“You know, your whole speech you gave me about thinking about the properties of water and light, and how they’re part of the same fabric of the world. Or whatever you said. Just think about how the light is the same as the planters, so it can slice them apart.” She only stares at me in challenge, hand propped on her hips again, then snaps her fingers. The planters slice in half again, but without her touching them.

“Like that?” she asks with a grin. Then she snaps her fingers a second time, and the planters are restored.

I roll my eyes. “Do it with the light,” I chastise.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t watch. Go practice your own meditative shit in a corner.”

I give her a mock bow. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

We practice in silent companionship for another hour, running through our own drills. When my stomach grumbles, I walk back to her in time to see her decimate the planters before restoring them instantly and decimating them again. I give her a slow clap. She turns, blushing again. “I told you not to watch.”

“I wasn’t watching till just then. I’m hungry. I need a snack.”

At that exact moment, a knock sounds on the door, and Laurel startles. She crosses the room and opens the door to a human woman holding a tray of steaming food, the smells wafting into the room. She takes the tray from the servant, who murmurs something quietly to Laurel. Laurel squeals in obvious glee.

“Thank you, Sarah,” she tells the woman, beaming. “You’re too good to me.” The woman bows, then Laurel closes the door with her foot and turns to me. “I didn’t realize how long we’d been here. Thankfully, I told Sarah to bring us lunch today, so you can have more than a snack.” I grunt, then take the tray from her and walk it to the small table in the back corner before setting out the plates and cutlery delivered with the food. Laurel picks up her plate, but I steal it out of her hands with a smirk.

“What was that screech about?” I ask as I dish out food for her, gesturing with my hands to find out which dishes she wants and how much. I enjoy serving her.

“It was not a screech,” she snaps back light heartedly. “It was an expression of joy.”

I laugh hard, and she slaps my arm. When I recover, I ask, “And what were you expressing joy over in such a screeching manner?” She rolls her eyes.

“There’s a tavern and inn in Echosa, where you entered Thayaria,” Laurel explains. “The owner’s wife Mara makes the absolute best chocolate cake. She’s in Arberly, helping her sister clean up their family’s bakery after the attack, and she brought a cake to the palace for me. Sarah made sure we had two slices on our lunch tray.”