"I just wished I did more," Serena lamented.
Darius rose and crossed over to her and placed his hands on her shoulder. It hurt him that it hurt her . He sighed and leaned over.
He exhaled slowly and leaned in. "You have done a great deal. Did you see how she looked at you when you gave those gifts?" he said, his voice low and firm. "I know you feel sad for her, but you’ll only make her sad if she sees you this way. She’s young, but she’s smart. She’s already painfully aware of her condition."
There was no easier way he could put it, he only had his cut and dry method. He hoped that Serena would cheer up. Darius, himself, had already made mental notes of what to bring up the next time he would see Cedar. Thornridge had always been one of those places he struggled to connect with– dusty, proud, and scarred in ways he had never fully understood.
Sometimes Darius wished his mother was alive. The man was much too much like his father, and in cases , it was so obvious. He earnestly wished he was more empathetic like his mother, who was easily moved to tears when she would see a dead robin on her numerous walks. She would have known what to say to Serena.
He had been forced into this role too young, shoved into power before his heart had finished growing. There had been no room for softness, not when his people had met him with scorn. He could still feel the sting of humiliation when the old woman spat at his feet on his first round of door-to-door visits.
He swallowed hard and looked at Serena, who had her head lowered down slightly. "Listen, she sees you as an angel, and I do as well," he said.
The woman glanced upwards at him and nodded slowly. "Okay, I was distracted. Yes, yes, you are right."
Darius cheered inwardly. He was not sure what the next course of action would have been if she stubbornly refused to stop sulking. He patted her shoulder and stood upright. Google seaʀᴄh NoveI★Fire.net
Just then, the door swung open with a wooden thump. Clara appeared, carefully balancing a tray with both hands, the steam from the cups billowing around her face like a halo. She moved quickly, her brows pinched in concentration as she tried not to spill a drop.
She set the tray down on the desk with care, then brought one of the cups to Serena, cupping it with her palms to keep the heat from escaping.
Serena accepted it gingerly. The cup was warm, the chipped ceramic rough beneath her fingertips. She blew on the surface. "Thank you."
Clara nodded and flashed a smile before she ran back to the desk and brought another cup for Darius. He said his thanks and went back to the position he had taken up on the couch.
Serena looked at Clara, who stood awkwardly by her side. She glanced at the desk, which had no other cups, and then back at the black-haired girl.
"Where is your cup?" Serena asked.
Clara blinked slowly as though she had not expected her to ask that sort of question. "I only have two cups," she said.
Serena looked briefly at Darius, who offered her no answers in his gaze. Serena turned to Clara and beckoned to her. "Then we will cup."
The blonde woman tugged on Clara’s wrist and pulled her to her side. She hesitated, and then she lifted the cup to Clara’s lips. Clara wrapped her hands around Serena’s, and she blew on the cup before she took a sip.
Serena’s eyes stayed on her, watching every movement like a mother bird would her chick’s first flight. Once Clara leaned back, Serena took the cup and raised it to her own lips. The woman did a double take and greedily took another sip. It tasted like what she imagined the High Abode would feel like.
She had never tasted cinnamon in tea before. Normally she steered away from that particular spice. It had such an overbearing taste and smell. Only a few bakers were skilled enough to include cinnamon in their goods. Some were too heavy-handed, and their cake and bread would taste like chalk and instantly dry.
Not enough left the mouth wanting for more and an empty feeling in the dish. Attempting to incorporate cinnamon into a dish was so risky, and it was something that was not imagined at all.
"This is really... nice," Serena said, smiling up at Clara.
The girl beamed back at her and nodded. "It is my special tea."
"You taught yourself how to make it?"
Clara nodded and twirled her index finger around her hair. "Yes, I did. Cinnamon is so sweet."
Serena raised a brow, amusement flickering across her face. That was a new one. She’d never heard anyone describe cinnamon that way. It was more often compared to firewood than sugar. Sure, it appeared in sweets, but sweet in itself? It was gotten from the inner layer of what they would like to call cinnamon trees. Most could not distinguish it from mango trees.
Serena, as a young girl, had broken into her mother’s stash this one time and decided to bite into it. She threw up her whole dinner. The woman smiled at the memory.
"That is strange," Serena said with a hint of amusement in her words.
Clara merely shrugged, and Serena raised the cup to her lips again. Darius grunted in the corner, and Serena’s gaze landed on him. He seemed to be inspecting the cup in his hand– rather, the tea in the cup.
He looked at Clara with a slightly open mouth. "How did you make this, even? I love whatever this is."
Clara giggled, ducking her head. Her cup lowered from her lips as she glanced at the floor, her bare toes curling slightly on the wood. She fiddled with the hem of her dress, fingers brushing over the worn, thinning fabric.
Darius took another sip. Then another. The cup emptied quickly, and he blinked at it as if confused it was gone. It was, without question, the best tea he’d ever had. What a nifty talent it was.
An idea struck him. He shifted where he awkwardly perched and stared at Clara. "Would you mind making this tea again for someone special?"