And the pantry. The size and design of it thrilled her, but the barren shelves made her want to cry. There was a small keg of ale and a wine rack that held three bottles labeled “yarbarah,” which she assumed was the name of a vineyard somewhere in Kaeleer because the only other “yarbarah” she knew about was the blood wine warriors drank at special ceremonies, and Yaslana wouldn’t have three bottles of that. But the flour, sugar, and coffee beans were just left in their sacks without so much as a light shield to keep the bugs out, and they were the only food items.

The cold box was a delightful discovery, especially when she realized the top third of it was a separate freeze box, but leaving hunks of meat wrapped in nothing more than brown paper was just . . . scandalous. The only other things in the cold box were a half-full butter bowl, the glass bottle of cream, and one egg.

Marian slumped in a chair. There had been no mention of wages last night, and she’d been too frightened to ask, but now she was glad she hadn’t.

The pine table and chairs in the kitchen were new. So were the stove, the cold box, and the furniture in Prince Yaslana’s bedroom. The furniture in her room was not, but it was good quality.

The rest of the rooms were empty.

Which made her wonder if Prince Yaslana was just getting by until it was time for the next tithe. After all, Luthvian had said he’d just recently become the Prince of Ebon Rih, so he wouldn’t have received any of the income yet that came with the title. Maybe he couldn’t afford anything more yet. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t mentioned wages.

Dark power washed through the eyrie, warning her that he’d returned. She jumped up and quickly shut all the cupboards and drawers so he wouldn’t wonder what she’d been doing. Then she stopped and looked around. Better if he found her doing something useful, but . . . what?

Yaslana walked into the kitchen, checked his stride, then advanced toward her more slowly, almost warily.

Marian’s heart leaped into her throat. It was midday, wasn’t it? He was expecting a meal, and she didn’t have anything to serve him.

Three dishes suddenly appeared on the counter—two large glass baking dishes with covers and a brown crock.

“Mrs. Beale sent these, with her compliments. She said it wasn’t likely that you’d get to the market today since you’d need a little time to settle in and—” He made a face. “And since she doubted I had more than salt and pepper on hand for spices, you’d want to make a list before you went shopping.”