Page 30 of Sugar & Sorcery
I nodded. In the little kitchen, I preheated the old oven, which groaned in protest, exhaling reluctant warmth after moons of disuse. Ovens were peculiar creatures, temperamental—especially when woken from long sleep.
I shaped the dough into little hearts, while Yeun continued, “Did Master tell you about the winter ceremony?”
“The ceremony? No, never.”
He only talked when it was to push me away. Though if he had truly wanted to, he would have already chased me off.
“You humans celebrate winter with the harvest of golden apples. For us fairies, there is a ceremony a week earlier. We honor the forest, so it won’t darken, and so it blesses the new golden apples. I still honor it every year, though Master and most Spirits don’t join anymore. Perhaps this year, you could?—”
A stone struck Yeun full force, sending him flying into a cauldron. Aignan burst into laughter from his bush.
“Aignan,” I shouted.
“Not me,” he protested. “I don’t have that kind of aim.”
A second projectile whistled past, grazing Aignan.
“Filthy Spirits!” he roared, leaping after them through the mist. “You’ll feel my horn!”
Red eyes glimmered in the distance. One, in the middle, lay collapsed on the ground, more translucent than the rest. It coughed up mist, its wavering form like a crushed flower. I tightened my apron. They were counting on me.
They shouldn’t.
Yeun! He was still in the cauldron. I plunged my hand into the boiling water, my fingers numbing from the heat shock.
“I’m fine!” he assured me, shaking himself like a drenched cat. “Heat doesn’t hurt me.”
I wrapped my hand in a cloth. If I wasn’t careful, I’d end up melting myself. A tingling spread. A strange dampness lingered on my skin, as though cracks were forming inside. For a moment, I struggled to move my fingers.
“Sorry, Yeun, but I can’t come. I have work.”
So much work.The will-o’-the-wisp dimmed. I crushed the sucre d'or under my mortar, reducing the crystals into fine sparkling powder.
“Oh… I understand. I won’t bother you anymore then.”
I beat the egg whites too hard. A splash hit my cheek. I ignored it. The dough was drier than expected. I kneaded it anyway. Nyla would have known the right texture. Me—I couldn’t tell if it was too sticky or not enough. Couldn’t decide.
That voice in my head wouldn’t stop. An insidious whisper, sliding like burnt sugar, infiltrated every corner of me. A dull ache coiled under my ribs. My hand trembled as I spread the glaze over the rousquilles. And the voice, still there, merciless. Whispering that maybe the Wish Witch had turned me into what I knew best because deep down, I would never measure up.
Nyla would have known what to do.
But me… all I’d ever known how to do was fail.
And I’d had enough.
The ceiling creaked again. I spun around in a rush. “Is someone there?”
No one answered.
And finally, that cursed voice went silent.
11
A sorcerer can manipulate matter, curse beings, and create a multitude of endless spells, but the soul remains a forbidden territory to their magic.
ARAWN
Hunger growled inside me.
