and purple. I, I think." Another set of angular arms reached around from her back, covering her shoulders protectively.

I tried my hardest not to look surprised, every day there were new faes or creatures that I would run into, this was no different. "I see," I hesitated with my disappointment, "thank you."

"Would you like anything? It would be no trouble," she replied lifting her wooden spoon into the air. Her second pair of arms reached for more wooden spoons, lifting them over her head.

I briskly looked into her pot, a combination of eye balls and a crimson sauce. My gut swirled with disgust. "I'm okay, thank you..." I waited for her name, my hands clasped behind me as I bit my tongue.