Dragonspell - Donita K. Paul [136]
Mistress Moorp chuckled. “Well, if we had a national dish, I guess chukkajoop would be it.” She pursed her lips in a comical moue. “Doneels love to tease. And they make good friends. You are fortunate to have him among your companions. He’s been worried about you.”
Regret intruded on Kale’s comfort. She hadn’t been a very good friend to any of her companions. This room, the food, the good housekeeper’s kind attention, none of it should be wasted on her. “I don’t deserve to be treated so well.”
Mistress Moorp frowned fiercely at her young charge. “In this house we don’t wait for someone to deserve to be treated decently, my dear.” Her voice had a hard edge, and Kale realized she had in some way offended the woman.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
Mistress Moorp’s expression softened. “No dear, I’m the one to apologize. I forgot you haven’t been taught the ways of the o’rants. But that will change now. You can stay with us as long as you like. Master Ornopy has already said he’d take you in as one of his daughters. He’s a generous man, and your story touched his heart.”
“My story?” Kale struggled against the sleep that pulled her away from Mistress Moorp’s words. “Who told him my story?”
“Why, Paladin, dear. He was among those who went out to rescue you.”
“Paladin?” Kale tried to sit up again, but she could not even keep her eyes open. Tears slipped down her cheeks. She didn’t want to face Paladin. He would be so disappointed in her.
“Rest, dear, and heal.” The shush of the door opening and closing over the carpet followed Mistress Moorp’s soft words.
A tangy smell of something delectable pulled Kale out of a deep sleep. The fire crackled and sparked, warming the room with its golden glow as well as a pleasant heat. In the chair where Mistress Moorp had sat earlier, a man rested, his head against the high, cushioned back. His long legs extended straight out with polished black boots crossed at the ankle. Kale blinked and looked closely as the fire played a flickering light over his features.
“Paladin!” She sat up abruptly.
His eyes opened slowly, and a gentle smile spread across his lips.
“Little Kale, it’s good to hear your voice.” He reached for a bowl on the table at his elbow. “Mistress Moorp sent up chukkajoop. I’m partial to this stew myself, and Mistress Moorp makes some of the best I’ve ever tasted.”
Kale crossed her legs under the blanket as she took the thick ceramic bowl into her hands. It fit in one, and warmth spread through those fingers as she picked up the spoon with the other hand. Hunger rose up at the smell of the rich dark stew. She took a mouthful and savored the flavor.
“I do like it.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Dar said it was made of things from underground. Only roots and things.”
“Doneels.” Paladin shook his head gently. The grin on his face widened.
Kale took another bite and peered into the bowl. There was not enough light for her to see it very well. “He also said it was blood red.”
A dark candle on the table sizzled. The unlit wick suddenly burst into flame. Paladin picked it up and held it over Kale’s bowl.
“It is!” Kale grinned up at Paladin. “The broth is red.”
“Eat it, Kale. It’s good for you.”
Paladin sat comfortably stretched out in his chair while she ate the entire bowlful and scraped the last drops out of the bottom with her spoon. She handed the empty bowl to him, and he put it down on the table. Only then did it strike her as appalling that Paladin himself had served her and sat quietly beside her while she ate. She hadn’t even offered him polite conversation as the mariones did around their fancy tables with important guests.
“Now, Kale.” His voice held a note of reprimand. “We’ve been very comfortable together. Why have you gone tense, and why do you look ill? Did the chukkajoop not sit well in your stomach?”
She knew the last question was a jest. It sounded very much like something Dar would say. Of course the delicious stew had not made her sick. Kale looked down at her hands folded in her lap. What does he want me to say?