Brazell, and I didn’t remember his cook being especially inventive. I shrugged off my trepidation. I had no choice.
Thinking wax, I anticipated tasting wax. I bit into the hard cube expecting it to crumble between my teeth. It must have been the expression on my face that caused the Commander to rise, because I didn’t say a word. The sensations in my mouth had me enraptured.
Instead of crumbling, the dessert melted, coating my tongue with a cascade of flavor. Sweet, bitter, nutty and fruity tastes followed one another. Just when I thought I could say it was one, I would taste them all again. This was unlike anything I had ever encountered. Before I knew it, all four cubes were gone. I longed for more.
“Unbelievable! What is it?”
Valek and the Commander exchanged puzzled looks.
The Commander said, “Brazell called it Criollo. Why? Is there poison in it?”
“No. No poisons. It’s just…” The proper words to describe it failed me. “Try it,” was all I could manage.
I watched the Commander’s face as he bit into one of the squares. His eyes widened and his eyebrows arched in surprise. His tongue dashed along his lips and teeth as he tried to suck all the remaining flavor from them. He grabbed another piece.
“It’s sweet. Different. But I don’t taste anything unbelievable about it,” Valek said, wiping the brown flakes from his hands.
It was my turn to exchange looks with the Commander.
Unlike Valek, he had an appetite for fine cuisine. He recognized excellence when he tasted it.
“I’ll bet that little rat won’t last an hour,” Margg’s muffled voice said through the kitchen door. I had been about to enter when I had heard her.
“I’ll give fifty to one to anyone stupid enough to think the rat’ll last the day. And one hundred to one to the sucker who thinks she won’t be caught.” After Margg called the odds, the room erupted with sounds of betting.
I listened with growing horror. Margg couldn’t be talking about me. Why would Valek tell Margg about the exercise? It’d be all over the castle by tomorrow. Brazell would find out.
“I’ll bet a month’s wages that Yelena stays free all day,” Rand’s voice boomed out. The rest of the kitchen staff grew quiet.
My emotions seesawed from betrayal to pride. They were betting on me, and I couldn’t believe Rand had bet a month’s wages. He had more confidence in me than I did in myself. I tended to agree with Margg on this one.
Margg’s laughter echoed on the tiled walls. “You’ve been in the kitchen too long, Rand. The heat’s cooked your brain to mush. I think you’re starting to like the little rat. Better lock up your knives when she’s here or she may…”
“All right, that’s enough,” Rand said. “Dinner’s over. Everyone out of my kitchen.”
I moved down the hallway and out of sight. Since I had promised Rand I would taste his cake, I looped back to the kitchen after everyone had gone. Rand was sitting at one of the tables chopping nuts. There was a slice of his raspberry-and-cream cake on the table.
He pushed the plate to me. I tasted it.
“Much better. The cake is incredibly moist. What’s different?” I asked.
“I added pudding to the batter.”
Rand was unusually quiet. He didn’t mention the betting. I wasn’t going to ask.
He finished chopping the nuts. After cleaning up, he said, “I better get some sleep. We’re going to the festival tomorrow night. Are you coming?”
“Who’s going?” I stalled. I hated to miss out on the first night of the festival. Hated to let Brazell ruin the only fun I’d have. Although, if Margg was going as well, I’d stay with my original decision.
“Porter, Sammy, Liza and maybe Dilana.” Rand’s tired eyes lit up ever so slightly when he said Dilana’s name. “Why?”
“When are you leaving?” Again my heart was ready to overrule the logical and safe choice.
“After dinner. It’s the only time everyone is free. The Commander always orders an easy meal for the first night of festival so the kitchen staff can leave early. If you want to come, just meet us here tomorrow.”
Rand headed to his rooms, which were adjacent to the kitchen, and I went back to Valek’s suite.
The dark apartment was empty. Locking the door, I groped around and found some flint. As I lit the lanterns, I passed by Valek’s desk and noticed a paper lying on top. Glancing around to make sure Valek wasn’t hiding in the shadows, I looked at the sheet. Names had been written on it, and then scratched out. My name had been circled. Underneath was the comment that I would make a perfect fugitive for the exercise.
This was probably how Margg had known. I remembered seeing her reading papers in Valek’s office before. Depending on how long these papers had been here, she could have known for a while. That woman was going to get me killed. If I survived long enough, I’d have to face her. Unfortunately, it would have to wait until after I played fugitive for Valek.
As for my escape plan, I searched through Valek’s piles of books. I remembered seeing some appropriate titles, and I was rewarded by finding two on the techniques of pursuit, and one on the best ways to elude capture. Nobody said I couldn’t do a little research. Borrowing Valek’s texts, I took a lantern and retired to my room.
I studied the books until my vision blurred with fatigue. Changing into my new nightclothes, I extinguished the lantern and collapsed into bed.
I was jolted awake by the frightening awareness that someone was in my room. Instant, sweat-soaked fear gripped me. A black shape loomed over me. Yanked out of bed, I slammed into the wall. One, two, three gasps passed. Nothing more happened. The assault had stopped, but I remained pinned.
My eyes adjusted to the dark. I recognized my attacker’s face. “Valek?
11
VALEK’S FACE, INCHES FROM mine, resembled a statue, silent, cold and devoid of emotion. My door had been left ajar, and even the faint glow of lantern light slipping through the gap at the threshold couldn’t lend his blue eyes any warmth.
“Valek, what’s wrong?”
Without warning, he released me. Too late I realized that he had held me suspended above the floor. I landed in a heap at his feet. Wordless, Valek left my room. I staggered upright, feeling as if I had too many arms and legs, and managed to catch up to him in the living room. He stood in front of his desk.
“If this is about the books…” I said to his back, guessing that he was angry with me for borrowing his manuals.
He turned. “Books? You think this is about books?” His voice held amazement for a brief moment before it turned sharp and cutting. “I’ve been a fool. All this time I admired your survival instincts and intelligence. But now…” He paused, and then looked around the room as if searching for the right words.
“I overheard some
