Chapter 6
THE FIRST TASK
The hallway was of elegantly carved alabaster stone.
Massive white gemstones glowed from within deeply set alcoves lining the way.
The sight of the glowing gemstones filled me with awe.
They seemed as if they were lit with fire from within, but of course these gemstones offered no heat.
The elves had magic, of course. I knew this, but seeing something as unattainable as magic used for something as simple as offering light had me both unsettled and amazed.
But not all magic was shining gemlights and transformation.
I’d heard of the Bitner’s farm, of the darkness that spread there.
Sam had said something had broken through from The Falls.
If I knew one thing, it was that the darkness had come from the land of the elves.
I’d need to keep on high alert in this strange new land of magic and riddles with a people I knew next to nothing about.
Rafia led me through a maze of gilded hallways, stairs, and alcoves.
Many of the doors had intricate carvings of trees, flowers, birds and various unique objects.
I tried to make sense of the individualized doors when, at last, Rafia led me to a very plain wooden door.
It had only a single rune on its facade, right above the bejeweled bronze handle.
This door—a shudder wracked through me—was the door to my new prison. The finality of a different living space beside my own home, my own room, well, it broke something within me.
“You’ll get it carved to your liking in time, Miss.” Rafia noticed my gaze, probably thinking I was sad about how plain it was. She opened the door and nodded to the room beyond. “This will be your home, Miss Noelle, for as long as you live among us.”
“And if I desire to go back to the human lands?” I asked petulantly, not daring to look within.
“It can only be done if the king wills it, Miss.” Rafia’s magenta eyes were on the ground.
Which had never happened in the history of the world, so I was thinking I’d be better off asking the herbs in my garden if they’d mind being chopped up for dinner.
Rafia pushed open the door fully, revealing the stunning room beyond.
Large white arches lined the bright ceiling, taller than my bakery back home.
A single bed, the size of my entire bedroom back home, sat in the center of the stately space covered in silks and linens finer than any I’d ever seen.
Hand-painted flowers decorated the walls in pops of pinks and greens.
Curving walnut furniture lined the walls, awaiting fancy gowns and underclothes that would never fill them.
I pushed into the room, jaw on the floor. All this for a lowly human baker?
“It’s…” My throat closed up around the words beautiful, magical, incredible, otherworldly.
Yes, they all described the room, but the beauty was soured like spoiled milk.
Mother. Daisy. The thought of them threatened to swallow me whole.
I ran out to the large balcony beyond the bedroom and pulled in some deep breaths.
A deep orange sunset reflected from the balconies that lined the entire side of the castle, leading at least five stories down to the grounds and twenty up above where I stood.
Below, perfectly manicured trails led twisting paths through the bright foliage.
Fruits, vegetables, herbs, and flowers of every color bloomed and grew, though the air held a mild autumn chill.
How did they grow summer squash, tomatoes, strawberries at the end of an autumn turned winter?
The answer was obvious. Magic.
I’d climbed the hills surrounding my village, but save the ride through the cliffs this morning, I’d never seen the world from this high of a vantage.
Awe filled me. Not only were the grounds large, intricate and well-cared for, but the homes beyond, though not of human-make, looked peaceful and delicate.
There was a whole world out there I’d never dared dream of, and I could see it whenever I wished.
But it came at a cost I was not willing to pay.
I would never see my mother and sister again.
Tears rimmed my eyes, and I wiped them on the sleeve of my green velvet dress, the dress my mother slipped over my head just this afternoon.
“Do you find the room to your liking, miss?” Rafia asked from across the room. I jumped as I sniffed back my emotions, remembering I was not alone. But the tears welled to the surface with every shallow breath.
Rafia placed my trunk on a bench by the dresser and began to unpack my things into a more permanent place in the forest green wardrobe.
“Oh, sorry. I’ll do that.” I jumped from the balcony and made my way to Rafia.
“No miss,” Rafia shook her head. “Please allow me to serve you.”
She handled my very plain clothes as if they were grand gowns worn by a fine lady.
My stomach tightened with unease. Her servant smock was of finer make than some of my best dresses.
I shook my head. I’d never need grand dresses here, just ones that felt comfortable as I kneaded dough and painted frostings.
That was all I was sent here to do, after all.
“Your personal chamber is through there.” Rafia nodded to another door beside a large tapestry of intricate flowers and fruits.
Through it, I found a full marble bathroom complete with a claw-foot tub that would have no trouble fitting my entire family. Mother would love this place. Daisy would already have paints in her hands, eager to add to the flowers on the walls.
And I would never see them again.
Despite the beauty, I couldn’t fight the pain building inside of me any longer.
Tears burned the corners of my eyes and spilled down my dress.
Through the tears, Rafia dimmed the lights, lit a warm fire, and helped me undress.
I collapsed in a heap of fitful tears as Rafia let herself out and shut the door with a final thud.
A brisk knock woke me from my restless sleep.
“It is me, Miss.” Rafia’s gentle voice broke through the pillows and blankets I’d barricaded myself in with. “It’s a little past noon and…well, I have the first order from the king.”
“The first order?” I shook the heady sleep from my head. I was used to waking well before the sun, but it seemed with all the crying and emotion from my first night, I’d slept in. Served that dreadful king right.
Rafia pulled open the curtains, exposing an overwhelming view of rolling hills and elven homesteads outside of my enormous rooms. No, I had not conjured up this whirlwind fairytale. It was real, down to the noonday sun outside my doors.
“The king will not even allow me a day to come to terms with my new life?” I huffed as I stood on wobbly legs.
“I’m afraid I am to show you to your kitchen right away, Miss.” Rafia hurried over with an unnatural speed and steadied me.
I sighed and pulled from Rafia’s gentle grasp. “I’m fine.”
I would do this on my own. The king would not break me.
I held my hand out for the order. Rafia curtsied and placed a thick piece of parchment in my palm, which I took a bit too forcefully.
My hopes of being an independent baker crumbled like an overbaked biscuit.
The fine penmanship was written in the language of the elves.
Elegant slanting runes of hopelessly unreadable delicate writ.
I guess I couldn’t do this all on my own.
I couldn’t read the elder-tongue so I handed the letter back. “What does it say?”
Rafia looked it over with those wide magenta eyes of hers. “Ah yes, says here that His Majesty expects fifty rolled pastries of cinnamon with icing for tomorrow morning’s breakfast.”
Of course, the same ones he’d tasted yesterday. Was it only yesterday morning that everything had gone so wrong? I had half a mind to bake the most rotten cinnamon rolls I could muster.
“And what if I…displease the king?” I asked tentatively.
Rafia’s head shot up. “Oh no, Miss, that will not do. The king is not to be trifled with. If he does not get what he wishes, you will not be the only one who suffers.”
Rafia’s eyes darted to the floor. The message was clear. She would also suffer somehow. That fear in her eyes had been real. There was something very dark about this place. So beautiful and enchanting, it was easy to miss the dark creeping undertones of wrong.
I threw on my best work dress and apron, pulled my brown curls back with a handkerchief, yanked on my boots, then strapped my satchel containing my cookbook and spoon across my chest. All of my most valuable possessions were contained in this small satchel of mine.
They seemed to nudge me forward, as if eager. “Rafia, please take me to my kitchen.”
Rafia fixed her dark pink eyes on my state of dress, clicked her tongue once with raised eyebrows, most likely finding my state of dress abysmal, then nodded. “This way, Miss.”
I followed behind at a quick pace. Rafia was most likely hundreds of years older than me, and beautifully plump, but she moved with a quick grace that I’d seen in all the elves.
I scrambled to keep up. Rafia led me through a maze of hallways and down five flights of stairs until we reached the ground level.
So far, we hadn’t run into any of the royal elves as we roamed through the back of the palace, thank Christmas.
I didn’t know what I’d do if I happened into that hateful king.
We passed by several servants going about their duties and they stared, as if startled by my presence, then bowed.
We neared a large curving alcove, and beyond it, well, despite my best efforts of not being overwhelmed, the view took my breath away.
Roses of every color, some quite unlike any in the human realm, bloomed richly in the golden afternoon light.
Past the throes of roses, thick flowering rosemary and sweet dill blossomed, quite out of season.