Free Mistress of the Solstice by Anna Kashina Page A

light for ye,
Mistress?” he asked.
“It’s mighty dark
n’there.”
    “I’ll be fine,” I
assured him. It felt strange to talk to the stableman. I never saw the
servants up close. I could smell hay and horse sweat on him, and
fancied I saw callouses on his rough hands.
    I found my way into the small storeroom, a heady smell of herbs
guiding my way. Moonlight from a narrow window faintly illuminated the
rows of jars on the shelves and the bundles hanging from the ceiling.
    Moving by habit rather than by sight, I picked out nine herbs, breaking
a bit off each bundle and putting them into the mug I found on the
shelf. By the end of it, my head was swimming and I could no longer
tell the smell of one herb from another.
    Feeling my way in the dark, I brought my trophies back
into the kitchen. At the far table, Pavel loomed over a bowl of varevo . He was dipping a
chunk of bread into the thick meat broth and smacking his lips with a
dreamy expression. I regretted for a moment that I could not enjoy
simple food the way he did.
    As I made my way into another part of the kitchen, where the smaller
kettle with water for tea still hung over the hot embers, a shape
blocked my way. I paused, making out the features of a plump woman, her
head wrapped in a gray woolen scarf.
    “Klava?” I asked.
“What are you doing up?”
    “Mistress,” she said with firm
respect. “I am under Praskovia’s
orders.”
    “Oh.” I stepped
back, glad I could still feel amused and not merely angry.
“And what would those orders
be?”
    “Well,” Klava
took a deep breath, obviously gathering her courage,
“Praskovoia—she said you didn’t
send for your herb drink tonight, and that you haven’t
eaten since morning. She said you’d come for the drink
for sure and that I ought to catch you when you do and give you some
borscht. She said it’s no good for you to go hungry,
with all the important work you do for us all, and you are already so
thin—” she paused, sensing with a good
servant’s instinct that she was about to go too far.
    Praskovia. I should have realized she’d notice my
absence. She knew of my adventures and never offered any judgment, as
long as I was well fed and cared for. I should have sent for my herb
drink before I went out. Was I really so affected by my encounter of
the afternoon?
    Weariness swept over me. I had no energy left to pour hot water into my
brew. I had no energy to make my way up the stone steps to the top of
the East Tower. It suddenly seemed so desirable to have this plump,
kind-faced woman take care of me.
    “Very well,” I said, handing her
the mug. “You can make the brew for me yourself. And,
I will eat just a little borscht.”
    I walked past the stunned cook’s helper and sank onto
the stone bench across the table from Pavel. The stableman almost
choked on his bread. His large hands clenched the edge of his bowl and
again, despite his size, he looked small.
    “Relax, Pavel,” I smiled to him.
“I don’t bite.”
    “Right ye are, Mistress,” he
mumbled and hurriedly finished his meal.
    The borscht was delicious. No one besides our cook could achieve such a
deep beet-red color that, as you mixed in the sour cream, turned into
golden orange, shiny droplets of oil suspended among the vegetable
slices. My borscht was made special, without meat, yet rich enough to
replenish my strength. As I finished the generous bowl and washed it
down with my aromatic herbal brew, I felt my exhaustion turn into the
normal tiredness after a well spent day. I made my way up to my room
and fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.

 
    Ivan

    I van remembered. He’d lain near death, before this all
started.
    He’d heard voices through the daze of his sickness. He
hadn’t even known if they were real.
    “You still have your touch, old
man,” said a raspy voice with a low timbre that made
Ivan’s hair stand on end. The rasp seemed to be there
entirely for the purpose of smothering the force the