Chapter 14 #2
“Go there?” the Elf King started. “Go to the mountains crawling with a killer shade monster? You’ve yet learned to wield your own magic.”
“There’s a shade monster here as well. One that you captured.” My legs throbbed, and I pulled up the hem of my skirt to expose the infected part of my lower leg. The black lines had grown, stretched farther across my skin since morning. A ticking clock to my own demise. “Or have you forgotten?”
The king’s eyes turned to steel.
“We don’t have time to wait. We only have five weeks until Christmas, until…” We die.
“It is a five-day journey to Winterthorn.”
“Then I will learn all I can about my baking along the way.” I could travel quite easily with my cookbook and lucky wooden spoon from Daisy.
But I would have no oven, no proper baking pans or tabletops to prepare my creations. No careful measuring of ingredients. I had no idea what was out here past the castle walls. I bit my lower lip, my leg throbbing an insistent reminder.
I’d need to make it work. There was no other option.
Even though the thought of wielding magic made my heart stutter at my own inadequacy, I wanted it to be true. And if, indeed it was true, then I could really make a difference back home.
Perhaps I could stop the blight from spreading to the human lands.
“I will show you all I know, and perhaps then we can come to an agreement about travel plans,” the king said.
We got to work scouring through the old parchment and tomes, learning as much as we could about the Great Darkness and human magic as the sun set behind the trees surrounding the castle.
A few of the very old journals had been written in the hands of humans.
I felt awed as I read the words from my ancient ancestors.
They spoke of eternal winter. How they were once welcomed by the elves, but had since been shunned, forced out of the Undying Lands.
The words filled me with a deep dread…I yawned and stretched. Pinks and oranges spilled in through the gilded windows and my head dipped. I rubbed at my eyes.
“You need rest, Little Baker.” The Elf King said.
“Rest?” Rest was the last thing on my mind. “What time is it?”
“It is long past dinnertime.”
I blinked at the darkness that lay beyond the windows. We’d been scouring the tomes since morning and it’d only felt like it’d been a few hours. Though the scattered teacups and half-eaten biscuits on the tabletops told a different story.
“I think we’ve read as much as we can from your books here,” I said. Everything confirmed what we knew. The magic and the blight were all connected. “The answers lay in Winterthorn.”
The king pulled in a deep breath, but did not contradict me.
“Teach me what you know of wielding magic along the way.” I lifted my eyes up the considerable height to the king’s piercing gold eyes. “If intent is the first pillar of magic, what are the others? So far all of my magic has been by accident. How do I wield it purposefully?”
The king raised a white eyebrow and crossed his large arms across his broad chest. “You wish for me to be your teacher? Give it thought, for I have never taught magic before. I do not quite—”
The king struggled to find his words.
“You do not know how?” I smiled. “That makes two of us.”
The king seemed to contemplate our plight for so long a moment, that when he spoke, I was certain he would deny me. “I will teach you what I know of magic, Little Baker, if you promise to open your heart to it.”
“Open my heart?” I reeled, my cheeks heating.
“I have a very open heart, thank you very much.” I might have been a tad defensive.
“And, for your information, I am not little.” I huffed.
I couldn’t believe I was speaking to the king in such a manor, but it seemed I’d forgotten my decorum again, if indeed I ever possessed the virtue.
“You are among elves, Little Baker. We pride ourselves on our stature.”
“Well, among humans, I’m perfectly average,” I claimed, though truthfully, I’d always been among the shortest.
“You could never be considered average.”
Was that a slight against my height? Or was there a bare tinge of pink coloring the tops of the king’s cheeks? My heart pounded, all thoughts of sleep leaving my mind, but the king cleared his throat.
“It has been decided. We leave for Winterthorn tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I croaked. So soon?
“Pack your things in the morning, for we leave at sunset. I will have proper traveling clothes sent to your rooms, but we must travel light.” The king stood. “We have much to do.”
I nodded, staring into the fair face of the king. He seemed tired, if an eternally handsome being could look tired, but resolute. He dipped his head, and I understood that as a dismissal.
“Until tomorrow,” I said as I gathered up Wilma’s book on cookies. “Until then.”
The next day, Rafia woke me, then let in elf after elf carrying packages from the king.
Enchanted saddlebags that could hold many times their size.
Three traveling dresses. Five long tunics.
Tight pants in the style of the king’s bodyguard.
I may have blushed at the thought of wearing those.
Shin-high leather boots lined in fleece.
A wolf-fur coat enchanted to keep my entire body warm and dry.
Mittens and a hat that seemed to be made of snow-bunny fur, though when I mentioned as much, Rafia wrinkled her nose.
“We would never wear the skins of such an animal. This hat is made from the morning dew that falls on the willowflower every morning of spring. It is collected and sewn to protect the head and heart from any ill enchantments.”
“Ill enchantments?” I rubbed my infected leg absently. “There is more dark magic out there besides this blight?”
“The king will not risk it, though dark magic is rare.” Rafia clucked her tongue as she surveyed my scarred leg. “You seem to find it rather adeptly.”
I wrinkled my nose as Rafia handed me a pair of pants, more like thick stockings. “I’ve never worn pants before. Won’t it be improper?”
Rafia smiled, “Wearing a dress while riding a horse for miles would be more improper, I believe.”
I snatched the stocking-like pants and pulled them up over my legs, then threw on a tunic and cinched a leather belt about my waist. Next were the boots, warm and surprisingly supple.
I inspected myself in the mirror. My traveling outfit gave me the same striking figure as that of the king’s bodyguard.
I turned about, marveling at the ease of movement.
Yes. I could get very, very used to this.
The scars on my leg merely pulsed with a memory of a pain now that I’d had another dose of Jel’s miracle potion.
I packed my flask of potion, which Jel had produced last night for both the king and me, in my crossbody pack, along with my treasured cookbook and spoon.
I packed a single pot and pan, some flint and other small utensils.
I also packed several bottles of my cooking necessities like baking powder, soda, and spices—leaning heavily towards my favorite Christmas baking seasonings.
If I was to use my magic, learn it, grow, then I’d need to bake as much as possible on this journey.
Rafia packed my other saddlebag with food for the journey, a bed roll and a small tent, just in case, she said, in case we couldn’t find an inn on the long road to Winterthorn.
I swallowed down the thought of traveling with the king, with the blush it brought my cheeks and the butterflies that danced in my belly.
I would not be a silly little maiden. I was a craftswoman.
A baker. A magic baker, if the king was to be believed.
Now I just needed to believe in myself.
I didn’t like the king, not really. I liked the attention.
But he’d still taken me from my family, even if it was in an attempt to save his kingdom.
And I got infected from the same shadow plague.
I would need to guard my na?ve little heart.
I may know some of what was happening in the Undying Lands, but not all.
The king kept many secrets from me, and I’d need to hold my heart close.
The butterflies danced all the same as I followed Rafia toward the cottage next to the royal stables under the cover of darkness. Tall green trees loomed over us in the indigo sky as the sun fell behind the horizon in a burst of oranges and pinks.
“The king prefers no-one knows where he’s gone.” Rafia explained as she hauled my saddlebags over her strong shoulders, “He told his court that he will be traveling to his country estate for the next two weeks to prepare for the solstice and does not desire to be disturbed.”
“Just like that, he gets out of royal duties?” I quirked an eyebrow, “Must be nice to be king.”
“It is not that simple. He had to pass his duties on to Serrina, as she will see to the kingdom in his stead, and—”
“His bodyguard?” I teased. “And will she be stabbing the unsuspecting peasant mercilessly for every small complaint or eating them for breakfast?”
A tall and extremely handsome male stepped out from the brown gem-lit barn, hair of a black raven’s feathers, “Who will be stabbing peasants mercilessly? Are you saying that my choice for steward is not wise?”
I paled, my heart kicking into my chest like a flying reindeer. Familiar golden eyes peered out through the male’s piercing gaze.
I swallowed down my humiliation and said, “I was just saying how Serrina is a beautiful and fair female and will be a wonderful choice to govern in your stead.”
A smile, slight and barely there, lifted his cheek, the smile I was starting to understand as a teasing smile. A crack in his armor. “Yes, that is what I thought you said.”
The Elf King wore traveling clothes similar to mine and wore his same immaculate face, but his hair was jet black, pulled in intricate braids down his back, and he wore a stubbled black beard.
I blinked, then blinked again, unable to stop my mouth from falling to the leaf-strewn grass.
He was…ruggedly handsome. Elegant as an elf, but—strong. He looked like a traveler, not a king.
I greatly preferred his long white hair, yet I couldn’t help but admire how the black also suited his sharp features.
“I will leave you, miss.” Rafia left the saddlebags. She bowed to the king, bowed to me and left with a quiet, “be safe,” on her lips.
“Why have you changed your appearance?” I asked through a closed throat, my heart sputtering wildly. I will not be overcome.
“I wish to remain inconspicuous. I will not be taking my elk mount. We will be traveling on horseback.” He looked down at me through his impossibly long eyelashes.
“And please call me Elden.” He held a hand out to me as we stood under the light of the moon outside of the palace barn.
The moonlight alighted on his black hair, and his golden eyes glowed out from his handsome face as brightly as any old stupid moon.
My heart was indeed in trouble.
“This is one of your human greetings, is it not?” He asked, hand outstretched, as I stood there dumbly.
“Noelle.” I took his hand and squeezed, surprised at the roughness. He did not have the soft hands of a precious royal, but the hands of a working man. My father said I could judge a person by their hands, and this one was strong, warm, solid, and rough.
That same slight smile quirked his lips, and a gleam flashed in his gold eyes. “A pleasure.”
And for a moment, I believed he meant it.