Page 48 of Sugar & Sorcery
Chouquette cackled, and I shot Aignan a panicked look. He suddenly found his hooves fascinating, as if a lamb could care about a pedicure.
“Who would do such a thing?” I sputtered, feigning outrage.
“A true mystery,” Arawn drawled, his syllables dripping with venomous languor. “Luckily, I cursed my belongings. Whoever meddled with them will soon sprout glowing warts over their body unless they bathe immediately in enchanted water.”
“WHAT?” Aignan bolted, tail tucked.
“All lies,” Arawn added, “but lambs have an abysmal fear of baths.”
“Aignan would think that paradise,” I shot back with a smug grin. “I’ve never heard you joke before.”
“He isn’t the brightest. I saw them break in. They seemed to enjoy themselves, so I let them. Though I’ve yet to recover all myshoes. In any case, I’m fetching an ingredient from the sorcerers’ market. It only appears once per moon.”
Oh. The recipe. The one I was supposed to craft… to end his life. While also creating the recipe of my soul, to save his. The thought alone made my head spin.
“You already know the recipe?”
“No. That’s your job. But I’ve memorized some ingredients.” He motioned through the forest. “Want to come?”
My eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes. Though it’s a terrible idea. You’d draw attention. I’d have to watch you. You’d get lost. I’d get a headache. And you never listen. Did I authorize this picnic? No. Yet here we are.”
“I just wanted to celebrate my birthday!” I protested, probably sounding like a spoiled child to him.
He stopped, staring at me as if I’d just declared the end of magic. “You said nothing.”
“Because if I had, you’d all look at me just like that. Worse, you’d force yourselves to stay with me out of pity! I finally found the confection to offer the orchard boy. I hoped he’d come. That we’d all be… together, so I must?—”
“Let the Spirits handle your picnic in your absence. You’ll be back by nightfall.” He held out his hand. “Come. If someone must endure you today, Confectioner, it will be me.”
I bit my lip. “And if I cause trouble?”
“I’ll cause more.”
17
Sorcerers traveled with their homes. Their dwellings served as their altars—the very core of their magic—stabilizing their power. Without them, a sorcerer's magic dwindled faster, leaving them vulnerable.
ARAWN
“With clothes like these, I’ll stand out… and not in a good way!” Lempicka grumbled, tucking her pink hair under the hood of the cloak I had conjured for her.
She waved the brown sleeves, far too long for her, swallowing her hands whole. Then she pouted. But those were the conditions. If she wanted to accompany me, she had to avoid attention—and take that broom, even if she held it as if it were a dead rat.
“I’ve no desire to reduce a market to ashes or drown it in blood because of you,” I cut flatly.
I already knew what we would find there. Vermin. Charlatans. Well-bottom sorcerers. My tolerance was low, especially for fools.
“No one ever said violence was a solution.”
Too naive. I shot her a pointed look, but her attention had already drifted toward our means of travel, parked in the middle of the forest.
“A flying carriage?” she exclaimed, eyes glittering with wonder.
Technically, it was no carriage. It was a tower. One of my towers. I had torn it from the castle and enchanted it to float. I opened the door for her. “Sorcerers travel with their homes. You’ll see others of the same kind.”
She slipped inside the confined space, wedging the broom awkwardly against the wall. I followed, folding my legs into the cramped quarters, careful not to brush against her. The tower had never been made for two. It had only ever carried me.
