Study Collection. Maria V. Snyder
slice of buttered bread.
“My Rand sends me a steaming loaf of honey bread every morning.” Her light brown eyes glowed with affection.
I knew she would stand over me until I took a bite. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I suppressed my desire to taste the bread for poisons. Only when my mouth was full was she satisfied.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
Between bites, I asked about nightclothes.
“My goodness! How could I have forgotten? You poor dear.” She bustled around the room, assembling quite a collection.
“Dilana,” I said to stop her. “I only need a few things.”
“Why didn’t you come sooner? Margg should have said something to me.” Dilana was genuinely upset.
“Margg,” I began, then quit. I wasn’t sure how Dilana felt about her.
“Margg’s a mean old grump, a spiteful hag and an overgrown bully,” Dilana declared.
I blinked at her in surprise.
“She instantly dislikes anyone new, and she’s basically a plague on the rest of us.”
“But she was nice to you.”
“She hounded me for weeks after I first arrived. Then I snuck into her wardrobe and tightened all her skirts. It took her two weeks of physical discomfort to figure out what was happening.” Dilana swooped down next to me, smiling. “Margg can’t sew a stitch, so she had to tuck in her pride and ask for my help. Since then she’s treated me with respect.”
Dilana grabbed my hand in hers. “Unfortunately, you’re her new target. But don’t let her get to you. If Margg’s nasty, be nasty right back. When she sees you’re not easy prey, she’ll lose interest.”
I had trouble believing that this lovely woman was capable of such underhandedness, but her smile held a glimmer of mischief.
She draped a pile of nightclothes over my arms, and added an array of brightly colored ribbons.
“For the festival, my dear,” she said, answering my quizzical look. “To augment your beautiful dark hair.”
“Have you found a fugitive for the exercise?” the Commander asked Valek as soon as Valek arrived in his office for lunch.
I was tasting the Commander’s food when Valek once again destroyed my tentative sense of well-being. Granted, I had been working as the official food taster for the last ten days, but my stomach had finally stopped its painful contractions whenever I was near the Commander.
“Yes. I know the perfect person for the job.” Valek settled into the chair facing the Commander.
“Who?”
“Yelena.”
“What!” Having given up all pretense of minding my own business, my exclamation echoed the Commander’s.
“Explain,” the Commander ordered.
Valek smiled at his reaction as though he knew all along what the Commander would say. “My people are trained to avoid capture. Assigning one of them wouldn’t be fair to the search party. Therefore, we need a person not skilled in the art of evasion, but who is intelligent enough to bring some challenge to the exercise.”
Valek stood to continue his lecture. “The fugitive needs an incentive for a good chase, yet must return to the castle. I can’t use a real prisoner. None of the servants have any imagination. I briefly considered the medic, but she’s needed here in case of emergencies. I was about to assign one of your soldiers when I thought of Yelena.”
Valek gestured toward me. “She’s smart.” He counted with his fingers to emphasize his words. “She’ll have an incentive to perform well, and an incentive to return.”
“Incentives?” A frown creased the Commander’s face.
“The food taster receives no wages. But for this extra job, and others like it in the future, she can be paid. The longer she evades capture, the higher the payment. As for the incentive to return, that should be obvious.”
It was to me. The daily antidote to Butterfly’s Dust kept me alive. If I didn’t return to the castle by the next morning, they would be searching for a corpse.
“And if I refuse?” I asked Valek.
“I’ll recruit one of the soldiers. But I’ll be disappointed. I thought you would appreciate the challenge.”
“Maybe I don’t…”
“Enough.” The Commander’s voice was curt. “It’s preposterous, Valek.”
“That’s the whole point. A soldier would make predictable moves. She’s an unknown.”
“You might outguess our fugitive, but the people I’ve assigned to the exercise aren’t that quick. I’m hoping to find someone who can be trained as your assistant. I understand what you’re waiting for, but I don’t believe it’ll happen anytime soon. We need someone now.” The Commander sighed. It was the most emotion I’d witnessed from him. “Valek, why do you constantly undermine my orders to instruct an assistant?”
“Because so far I have disagreed with your choices. When the suitable candidate appears, then all efforts to train him will be fully endorsed.”
The Commander glanced at the tray in my hands. Taking the food, he ordered me to fetch some hot tea. A thinly disguised ruse to be rid of me while they argued. I was more than happy to oblige.
On my way to the kitchen, I mulled over the possibility of playing fugitive for Valek. My first reaction had been negative; I didn’t need any more problems. But as I contemplated the challenge of eluding searchers, combined with the chance to earn some money, the exercise started to look like an excellent opportunity. By the time I reached the kitchen, I hoped Valek would win. Especially since I would be outside the castle for a day, and any skills I learned from being a fugitive might prove useful in the future.
“Something wrong with lunch?” Rand asked, hurrying toward me, concern pulling the corners of his mouth tight.
“No. Just need some hot tea.”
Relief softened his face. I wondered why he was so worried that lunch had been unsatisfactory. An image of a younger Rand rebelling against the Commander by ruining food as a form of sabotage entered my mind. I dismissed the thought. Rand wouldn’t serve inferior food; his ego centered on his edible creations. There must be something else between him and the Commander. Uncertain that our new relationship would survive asking personal, perhaps sensitive, questions, I held my tongue.
I’d known Rand for almost two weeks now, but I still hadn’t figured him out. His moods ran the gamut and changed without notice. Rand liked to talk. He dominated most conversations and asked only a few personal questions. I doubted he really heard my answers before he rambled on again.
“While you’re here,” Rand said, pulling a white cake from one of the cooling racks that hung on the wall like shelves, “can you try this? Let me know what you think.”
He cut me a slice. Iced with whipped cream, the layers of vanilla cake were separated by a mixture of raspberries and cream.
I tried to mask that my first bite tasted for poison. “Good combination of flavors,” I said.
“It’s not perfect, but I can’t pinpoint the problem.”
“The cream is a little too sweet,” I said, taking another bite. “And the cake is slightly dry.”
“I’ll try again. Will you come back tonight?”
“Why?”
“I need an expert opinion. It’s my entry for the fire festival’s baking contest. Are you going?”
“I’m