Page 51 of Fire to the Stars

“I know it’s hard, but it doesn’t help Madame Afi to worry,” she replies. “It’ll take time for the Gendarmerie to sort through the moving parts. Just do your normal job, then leave the criminal side to the experts.”

Normal. Right.

I tip my head back against the headboard. The smell of fresh bread wafts. Lucy perks up from her place on Claire’s bed. She salivates as Claire reaches inside the bag.

We haven’t eaten since we boarded the carriage this morning. According to the clock tower outside, the hour nears two. “What did you buy?” I ask.

“The best onion soup in Jardincourt—so claims the sign outside La Cuisine du Roi.” She says the name with the thick Old Tongue accent and makes a showy reveal of a boule loaf. “Complete with fresh-baked bread bowls.”

“Did you pay for it?”

“Only yours. Mine was on the house after I found a bug init.”

Found.Right. “Is free food the reason you’re so chipper?”

“If there’s anything you should know about me, it’s that I adapt quickly.”

That’s quite the pivot, considering the pushback she gave over putting the hunt for her dragon on hold. Good to know she’s not plotting sabotage. Probably.

“Keep an eye on Lucy,” I warn, just as Lucy perches her front paws on the dresser. “She’ll steal if you’re not paying attention.”

Claire rips off a piece of bread and pops it into her mouth. A subtle “Mm!” marks her approval. “Do tinderfoxes eat human food?” she asks.

“It’s like a treat. Don’t give her too much.”

“Ah.” She rips a piece for Lucy, shoos her back onto the bed, and makes her sit before letting her have it. “One for ma Luciole.”

Bread in mouth, Lucy dives beneath the pillows, leaving no sign of herself except smacking sounds as she chews.

The notes strewn across my comforter hook my attention again—and the sinking feeling in my gut kills my appetite. Claire hums as she fills the bread bowls with soup, unaware. At least she’s finding enjoyment in Jardincourt’s cuisine. I suppose opportunities like this are the reason she stopped complaining about the detour. I, on the other hand, can’t bring myself to appreciate the small things. Not until Gérard Dupont stops reading like a human and starts looking like a profit.

“Abel?”

Claire’s weight sinks down next to me on the edge of the bed. I look up at her with a start. The voices of passersby and merchants rush through the open window.

“I called your name twice.” She sets my soup on the dresser. “Eat before your bowl gets soggy.”

“Right. Thank you.”

“Don’t forget your napkin.” She dangles one in front of my face, meanwhile licking a dollop of soup from her thumb. “Every time we eat youneverforget your napkin.”

I grab it. “You just have bad etiquette.”

She frowns at the notes. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes. It’s typical,” I lie, flattening the napkin on my lap. “My job is dangerous. How I feel beforehand doesn’t change my ability to perform it.”

I can’t tell if I’m trying to convince her or myself. Perhaps both. Before Micah turned, I was eager to slay every dragon I could. I haven’t slain one since. I need to find my way back to that eager mindset or I’ll fail to slay Gérard. Worse, Claire might cut her losses and hire a slayer with a better record.

“I wasn’t insulting your skill set. You’re allowed to have feelings.” Claire pops another mouthful of bread. “I wouldn’t have hired you if I didn’t think you could do it.”

The reassurance barely registers. How could it? I was trained. I was among the best. Yet when the job turned personal, I froze up and got my parents and my familiar killed.

My eyes are skipping along Hanna’s notes for the fourth time when a soup-soaked chunk of bread appears in front of my face.

“Eat,” Claire says, waggling it.

“Give me a minute. And use a spoon for once.”