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A HANDFUL OF CAKE

T he idea of searching the keep excited me nearly as much as the dream of leaving the canyon had. In addition, I’d been obsessing over that abandoned cake for days. Surely, the Semels hadn’t taken something so large nor so delicate on the back of a dragon. But as I reached for the door, a cold shiver ran down my back, and I nearly turned around and went back down the hill.

No need to knock. Despite the bratach and a sign on the door declaring the keep “occupied,” the family wouldn’t return, no matter what they’d left behind. And soon, they’d be dead just like the rest of us.

I pushed my way inside, and after a silent debate with myself, I barred the door behind me. Absolute silence waited for me inside the cavern where Demius and I had spent mere moments eight days ago, before the party was cut short.

Trinkets lay toppled and rejected on their shelves. Clothes lay strewn on the floor and seats alike. The massive sword that usually hung above the hearth was gone. Two empty brackets extended from the stones as if waiting for someone to hand it back.

I was relieved the holding was built well enough to keep most of the vermin out, as proven by the fact that the sweet celebration cake hadn’t been touched. Here and there, berries had turned to tiny soppy puddles, leaves had wilted and curled.

I dug my fingers into the unsullied side of the stack and scooped out a still-soft chunk. Bits of parfruit, baked inside, were still moist, but I still needed water to wash it down. Thankfully, the reserves hadn’t completely dried up since the party.

I wasn’t sure what Father Semel had done to gather enough wealth to acquire such a fine home for only occasional use, but the sculpted, cushioned furniture wouldn’t do him any good now. I imagined there were plenty of luxuries in the city, though, so maybe the family wouldn’t be too uncomfortable while they waited out our collective doom.

The day after their abrupt departure, I’d suggested to Demius that we move ourselves up the hill to enjoy what comfort we could and put some distance between ourselves and the steady flow of travelers, but Demius insisted we must protect the library.

It was a lie. I knew it despite his convincing tone. His large ears always turned red when he bluffed, and they’d been flaming hot, as red as the canyon walls, before the words ever crossed his lips.

There had to be another reason.

The library was protected by a spell and the key now hanging around my neck. Even if someone knew about the caverns and their priceless treasure, the key alone couldn’t open the entrance hidden beneath our floorboards. Access also required a touch of magic. So, although I’d heard the spell a hundred times and memorized every word, in my hands, the key wasn’t much use.

Maybe, he would explain over supper how an Uncast like me was supposed to make it function.

Over supper and a piece of slightly dry cake.

There was only one thing Demius treasured as much as his library and that was his sleep, as if his life depended upon it. This was his only weakness, like a man addicted to fermented drink. So, if he didn’t explain over our evening meal, I would take advantage of his weakness—after he was good and weary—and demand the truth. And I wouldn’t let him near his beloved bed until he explained.

And I would press him about the blue dragon. If the history of the prophecy were buried in his most ancient books, the details of our doom had to be there too. I was wrong not to have demanded answers that first night.

Patience be damned—I refused to be tortured any longer.

How soon would we die? Was it pointless to store more water? To tend our meager crops? And how would it happen? Would it be painful? Would it be slow? Would it take only an instant, like a beheading?

I’d witnessed a beheading once, and though I’d watched closely, I couldn’t see any signs of pain on the face of the man’s head as it rolled away. If I learned our deaths would be more painful, maybe I could commit some crime so my end would come faster.

Such thoughts made my hands slow as I dug through the many rooms of the keep. I started with the servants’ quarters and found little of interest. A bundle of papers with the details of a life, the scrawling barely intelligible. Soon, it might be the only evidence of that life, so I left it where it was instead of taking the pages for our fire.

The house held surprisingly little food. But why horde dry stuffs when you can afford to bring fresh things with you from the city?

There was a finely crafted water skin of dragon leather I hung by the door so I wouldn’t forget it. Too heavy to be practical, but it would make a worthy gift for my master, to go along with my gratitude. The beautiful bowl of carved and polished stone was too heavy to carry on my first trip down the hill and too frivolous if we only had days to live.

In the back hall, I found slings and other types of weapons, but like the musical instruments in the great hall, with no time to learn their use, they were worthless to me. If Demius had ever tested himself against another, his weapons of choice had been mere words and rain, though there were two blades in our little house if we needed them.

I found a pair of soft leather boots that fit me and tucked them into a large, knee-high satchel that accommodated everything I had gathered, including a large stack of bound papers Demius might like to read before they were burned.

The Semel sisters, who were much younger than I, shared a private room. If they owned dolls or playthings, they’d taken them with them. I always wondered why their clothes weren’t dull in color and decoration so as not to draw attention to them. But maybe the wealthy used guards instead of subterfuge to protect their young females from the Prospectors.

I looked out the windows and was surprised how much of the day had passed while I’d combed through wealthy people’s lives. But with no restriction on my time, I’d saved the best for last. Mother Semel’s private room.

Though she obviously shared the space with her mate, the contents were primarily feminine. The very air smelled different from any room in our humbler abode. I ripped a seam in a delicious smelling cushion and discovered dried blossoms had been tucked inside.

A small antechamber held her clothing, all displayed against the wall on hooks, all smelling divine. When my eyes adjusted to the low light of my glow stone, I found bundles of dried things hanging from the rafters, but when I knocked one down, to take it home with me, it shattered into bits.

I dug through small trunks and couldn’t imagine the use for most of what I found. But a small soft bag with a tight close gave me an idea, and I scooped some of the shattered flowers inside it. After I went to the door to add the bag to the satchel, I stopped for another handful of cake and glanced at the window.

Completely dark now. He’ll already be in bed. My gratitude and my demand for answers would have to wait until tomorrow.

I collected two more glow stones and went back to the antechamber, and under a long black cloth, I found the most intriguing treasure of all—a large looking glass that reflected my image as perfectly as a pool of clear, still water. It was far too large and fragile to take with me. Besides, after just a glance, Demius would chide me for my vanity and make me drag it back up the hill.

But for now, it was all mine.

Though my master had disguised me as his male apprentice, I was a woman beneath my genderless robes. And since I’d lived nearly all my life in that gorge, I’d never had a chance to don true women’s clothing.

I’d always wondered how my body might look in a gown with my breasts unbound, like women travelers wore through the gully, on their way to the city. I wanted to prove my bulges would fill in the right spots.

The first few years of maturity, I’d begged Demius to let my hair grow, promised to keep it hidden, but he’d declined. Above all else, I was to keep my gender a secret.

He assured me I’d be taken to the city and forced to bear children for the good of Hestia, and that those children would be taken from me as soon as they proved healthy. That my heart would be broken again and again until my most fruitful years were behind me.

And so, I’d pretended to give up my longing for long hair and my secret pining for pretty clothes. When he’d forgotten to cut my hair for a while, I’d kept it hidden in the folds of my cowl, hoping it would grow long enough to touch my shoulders before he noticed. And when he remembered too soon, I’d resented him.

Then I’d come across some mention, some passage about the history or philosophy of the Prospectors, and my rebellious side would shrink and cower. And I’d be grateful I’d been raised by a man who had seen the world that lay well beyond the red rocks of our canyon and had protected me from it.

In the privacy of the keep, I slipped a blue gown over my head and nervously turned to the looking glass. I was right about my bulges. Other than the length and plenty of room around the hips, the dress fit me perfectly. So I went through Mother Semel’s complete collection just to prove that blue dress wasn’t a fluke.

Encased in a delicate wrapping and hung at the back corner of the room—hidden by enough clothing to cover a family for a lifetime—was a gown made of purples. Not one purple, but many, each of which had a texture of its own. In the light of a single candle, it glittered and came to life, reminding me of a rare purple dragon I saw once.

The beast was carried through the main artery of the canyon—a long-dead DeNoy dragon whose body had been preserved. And though the eyes were made of sandglass, I could almost see the creature’s thoughts moving behind them. Plotting, planning.

Obviously, a dress had no need for plotting or planning. But all the same, it twinkled like that dragon’s sandglass eyes…and dared me to slip my body inside. In the dim light of my glow stone, other eyes sparkled and blinked—they were jewels set in a narrow crown. Crusted with amethyst, purple sapphires, and yellow diamonds, it was obviously intended to be worn with my dragon gown. And I wondered how Mother Semel could have possibly left it behind?

Were her pockets so full it meant nothing to her? Had she merely forgotten it was tucked away in the corner? Or had she intended to leave it where I might find it?

Anything we leave behind is yours , she’d said. That made it mine now.

I lowered it onto my head. Small metal teeth embedded themselves in my raggedly cut mane and held tight. Even in the low light, the diamonds shone like golden stars against the white of my hair.

I could not say how long I stood there, mesmerized by my reflection. I imagined wearing the gown into the city and imagined only laughter. Mocking laughter. When I heard it for the third time, I realized I wasn’t imagining it at all. The tight fit of the rock walls and the thick wood had kept the keep eerily quiet all day. But the windows now vibrated with voices from below, carried upon the night air, still a bit distant…