Page 23 of The Dawn Chorus
‘This from the man who must drink about a barrel of red wine every single day,’ I said drily.
‘I am aware of my own dependences,’ was his even reply. ‘I am merely showcasing an opportunity to cast yours aside. If you do notwishto become re-addicted to—’
‘Warden, please don’t dissuade me from the solitary mote of joy I have left in my tragedy of a life. I’m being hunted by a tyrant, my entire family is missing or dead, and I’m fresh out of the torture chamber. Please, just let me enjoy my coffee.’
‘Second cupboard on the left.’
‘Thank you.’
It was the real deal, not the tart dishwater I had used to keep my wits in London. I took my sweet time measuring out the grounds and boiling a kettle over the stove. It had been almost a year since I’d had time to indulge in something as decadent as making a proper cup of coffee.
Warden watched me. When I filled the press, a rich tan foam rose to the top. It smelled heavenly. Only when I was finished did it occur to me that I might have trouble drinking it.
The normality of the routine had distracted me. I blew on the coffee before I took a cautious sip. It smoked up all my senses in that familiar way.
No plummet into memory. No choking. Swallowing was hard, but the taste and scent distinguished it from water in my mind, enough for me to keep it down. I breathed it in and took another sip.
Thunder crashed outside, and lightning flashed. The shattering din of the rain unnerved me. While I kept an eye on the storm, Warden started to unpack the food and put it away. I joined him.
‘Who delivered the box?’ I asked.
‘A courier from our new employers.’
‘Have they—’ I stifled a cough, ‘have they been in contact at all otherwise?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Scarlett Burnish implied that they would not issue us orders until you have convalesced for a month.’ I heard the fridge shut. ‘I have made a meal for you. If you are ready.’
I turned. ‘Did you say youmadesomething?’
‘Correct.’
‘Warden, you didn’t have to do that. You’re not here to serve me.’
‘No,’ he agreed, ‘but I am here to help you recover. To recover, you need sustenance.’
Steam billowed from the slow cooker as he opened it. He ladled some of its contents into a bowl and set it in front of me, along with a spoon and three slices of golden-crusted bread.
My supper appeared to be a thick stew of chicken and vegetables. I dipped the spoon in, cautious. Itlookededible.
‘Is all well, Paige?’
‘Of course.’ I smiled. ‘Where did you learn to cook?’
‘There was a recipe book in the colony, which I once perused.’
‘Planning to throw a dinner party at some point, were you?’
‘You underestimate how little I had to do for two centuries, kept as I was like a bird in a cage.’ Pause. ‘I was … not sure of your tastes.’
‘I don’t like to eat beef or veal if I can help it,’ I said. ‘Other than that, I’ll try anything.’
‘Noted.’
To buy myself time for a closer look, I immersed my spoon in the stew again. Nothing rang alarm bells, but I had to wonder if Warden, who had presumably never eaten a morsel of food in his life, knew enough about cooking to avoid inadvertently poisoning me. Chicken was a bold place to start.
Still, the stew was piping hot, and he was waiting. I braced myself, took a big spoonful, and chewed.
‘Wow,’ I said, with feeling, ‘it’s … delicious. Thank you, Warden.’