by Anita Valle
Ivy snapped back from the window. “You apologized?” Heidel understood her amazement. Coralina had broken a hundred hearts without batting a curly black eyelash. This had to be her first taste of remorse.
Coralina lowered her eyes, cheeks going rosy. “That made him pause. And so I said, ‘She’s sorry for how she... treated you. She wants you to like her. And she kept the owl.”
“What did he say?” Briette asked.
“I think the owl surprised him. He sat down again and sighed heavily. ‘I’m guessing you know her,’ he said. ‘If so, please take her a message. Tell her Gord does not regret his actions. But he does regret some of his words. Princess Coralina has goodness inside her. After all, she was kind to my daughter. Tell her, for that, I am grateful.”
Ivy clasped her hands rapturously. “That’s beautiful!” she said breathily. “Do you see? He will never truly be blind, for he sees the goodness in others.”
Heidel smothered a harsh laugh that would certainly have wounded Ivy’s feelings. “I think Coco sees this differently. It means Gord doesn’t hate her - so there’s hope. Right Coco?”
Coralina smiled. “We shall see.”
Briette suggested that Coralina should allow Gord some time before trying to renew their friendship. But Heidel found her attention drifting. Three hours remained until the contest and the announcement of the final rule. She had not seen Eravis’ cake which he worked on long after she left the kitchen. Taking no risks, she had slept with her own cake sitting on her bedside table, waking to a moist, sugary smell. It had to be good.
Heidel found the morning slow, the festivities hard to enjoy. She bought more food for Fenwick’s plate, ate roasted corn, and watched a street play about a clumsy knight who repeatedly fell off his horse. She walk amid the clutter and clamor of the streets, arms wrapped tightly around her silver cake dish. Eventually, she found an abandoned booth and set her cake on the table, deciding to simply wait out the last hour before noon. The people passed in small bunches and Heidel let her thoughts wander as they did, without care or direction.
She thought of Joc showing her how to knead bread, his fingers whitened by flour; her father, the way he had always kissed he just above her eyebrow; Maelyn’s serene expression when she read a book aloud; Eravis touching her hair under the Lumen tree. Eravis commending her for pulling Hadrian’s tooth. Eravis crying last night because she had hurt him....
Heidel flicked a guilty glance at the cake dish. Little moments made life important, not large awards. She had lost Eravis’ friendship – again - over a contest. It was stupid. But of course she couldn’t tell him that.
Trumpet music, bright and jovial, blasted from the square. Heidel stood, distinctly irritated. Fine. She would do the contest. Lose. And go home. King Erlamon would leave. Eravis would leave. She would return to her normal life as Kitchen Princess.
That was all she could hope for.
Chapter 34
It was while Hedwig hurried to the square that she noticed the clouds. Ash gray, churning unpleasantly, they rolled over the sky, gobbling up the blue. And the further Heidel looked, the blacker they became.
Heidel swore savagely. Not rain.
The square was crowded as a packed barrel of fish. The cake contest and the crazy king who gave it were enough to draw most of the kingdom. Heidel prodded through a forest of sharp elbows and shoulders, hugging her cake desperately. If her sisters were near, she didn’t see any of them.
Rising above the people, the old execution stand had become a seat of splendor. A polished throne stood on the platform, sheltered by a canopy of royal purple, fringed in gold. A carpet runner, also purple, rippled down the wooden steps and stretched a pathway into the square, dividing the crowd. As Heidel pushed closer, she saw the other bakers had lined up on this carpet, each of them holding a covered cake. Seven bakers, herself making eight. That was all.
“Princess Heidel!” An excited woman waved from the crowd as Heidel slipped in behind the other bakers. A brief applause broke out, followed by cheers and others calling out her name. Heidel grinned in surprise. She hadn’t expected support, but perhaps it was natural they would root for their princess. It buoyed her spirits. Suddenly she was excited to begin.
Ah, there was Eravis, front of the line. Of course the king’s son would go first. Behind him, the long-nosed woman, the slouchy fellow who hadn’t won in fourteen years, the spritely girl looking even more determined, the enormous foreign man pushing an enormous cake dish in a wheel barrow, a skinny boy of fifteen years who looked terrified, Borris the local baker, and Heidel.
Again the trumpets blasted, stabbing her eardrums. Heidel snapped attention to the high throne, where King Erlamon sat. A cool breeze, rushing in with the storm clouds, rippled the canopy and tussled his dark hair. Without smiling, he raised one hand to silence the murmuring crowd.
“Odd, isn’t it,” said King Erlamon, “how something as trivial as a contest – a mere form of amusement – can bring those who participate to display the most contemptible traits known to humanity?”
A few heads nodded but no one answered.
“Seventeen years,” said King Erlamon. “I have watched bakers employ every means possible to persuade me to choose their cake as the winner. Flattery. Threats. Tears. Arguments. Gifts. Man will behave his very worst to prove he is the very best. It is disheartening to see such indignity.
“Baking is a noble art. It requires patience, sensitivity, and a desire to give happiness to others. The best baker does not think of himself, but only of those he serves. It is my wish to cultivate this noble selflessness in the contestants gathered here today. And so I set forth my third and final rule.”
He stood.
“Each baker must now give his cake to another contestant, and adopt that contestant’s cake as his own. Therefore, the cake you present to me will not be yours, but one made by another. He who carries the winning cake will claim the prize and the prestige – yes, rewarded for a cake he did not make. And the cake’s true maker will not be revealed. In this, you will learn nobility.”
Chapter 35
Heidel had never seen shock like that. Hundreds of people, utterly dumbstruck. No one protested or cried out. No one even moved.
Then Borris, the local baker, muttered something she couldn’t hear. The other bakers began to follow him, through the crowd, to a small bake shop at the edge of the square. Inside the shop was tidy and cool, rich with the smell of bread. The bakers rested their cake dishes on a long counter that separated the front of the store from the ovens in back, except for the enormous foreign man who steered his wheelbarrow into a corner. They faced each other, blank and helpless.
Borris scratched his balding head. “Well....”
“HE’S CRAZY!” the long-nosed woman shrieked. “How can he do this!”
Everyone looked at Eravis, who dropped his head. “I – I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m so sorry.”
“Wait, let me understand,” said the spritely girl, now looking devastated. “I have to take someone else’s cake – yours, for example.” She pointed at Borris. “And take it to the king as if it were mine. If the king likes it, I get the prize. For your work. And you get nothing.”
“That’s it,” said Heidel.
“I REFUSE!” screamed the long-nosed woman, face aflame. “Give my beautiful cake to another person? NEVER! It is an insult!”
“Aye,” said the enormous foreign man. “What’s the good of it? If I win, I can’t enjoy it, because it’s not my cake that won. But if my cake does win, in the hands of another, I’ll be mad as a wild boar.”
“No one will want to win now!” cried the spritely girl, close to tears.
Eravis sighed. “I... think that’s the idea.” His eyes were lowered, arms wrapped protectively around himself. “He’s tired of bakers pulling tricks to win his favor. I think he wants us to be ‘noble’ enough to allow another person to be rewarded for our work. It’s... asking an awful lot.”
“
Noble nothin’!” said the skinny fifteen-year-old. “If my cake wins, I’m shoutin’ ‘I MADE THAT’ for everyone to hear. I don’t care who’s carryin’ it.”
“We should refuse to participate!” said the long-nosed woman. “No contest! It’s what he deserves!”
“Agreed.” The foreign man nodded.
The slouchy fellow looked doubtful. “Er, look, folks. I don’t like it much neither. But I got used to the crazy rules years ago. It’s part of the game, you know? Usually somethin’ good comes of it - like the year we had to make our cakes blindfolded ‘cause he wanted us to focus on taste. Lot of unsightly cakes that year. But holy molars, were they scrumptious.”
“Wait!” said Heidel. “What if we don’t switch? We simply return to the contest, each of us carrying our own cake. How’s the old nutter to know we didn’t switch?”
A mistake. She shouldn’t have said ‘nutter’. Eravis glared at her, eyes dark. “Oh, I think he’ll know. I think someone might tell him, if everyone decided to cheat.”
“And I think someone should tell his silly father....” Heidel caught herself. Did she really want to do this? Fight with Eravis, again? “Forget it.”
“Could you talk to him?” the spritely girl asked. Eravis shook his head. “I would have no influence. We have only two options: play by his rules, or quit.”
“Then I QUIT!” The long-nosed woman grabbed her cake dish off the counter and stormed out of the bake shop. Moments later, the enormous foreign man followed, bumping his wheelbarrow out the door. Heidel was disappointed. She had wanted to see the big cake.
The six remaining bakers stood silent. Then Borris waved at the cake dishes on the counter. “Well, let’s get this behind us. Princess Heidel?”
Heidel wasn’t surprised he asked her to go first. But she didn’t like it, not now. She felt painfully awkward, like trying to walk in ill-fitting shoes.
Six cake dishes stood before her, four made of wood, two metal. Eravis’ dish was tall and silver, borrowed from Heidel’s kitchen. She hadn’t seen his cake; it was probably disgustingly gorgeous, like him. If she didn’t grab it now, the next person would.
No.
NO.
She would not take Eravis’ cake. It didn’t guarantee a win. It would be weak, shallow, foolish. Something he could lord over her for years to come. She wouldn’t take it just to win the recipe book. Or just to win at all. No, she was stronger than that. She wouldn’t take it.
Chapter 36
She could hate herself later.
It was like eating pecan pie just before bed, Heidel thought. She knew the nuts would give her nightmares, but she refused to think about it. Until she woke up screaming. Then she’d rage at herself, swearing never to do it again, but knowing very well that she would.
Stupid was familiar.
The leftover bakers returned to the king, lining up again on the long purple carpet. Heidel let them pass her, preferring to go last. Or at least preferring to be as far away from Eravis as possible.
A thick raindrop splashed on Heidel’s cheekbone. She let it roll off her face like a tear, refusing to look skyward. If she didn’t acknowledge the rain, maybe it wouldn’t come.
She now carried Eravis’ cake, hidden beneath the silver dome of the dish. She fought the frequent temptations to lift the lid and peak – with her luck the cake would fall out and smash. It felt heavier than her cake, probably larger. Probably wonderful.
She hadn’t looked at Eravis since she took it.
“Ready, my good bakers?” King Erlamon asked. He smiled pleasantly from his throne, as if he hadn’t just ruined the contest for all of them. More fat raindrops plopped on the crowd. Heidel could feel the rain in her hair, hitting her scalp with cold little smacks. The square had gone dark as dusk and lanterns began to pop up like fireflies.
“Ready, Sire!” said the slouchy fellow. At this the clouds split open and hard, hissing rain poured down on the square, soaking their shoulders. Many people were turning to leave.
Heidel ground her teeth. This was the worst contest ever.
King Erlamon, dry beneath his canopy, beckoned with his fingers. Eravis began to climb the stairs with whatever cake he had chosen.
Heidel watched, blinking away the drops that splashed her face. Eravis reached the platform and stood stiffly. From the back of the line with a face full of rain, Heidel couldn’t see well. King Erlamon would be tasting the cake. How would he do it? Would he cut himself a slice, or take a small spoonful? Or just rip out a chunk with his fingers? Nothing would surprise her.
“Thank you,” Erlamon said formally. Eravis nodded, turned, and marched down the stairs. The spritely girl began to climb next. The line of hunched, shivering bakers inched forward.
Heidel was seized by a fierce wish to be anywhere but here. She had never felt worse in her life. The rain beat down, hard and cold. Her forearms burned from lifting Eravis’ heavy cake. She hated King Erlamon, hated the crowd, hated this contest, hated herself. All this for a stupid prize she didn’t even want anymore. She wanted to go home. No - she wanted to run away. No – she wanted... she wanted....
Heidel blinked, pushing out two hot tears to hide among the rain drops on her face.
She wanted Eravis.
Chapter 37
He wasn’t far. After coming down the stairs, he had left the purple carpet to join the crowd. He now watched the spritely girl presenting her cake. He appeared to be chewing on something – was he eating the cake he had chosen? His wet hair stuck to his forehead; his upturned eyes gave him an innocent, boyish look. Watching him, Heidel felt her heart lurch and for once did not try to stomp down her feelings.
Hang it, she loved him. The rotten mudsucker.
He was arrogant and spiteful. But so was she. He could be stubborn, competitive, even nasty. And so could she. Eravis was not her opposite. He was the other half of her soul.
“Heidel! Heidel!”
Oh, her sisters were here. Off to the left, easy to spot in the thinning crowd. All of them wet, all of them waving. Heidel couldn’t remember if she waved back. She wasn’t thinking clearly.
The spritely girl gingerly descended the stairs. She carried a white cake, tall and round, with dark red jelly separating the layers. The lumen fruit must have been in the jelly.
The line crept forward. Heidel kept her head low, grateful the rain made this look natural. A blush burned her cheeks but the onlookers would probably assume this was nerves. She wanted to cry hysterically, or laugh hysterically. She wanted to kick Eravis in the teeth. She’d been so comfortable, hating him. But now that was gone.
How could he do this to her?
The fifteen-year-old boy now came down from the platform carrying a cake he could never have made himself. It had been fashioned to look like an actual piece of lumen fruit, round and red. The outer coating of frosting was so smooth and glossy, Heidel guessed it was a sugar paste. She had never seen anything more beautiful.
Borris the baker’s turn now. Heidel stepped forward, painfully aware that every inch brought her closer to Eravis.
Had she always loved him? No, certainly not. They had not begun as friends. For years, just thinking about him made her nauseous. When did that change? Why did that change? Was this just another wretched part of growing up?
For distraction, she turned to her sisters clustered several feet beyond the sidelines on her left. They had either found or been given shawls, which they held above their heads to block the rain.
“Where’s Ivy?” Heidel asked sharply. It occurred to her that this chilly drizzle was the worst thing for Ivy’s health.
“Home,” Maelyn called out. “She didn’t come today.”
“No?” said Heidel.
“Keeping the castle safe.” Maelyn shrugged. “I guess she thinks it’ll burn to the ground if she leaves.”
This was awful. Ivy was becoming a prisoner, unable to leave her home. Heidel wished she knew how to help. She had left Squire at home today for fear he might
jump on her during the contest. At least Ivy had his protection.
A disturbance pulled Heidel’s attention to the platform. King Erlamon sounded furious. “Did you THINK I could not distinguish between a lumen and a CHERRY! You are disqualified!”
“It’s – it’s not my cake!” Borris cried. “It was-” He turned to survey the bakers who had already presented their cakes and had moved out into the crowd. “It was hers!” He shouted, pointing at the spritely girl. “Her cake! She cheated!”
The spritely girl shook her head a bit too vigorously. Heidel snorted. So she had used cherries when she couldn’t find lumen fruit. Silly nit. And now poor Borris was taking the blame.
King Erlamon waved away Borris with an air of disgust. The slouchy fellow, the only baker remaining before Heidel, started up the stairs. Heidel stared at the bottom step, at the raindrops pattering the wood. She was painfully aware of Eravis on her right, separated only by a thin rope fence.
“Hello,” she heard him say quietly.
“Hello, Eravis.” She felt ridiculous, holding his cake right in front of him. He was sure to sneer about it.
“How are you?” He spoke formally, as if to a stranger.
Heidel shrugged, eyes downward. “Wet.” Her dress clung with clammy coldness to her back and an unpleasant squishiness had settled between her toes. The silver cake dish felt slippery in her fingers.
“Me too,” said Eravis.
Heidel tried to laugh. “Remind me why we entered this contest.”
“I don’t know. Stupid, I guess.”
“We were both stupid,” said Heidel, still not looking at him.
“Yes. We were.”
A pause. King Erlamon was tasting the slouchy fellow’s cake.
“Nice cake,” said Eravis. Heidel braced her shoulders. “I’m sure it is.”