Page 37 of Sugar & Sorcery
I turned back to my companions, who were staring at me as though I’d sprouted a second head. But a second later, they were already back to their business. Éclair, wrestling with his apron, trying to tie it exactly like mine. Chouquette, wagging her tails, each one clutching a rousquille like a tiny trophy. And Aignan, his back turned on the chaos. Authority was clearly not my strong suit.
I bit my lip. Maybe I shouldn’t have dismissed him like that? What if he got hurt? What if he had drained too much of his magic just to talk to me? No, he’d be fine. He was the Mist Sorcerer, after all.
“I’m taking these to Yeun,” I muttered, grabbing the tray of still warm rousquilles. “At least he always says thank you.”
I climbed out the window, striding toward the will-o’-wisp’s cabin, determined to be back before nightfall. As long as daylight lingered, I could avoid the Spirits. My boots sank into the spongymoss, and I cast an uncertain glance at the lake. Its surface trembled faintly, as if troubled by invisible drops, breaking the silence with a whisper.
I placed the rousquilles carefully inside the little wooden cabin, but instead of heading back, I turned toward the lake. When I finally reached the water’s edge, a chill crept along my nape. I froze, whipping around, breath short. I wanted to be certain I hadn’t been followed (especially not by Aignan, who’d no doubt leap straight into the lake without a second thought).
Crouching, I leaned over the glassy surface, my heart hammering in its cage. The water was dark, unfathomable. The Lake of Lost Things. What would I find there? What if I could see Nyla again? My curiosity won. With the tips of my fingers, I brushed the water. Fine ripples spread out in circles. My reflection blurred at once, and another image took shape.
A little girl with round cheeks, a sulky pout, and hair in a tangled mess. Me. Younger. A tray of tarts in my arms, my furious glare pinned on Aignan, guilty of having devoured half already. The smell of warm caramel and golden pastry seemed to rise from the memory, so vivid it made my chest ache.
Behind me, Nyla was carefully tying a ribbon into my unruly hair, but I was too busy chasing the lamb, undoing the knot the moment she tightened it. And still, Nyla smiled. A gentle smile. Bright. A smile I didn’t remember her ever giving me.
A tear slid down my cheek. I hadn’t even felt it fall. Distant voices, like whispers, called me to reach out my hand. The vision was fading. This was my last chance to return to a life where Nyla still smiled in our confectionery.
I plunged my hand deeper, trying to cling just a little longer to Nyla. This time, she was scrubbing our bakery’s kitchen with meticulous care, while the younger me shouted at her. My heart clenched. I had only good memories of her, yet this one was far from joyful.
“You don’t even want to teach me!” I screamed, tugging and twisting at my apron with bandaged fingers. “It’s because I’m not your daughter, isn’t it? You’ve ignored me all day!”
“Because you failed,” Nyla answered, setting down her cloth with icy calm. “We had customers, and you couldn’t manage the Velvet Hearts. I had to redo every one of them while you wallowed in self-pity.”
The little heart-shaped biscuits were swept straight into the trash. Rejected. Judged too childish and not good enough. How had I forgotten that? And more importantly, why was the lake showing me this memory?
“You didn’t even give me the recipe,” my younger self shrieked. “I was doomed to fail. You’re a terrible mentor!”
Nyla turned her back. “Your heart is too fragile. It can’t even handle a critique. You’re so afraid of failure, you can’t even keep your head in what you’re doing. If you keep this up, you’ll never be a confectioner.”
“You mean I’ll never measure up to you, don’t you?” I cried, cheeks burning, biting my lip to dam the tears.
“A good confectioner doesn’t need words to enchant because her sugar speaks for her. Look at yours… grainy, sticky, burned.”
“So that’s it? You’re going to abandon me too?”
Nyla pointed at the door, her brows furrowed. “Get out of my shop.”
“Gladly!” I spun on my heels and slammed the door behind me, only to collapse on the bakery steps under a beating rain. “Everything I do is never enough for you anyway…”
“No, that’s not true,” I cried at my child self, shattering the memory into a thousand new ripples.
I refused to let go. I plunged my whole hand into the water, clinging to the vision as if I could hold it, as if I could slip inside and grab that stubborn girl by the shoulders, shake her, scream at her that she didn’t know what she was saying.
That she would regret every word.
It was true that Nyla never handed out compliments easily, that she was severe—but that was because she loved me, wasn’t it? Because she believed in me.
In the memory, Nyla lifted a hand toward me, then faltered, collapsing behind the counter. Aignan curled against her. “Kids… they’re not easy to raise.”
“Fear paralyzes her,” Nyla whispered. “At the slightest misstep, she crumbles. I don’t want her to depend too much on me. Was I too harsh, Aignan?”
“No, Nyla,” I shouted, as if I could bridge the distance and still change something. “It’s me who should apologize.” But the memory was already dissolving, slipping through my fingers like water. “Nyla! I’m sorry!”
Something latched onto my hand, there, under the lake’s surface. A brutal tug. A force dragged me down, pulling me into the abyss. The grip was icy, burning at the same time, and when I lowered my eyes, I saw two red pupils opening beneath the water. Nyla was gone. Her memory was erased, swept away by a thick, suffocating metallic stench.
Blood.
Before me, corpses piled up, forming a mountain of flesh and bone. Flames gnawed at the houses in the background, casting sparks beneath the steps of a solitary man.
