Free The Fairytale Keeper: Avenging the Queen by Andrea Cefalo

my stomach ache, even though I am dreadfully hungry for the cinnamon-spiced porridge I can still smell coming from the hearth.
    I turn away from her pillow and feel something hard and cold roll away and off the edge of the bed.
CRASH!
A hundred shimmering shards of glass sprawl across the floor. Ivo’s jar. My lips curl into a smile as I think of him climbing into my bedroom to leave me a single firefly only a night ago.
    Galadriel rushes into the room with worry on her face.
    “Oh!” She gasps, placing her fingers to her lips at the sight of the broken glass. She looks shocked. I think she believes I had purposely thrown the glass in a fit.
    “I must have kicked that over. I was so tired last night. I don’t remember putting it there,” I say.
    “Oh,” she sighs with relief. Turning on her heels, she slides out of the room and returns moments later with the broom and pan to gather up the broken glass. As soon as I notice it in her hands, I run over to take it and clean the mess myself. She pushes the broom and pan away from me.
    “I made the mess. I’ll clean it.” But she does not listen and continues to clean the mess. “Thank you,” I say.
    I walk to the shutters and open them. The sun is high in the sky toward the west. It is past noon. Galadriel is gone by the time I turn around. I meander to the bench in the living quarters across from the hearth and sit across from her. She smiles.
    “You seem well today,” I say with a yawn.
    “I feel much better.”
    “Did you go to the market yesterday?” Galadriel asks. “I found bread, cheese, raisins, and almonds, and your father found yards and yards of leather.”
    “I had to. We hadn’t enough food.”
    “I wish you had awoken me so I could have accompanied you. The market is no place for a girl to make purchases alone. I hear it is riddled with thieves,” she chides gently. It irritates me that Galadriel, barely a woman herself, would give me motherly advice and I find myself fighting the urge to roll my eyes. She rises and heads to the hearth, scoops a heaped spoonful of porridge into a bowl, sets it before me, and hands me a spoon. “Besides, I’d rather like to see this famous market of Cologne.”
    “I know the market well enough to go there alone. Besides, you wouldn’t have enjoyed it in your condition,” I say. “I’m glad you rested. You look better today.”
    She gives me a sideways glance and nods. I dig into the porridge and lift the spoon into the air. Steam rises off the thick oats and a nutty cinnamon fragrance drifts through the air. My mouth waters and my stomach rumbles. I blow on the spoon to cool the porridge until the steam subsides and I place it to my lips. The porridge is perfectly cooked, but lacks something of Mother’s. The thought must be drawn on my face as I try to figure out what is missing.
    “Not as good as your Mother’s I suppose,” Galadriel says. “No one can ever cook quite like one’s mother.”
    “It’s fine.” I am actually surprised that someone who has probably not cooked for herself in two years has made porridge so well and so similarly to my mother’s. It must have been a recipe passed down.
    The porridge cools and I quickly finish the bowl and the mug of spiced wine before me. My stomach calms and I feel tired again.
    “What time is it?” I ask Galadriel.
    She looks up for a moment to think. “I believe it is half past two.”
    “I would take you to the market, but I am so tired.”
    “Then it would please me for you to rest and keep your health. We have enough bread and cheese to sup on tonight when your father returns,” Galadriel says in that formal way she speaks at times.
    “Where is he?”
    “He is at the market selling the shoes he found this morning and fetching brooches for the patrician’s shoes.”
    I nod and retire to my bed, falling asleep quickly once again.
    ***
     
    I wake to the chatter of voices in the main room and rise. Father and Galadriel sit at the table