Page 43 of Sugar & Sorcery
I stifled another laugh, brushing crumbs from my apron. Farther away, the Spirits had finally dared to dip into Éclair’s tray.
“At least someone’s making friends,” I remarked, standing. “See? He grows mushrooms on his head when he’s happy.”
“Disgusting,” he muttered. “And I’m sure it’s your fault.”
Back inside the kitchen, I found Chouquette fast asleep, one paw curled around the frog nestled against one of her fluffy tails. My choux had vanished, devoured by that mysterious ceiling dweller. Aignan slipped away at once, looking far too suspicious, his tail held high.
“If it’s to mark your territory in Arawn’s room again, no more pastries for you,” I called after him.
He quickened his pace, not looking back. “I’m just leaving him a few spiders in his bed. Worked fine on you, you always leap to the ceiling.”
I sighed. The thought of chasing him crossed my mind, but exhaustion weighed down my limbs. My apron felt as soft as a pillow, the counter warm beneath my arms.
“I’ll do the dishes… later… and get food… later…”
My eyelids grew heavy. My vision blurred and grew hazy as the glow of the grimoire pulsed like a breath. Beneath my weary eyes, ink traced itself, golden letters etching across the page.
Through the Forest Crown, I had managed to recreate nostalgia.
“By the sucre d'or, that means I’m not completely useless… Well, it’s a start.”
I had soothed Aignan.
A yawn. My eyelids fell shut. On the page, the golden letters stretched farther, forming one last sentence, which I never saw.
15
The most powerful sorcerers, with mana so potent they can master the greatest curses, live nearly immortally, yet… they find themselves powerless against the one thing magic cannot give them—a form of love.
ARAWN
The enchanted wheels of the stall clattered one last time before the forest swallowed it whole.
I narrowed my eyes. The candles. She left them burning again. Reckless. One spark too many, and everything would go up in flames. The scent of melted butter and caramelized sugar clung to the air. Growling under my breath, I let the trail guide me to the kitchen, ready to loose a biting remark.
But the words died in my throat the moment I opened the door.
She was slumped against the counter, folded in on herself, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The flickering glow of the candles licked her skin, lingering on every curve, every fracture. Her crystallized flesh shimmered with golden shards,fragile as blown glass, ready to shatter. Beside her, an open grimoire, its pages smeared with flour and sugar. I stepped closer, my shadow sliding across her. Her wrist was bound in Yeun’s wing. My jaw clenched. A cold irritation gnawed at my gut. I could do nothing. Not without the risk of making it worse.
“You’re burning yourself out, little fool,” I murmured.
Her hands told the rest: raw, blistered, palms worn nearly to the bone. Even in sleep, her breathing came in ragged gasps, as if her own body no longer remembered how to rest.
My eyes swept the room. Everything had changed. Bouquets of dried flowers hung from the beams. Ivy twined around drawer handles. Her apron lay folded over a chair. Every corner sang of her presence. Why was she doing this? Why insist on making this place livable and beautiful when she was only passing through?
My gaze fell on a green pastry on the table. Beside it, a hastily scribbled note:
I had to fight to keep this one hidden from the Cursed, so you’d better eat it! P.S. If it’s bad, don’t bother telling me! And if you find me collapsed, that’s normal, I’m perfectly fine, my crystallized body can’t break (not that you’d care anyway).
My lips twitched—barely. In her sleep, she almost looked human. I reached for the pastry, its crust warm and crisp beneath my fingers, and bit into it. The shell cracked beneath my teeth, releasing a pistachio cream that instantly melted on my tongue.
“Hmm.”
I swallowed it in a single mouthful. Delicious. I wanted more. A shiver shot through me, raising every hair on my skin. For the first time in an eternity, I was cold. A cold I knew: the crunch of snow underfoot, the sting of frost against skin. A sharp ache cut through my chest, worse than any blade to the heart. Rustling leaves. The biting air of an endless winter. A massive tree, taller than a castle, crowned with apples, purple and dark.
Something shifted on the windowsill. A frog stared at me, its eyes glinting in the dark. The strange sensation vanished at once, swept away like dust on the wind. I straightened abruptly, closing my gloved fingers around its throat.
“An enchanted frog. Always predictable.”
