“Until Christmas.” I muttered. I knew this but?—
“Indeed. Until your human Christmas before poor Aldaar will be forced to take upon himself this mantle of king and face the same shadows we’ve been chasing for centuries. It will not be contained to only our lands. It will spread to the human realm.”
“It already has.” I thought the farmer’s lands had been cursed by the elves’ dark magic, but it was this blight. It was spreading.
The king’s expression shifted; his eyebrows knit together. He hadn’t known.
“And this is why you stole me away from my home?” The words left me in a tense breath.
The Elf King dropped his head, white hair spilling around his wide shoulders. “It is.”
“To break this curse on the elven lands?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re sure my baking has…magic?” Could I be like my ancestors in those scrolls? Like the knowing woman with the brown eyes who painted with such confidence?
“I know it beyond any doubt.” Sunlight spilled across the crown of the king’s head, along his broad shoulders, illuminating him in a gold light as if he were made of crystal. “It calls to me.”
He was beautiful. Resplendent in his fine clothes. And he looked at me with steady eyes. Ones that pleaded. Ones that saw me, truly saw me for what I was… magic.
This was all so fantastical, and yet a warmth filled my heart. A knowing burning that told me.You do have magic. You’ve always known it.
I couldn’t ignore how much more popular my bakery back in the human lands became once I started baking with my father. I couldn’t ignore the small warmth that filled my heart, that knowing. That small flame that just needed a little kindling.
“You were meant to save us all.”The words of the king rang in my ears.
“Why do you think my…magic”—It felt strange saying it, acknowledging its existence— “has anything to do with this curse?”
“My father left journal after journal in his obsession to find a cure. See here.” A smile lit up the king’s face, as if he were—relieved at my acceptance.
That smile. I almost lost the air from my lungs at the full force of it, the pure beauty, not quite knowing what to do. He stared at me then, mouth parted, but no words passed his lips. His eyes landed on my lips and tarried.
My cheeks heated at the open expression of the king. At the silence. “See what exactly?” I prodded, praying for relief from the rapt attentions of the king.
He pulled in a swift breath, blinking, “Yes, of course. I am just pleased that you have finally accepted the truth of your magic.”
I twisted my lips, but would not say more. It almost felt like proving him right, and the spiteful part of me did not want to give him the satisfaction, but,sweet Christmas, that smile. I would do almost anything for that smile, and that thought truly scared me.Calm my racing heart. Then the king closed his eyes. Concentrating. Thinking.
I jumped back in surprise as several stacks of books appeared at the standing table before him in a blink. I raised an eyebrow and joined him at the waist-high table.
“Magic library.” The king practically winked. “Think of anything you are interested in reading and it will appear before you.”
“I just have to think it?” I asked skeptically, though I felt the ghost of a smile touch my lips. Sure, I’d seen the enchantment, but it sounded a bit too easy and a little too dangerous. “What if I were thinking about a book and it appeared above me? Should I expect to be clocked on the head with heavy tomes as I walk about?”
The king laughed then, a harsh huff of a laugh. As if his throat and chest were unused to the sensation. We both stared at the other, as if his sudden outburst surprised the both of us in equal measure. It certainly had surprised me.
The king recovered quickly, “Ahem, yes, well you have just come across the first pillar of elven magic. You have to think on what you wish to accomplish with real intent.” The Elf King nodded, “And the books will only appear on a table, not above your unsuspecting head. Like this—I wish to read a book about…cookies, written in the hand of a human.”
“Cookies?” I smiled.
The Elf King shrugged, actually shrugged! The casual gesture so at odds with his formal manner it caused a giggle to escape my mouth. “Is that not the kind of book you enjoy, Little Baker?”
In a blink, a brown book appeared on the stack of the other books. “I enjoy all manner of books.” I lifted the small brown book and inspected it. “Wilma’s Guide to Baking the Perfect Cookie. It is written in my language, too.”
I flipped through the long loping writings of Wilma, intrigued by the passages. Illustrations and words scribbled in the corners. Lines marked out and rewritten. “I think I’d like to borrow this one.”
“You may borrow anything you wish, especially if it will help you develop your magical talents.” The king smiled a starlinghalf-smile that sent my silly heart skittering and somehow emboldened me.
