Free How (Not) to Soothe a Siren (Cindy Eller Book 9) by Elizabeth A Reeves Page A

mixture of Fae grains. The dough needed a little more work, to activate the gluten and grow stretchy and soft. My shoulders grew tight and sore, but it was a good feeling. Once I was happy with it, I covered the dough with a damp cloth and washed my hands off at the sink, with its built-in pump, Faerie’s take on modern plumbing.
    My dough needed a little time to rise, before I could shape it, let it rise a second time, and bake it.
    The selkie woman apprised my situation with another rising wing of brow, and set me to scrubbing root vegetables at the sink.
    I smiled to myself as I worked. There was something charming at the way the selkie folk dismissed my status as something of no importance. They weren’t intimidated in the least. Midir had treated my title with more irritation than respect.
    It was refreshing.
    The truth was, the Cindy Eller part of me was more comfortable baking bread and scrubbing turnips than living in a huge castle and taking charge of Faerie.
    I turned my head to see how my companions were doing, in this interlude while our dinner cooked. The younger selkie woman was bouncing Asher on her knee, while the others stood and sat in a semi-circle around my mother.
    I grinned to myself. Trust my mother to have them charmed in such a short period of time. I could hear the cadence of her voice from across the room, though I couldn’t make out the words.
    Merlin prowled across the room, his skinny arms tucked behind his back and that awful beard of his sticking out in all directions as he peered at each tapestry in turn. He jiggled one leg impatiently. As if he missed having a tail to twitch.
    Timothy and Midir sat a little apart from the others. Both of them wore serious expressions. From time to time Timothy looked my way, his frown puckering the scar that sliced across his face.
    I finished scrubbing the root vegetables and set to chopping them, under the watchful eye of the still-suspicious selkie woman. I didn’t mind.
    “Are you roasting these or boiling them?” I asked, as I finished the task.
    She looked over my shoulder at my work and nodded once. “Roasting for those,” she pointed at the turnip-like roots. “And those go into the stew.” She pointed at the roots that were the Fae take on potatoes. “I’ll take them now.”
    I nodded and checked on my dough. It was rising beautifully. My Magic had speeded up the rising process, so it was ready to be punched down and shaped.
    With the heel of my hand, I rolled out a dozen large balls of dough. The scent of the yeast, touched with the treacle I had used to sweeten the loaves, tickled my nose. It smelled delicious. I smiled to myself as I covered the shaped dough with the damp cloth again.
    Asher whimpered from across the room, a sound that triggered a rather painful response from my breasts. I settled down to nurse him where I could keep an eye on my dough, and the other preparations that were being put together in the kitchen.
    I had never ventured into this part of Faerie. Some of the fruits and vegetables being prepared were completely new to me.
    “What’s that expression on your face?” Timothy asked, coming up behind me.
    “I was thinking that we need to get out more,” I said, watching the competent hands of the selkie woman as she peeled an unfamiliar fruit. “There are still so many things about Faerie that we don’t know. Sitting up at the castle can’t be what Faerie needs. How can I provide for the needs of my people—all the people of Faerie—if I don’t know them or their lives?”
    “Oh, so there is some sense in the High Fae,” Midir interjected, his voice touched with humor.
    “Perhaps not,” I responded with a smile. “I’m half human, you know. That’s my mother over there, flirting outrageously with your clansmen.”
    He chuckled. “She could charm the wings off of a butterfly, that one. Maybe she has selkie blood in her.”
    Looking at my mother’s fair complexion with her dark hair and dark eyes, I