Brand had thought he’d stay away two days, three at most.

He had not thought to be out ten days. But he’d run into a bounty hunter, one of those foreign magicians for hire. No doubt some kidnaped girl’s family had wanted revenge. Fortunately, Brand had spotted him first and flooded the area with illusions. Few people could see through his magic, and fortunately, this bounty hunter was not one.

Unfortunately, the bounty hunter continued to show up, even as Brand was buying supplies and trying to interview new servants. Brand had no intention of leading an assassin to his tower, so he had to run from town to town, leading the assassin away. The last few days, he’d laid low, until he was sure it was safe to return.

Brand was worried about the girls. He’d left them without any servants, and he knew before he left that food had been running low. It might have run out by now. To top it off, Berta’s grace period was up. She was going to start transforming into a dragon, and he hadn’t even discussed terms with her.

He arrived home late in the afternoon, flew the supplies over the walls, and re-strengthened its defenses, just in case. He had no idea what state the tower would be in when he arrived. Brand was tired and hungry and hoped the chaos would be minimal.

He rolled out his rug and hovered over the walls. As he peered over, he noticed the girls had opened the crates and were bringing some of the supplies into the kitchen. Berta, however, saw him and uttered a cry. As soon as he landed, she threw herself at his feet.

“You’re home. We missed you so much. We’re sorry for any ways in which we’ve been obstinate or disobedient. Seri will listen now, and I will do whatever you say.” She clutched his legs. “Please, do not leave us again.”

Brand stifled a sigh. Of course, it would be Berta to break down—the one who was most broken to begin with. He glanced at Seri, but she looked away.

“Get up,” he told Berta, as gently as he could. “We’ll talk at dinner tonight. It might not be much of a dinner,” he added, looking at Seri, “but it will be food. How long since you’ve eaten?”

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“The stores ran out two days ago,” Seri said quietly. “We killed all the chickens.”

“I’ll buy us more. Leave that alone,” he told Ida as she reached for a heavy sack of flour. “I’ll bring it in. Go… go get ready for dinner. And help Berta compose herself.”

He lifted the dry goods (via magic) into the cellar and stacked them. He brought out sausage, cheese, rolls, and mustard, as well as some wine for their dinner, but as he came into the kitchen, he found Seri in the kitchen kneading flour on the kitchen table, her sleeves rolled up.

“Why am I not surprised to find you not getting dressed?” he said wearily.

“I have to get tomorrow’s bread ready. It needs to rise before I bake it.”

“You learned to cook quickly.”

“I knew before I came here.” She wiped sweat from her brow with her arm. “I was expected to manage a household and that meant filling in wherever help was needed. I know how to do everything. I just can’t do it well.”

He nodded and looked around. The kitchen was clean, with herbs drying, dishes scoured, and the fireplace at a nice glow. It was a hard thing to manage, he knew, and he was sort of impressed that she pulled it off.

“Are you still sleeping in the kitchen?” he asked.

She hesitated, and then said, “I moved back to my old room in the turret while you were gone. But I can move back—”

“No,” he said. “Stay in your room. Please. I wish it.”

Seri thumped on her dough. She didn’t refuse him outright. She didn’t argue with him. Brand took it as a good sign.

“Will you join us for dinner?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I will join you and dress and speak to you in your private room, as you require.” She ground her teeth. “But that is all. The girls convinced me that such a small compromise is no mortal sin. And I can’t conscience them all going hungry on my account.”

“Good,” he said, but felt the need to add, “I didn’t mean to be so late. I wasn’t trying to starve you into submission. Circumstances delayed me, that’s all.”

She said nothing but began to cut the dough into loaves.

“You don’t believe me?”

“If you don’t leave me to finish this bread, I won’t have time to dress.”

He left her. He also had to get ready.

As he washed and combed his hair, he thought about what a waste it was. No one would see him, not the real him. Still, he did it, more out of habit than anything else. Brand thought about different faces to wear, and decided to be an old gentleman he’d admired, his old master, the one who’d instructed him in art. His master could be strict at times, but he was always fair.

When Seri came inside the dining room that night, Brand almost didn’t recognize her. She was wearing a white gown and had her hair clumsily put up with pearl combs. He absolutely hated how she looked in this delicate, flouncing dress. It didn’t suit her. She looked uncomfortable and unhappy. But he saw that she’d missed a smudge of flour on her brow, and he smiled.

He’d bring her new dresses soon.