Jacob cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. “Yes and, well, I finished your table.”
My eyes flew wide. “You finished my table, too?”
Jacob didn’t say a word, but turned and walked out of the cottage. Gotto rolled the stool over to me and followed his teacher out. Seemed Jacob had enlisted more than just Gotto to move the giant table, because a series of grunts sounded from outside, followed by several muscular elves carrying in a thick oak worktable. They carried it in several pieces, then Jacob and Gotto set to work assembling it in the kitchen.
I tried out the stool and sighed in comfort at both the carved wood seat and leg rests. No detail was left undone. Whimsical spoons and bowls were carved into the legs in a modern design. It was a work of art.
But if the stool was a work of art, the table was a masterpiece. Beautiful whorls and flowers were carved into the sides ofthe table, strikingly similar to the ones in my kitchen back home. A lifetime of memories flooded through me. Moments spent kneading bread at the old oak table. Laying beneath it and playing with my dolls. Setting bread out to proof when our kitchen counters got too full. Cleaning the blood from the scrapes on Daisy’s knees. Mother helping me with math as parchment and slate lay strewn about. She’d been especially adamant about me learning fractions, which I thanked her for every day as I halved or tripled recipes.
Tears filled my eyes, and I wiped away at my cheeks. “How?”
Jacob allowed a sad smile. “I made the table for your father many years ago, when I was just a boy, an apprentice for my father. I thought it’d do you good to have a reminder of home.”
“But you finished this masterpiece in only a matter of days?”
“I enlisted the help of Gotto’s family who are all quite the woodworkers in their own right.” Jacob rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, eyes on the floor.
“But you hate asking for help.” I frowned at the memory of Jacob practically growling at me when I brought over a few extra loafs of bread for his family back in the human realm. Jacob’s mother and father had passed away years ago, making Jacob the only breadwinner. His six brothers and sisters would sometimes stop by the bakery for an extra bite to eat. Jacob was too proud to accept help, so I would pass the bread along to his little sister, Betty. Betty would run the household now, and with the crystals Jacob had earned from the Elf King, she would see their family well taken care of.
Pink rose in Jacob’s cheeks and he glanced away. Ashamed. “I am not proud of the way I took care of my family, Miss Baker. Or to put it more plainly, I wastooproud. I’m starting to learn that letting go and accepting help…”
Gotto looked up from where he worked on the table, and the two of them shared a smile.
“Well, it might not be such a bad thing.” Jacob finished.
But as the words left his lips, I rushed at him, the hopping mess that I was, and crushed the surly man in my arms. “Thank you.” I croaked through sobs. “This means more to me than you could ever know.”
I felt Jacob nod in my embrace, his thick brown beard tickling my neck. I wiped at my cheeks and rolled into the kitchen. With a sturdy table and rolling stool, I could think of nothing better to do than roll out my first gingerbread of the season.
“Rafia,” I chirped. “Bring out the molasses and cinnamon. We’ve got some gingerbread men to bake!”
For the first time since I was brought into Ravensong, a certain joy filled my heart at the beautiful reminder of home that was this handcrafted oak table. Despite the fact that I was unwillingly here, despite the threat of the shadow blight, I allowed the joy to spread through me.
Like a bowl of egg whites being whisked, it lifted me. Made me feel airy, weightless.
I infused that joy with every aspect of the cooking as I mixed the sugar and molasses, folded in the eggs, and sprinkled the cinnamon. I let that joy banish every thought of worry or failure. The king and I would not fail. We would find the clues; we would find the cure to this plague and I would live to see another Christmas.
But for now, I was going to make this the best Christmas ever.
I formed a special little gingerbread man for each of my new friends, and one particularly brooding king and his sweet little brother. The king had been living with this plague hanging over his head, his kingdom, all this time. And he’d saved my life. Yes, he’d brought me out to his kingdom against my will, but still, he’d saved me.
I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer over my little gingerbread men. “I hope this will bring my friends joy.”
I let that hope settle into me, that joy of working in my own kitchen. The firm feel of the dough in my hands. The smell of the baking cinnamon and molasses. The sugar.
Rafia hand delivered my gingerbread men to my friends as I sat by the fire in my cottage and ate. The taste of joy had never been so sweet on my tongue.
13
ENCHANTED LIBRARY
Rafia woke me as I lay on the couch by the smoldering embers early the next morning. She changed the dressing on my wound, which had healed almost entirely to four thick red lines in the night. Only shadows of the black seeping through my veins remained. Jel truly was magic.
Rafia gave me a sip of the healing draught I would take every day to keep the sickness at bay. It tasted of alcohol and witch hazel. Yuck. Then she delivered a note from the king. The words were written quite messily, but in my own human tongue.
Little Baker,
Meet me in the library at midmorning. Please bring all the human knowledge you have with you, and another cookie.
