Page 71 of Sugar & Sorcery
Arawn stared flatly. “Congratulations.”
“It’s going to be amazing and?—”
I stepped into my kitchen and froze. A battlefield. Nothing had been touched since the Cursed attack. Worse, there were no sugarplums in sight. I shot Arawn an accusatory look.
He shrugged, unashamed. “I was hungry.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “You can stay here. I won’t be long.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Before I could protest, Arawn lifted a hand. A magical breeze swept the room, sending utensils and ingredients spinning in a whirlwind. Beneath his rolled-up sleeve, violet veins crawled along his forearm. His hair lifted under the pressure of the spell.
In seconds, the kitchen was spotless. Everything back in its place. As if nothing had ever happened. Except him. His jaw was taut, his features held too tightly to be honest. His arm slid discreetly behind his back, hiding what he refused to show.
“That’s cheating,” I lamented.
“Call it what you like. Centuries of practice, perhaps?” he said, his lips curving into a sarcastic smile as he leaned lazily against the wall. “But yes, let’s call it cheating, if it makes you happy.”
I hummed absently, then, with a small smile, pinned my invitation right in the middle of the room. “My whole life revolves around pastry, yet I’ll never be at the level of my mentor.”
The manor groaned, as if the very walls had heard my confession and disapproved of it entirely. “Why do you think that?”
I lowered my eyes to my grimoire. The ink stretched across the page, forming new sentences.
“Cooking together weaves bonds, stronger than any thread. As it began, a master confectioner and her apprentice, so it must continue. Food does not lie; it is truth made edible. A recipe has no soul—it is yours to breathe life into. Remember, the surest path to a heart passes through its hunger.”
I pressed my lips together.Oh no.The message was clear. This wasn’t only about cooking. It was a trial of sharing, of trust, of connection. And of course, my grimoire had to be unbearably intrusive.
I snapped the book shut before it could add more. I’d probably do it with Éclair, who seemed interested in cooking, because I couldn’t imagine askinghim. But the grimoire was stubborn.
It opened at once, its pages trembling with a will of their own, and a new phrase glowed.
“To deny what your heart holds is to deny its truth. A heart burdened with lies can neither speak nor grow.”
“Oh, and where was all that wisdom during all those years when I really needed you, huh?” I muttered, irrationally itching for a fight with a book. “You were silent! You’re no better than a liar yourself!”
“What?” Arawn blared.
“Nothing!” I plastered an innocent smile on my face as I slammed the grimoire shut. I didn’t want to lie to my heart, andmaybe that wretched grimoire was right. But that didn’t mean it got to win the argument. “Do you want more sugarplums?”
I didn’t even give him time to answer before snatching several jars from the shelf: violet plums, cranberries, a jar of powdered strawberries and oranges, and a fat amethyst mushroom with a nutty flavor.
“So that’s what it feels like to be ignored,” Arawn remarked dryly.
I stared at the counter, wishing the ingredients would miraculously make conversation for me.
“I’m not at Nyla’s level,” I finally let slip, almost against my will. “I probably never will be. And that’s fine because we’re different. But…” I lifted my shoulders lightly, as if it didn’t matter. As if it didn’t twist my stomach every time I thought of it. “What Zelda said… That I was empty…”
Arawn was still leaning in the doorway, indifferent. My words slid off him without effect. But the manor betrayed him. The air thickened. His shadow stretched, crawling along the wall, denser, darker. The pipes shivered, creaked, as though an invisible force twisted them. Then he cleared his throat, and the tension broke. The shadows receded. The pipes fell silent.
“You give yourself so little worth, and so much to others. It must be exhausting, never listening to what I say.”
I squeezed an orange too hard, sending a spray of zest flying across the room. Then my knife slipped through the plums, slicing their skins easily, revealing golden, juicy hearts.
“It’s hard to see your own worth, isn’t it?” I said, hinting at what the boy in the orchard had shown me of his past.
Thank goodness my grimoire couldn’t speak. It would have burst out laughing at me, twisting its own words to my advantage.
