Secrets of the Swords, Book 1

Chapter 1: Baking Lessons

Crestdune, country of Montmyth

1,487 years after the Pretian Split

802 years after the fall of the Old Gaaric Empire

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The family bakery had been a better teacher for Suthe Montikwe than any classroom ever could. She had learned patience, in letting the dough rise, and careful attention to time, when bread was in the oven. And no school lesson had ever taught Suthe of the importance to detail quite like putting the finishing touches on a five-level kal wedding cake, or of the need to keep a cool head and stay focused when said cake had been ordered last-minute. These life lessons, to Suthe, were far more valuable than mulling over the words of dead poets or memorizing the history of politics, for they had taught her how to live her own life, and not about how others had lived theirs.

The bakery was home, with its smells of rosemary and honey, and the smile of familiar faces that came in every week. Sometimes, when the flour rose up in clouds from the countertops and caught the light of the sun shining through the windows, it seemed to Suthe like a dream separate from the worries and commotion of the rest of the world.

Such was the case now, as Suthe focused on the task before her; the reassuring thud of slightly-sticky dough hitting the wooden countertop echoed in the otherwise-quiet building.

"It's unusual, don't you think?"

Suthe's mother, Dossa, was a slender, petite woman who looked younger than her years, with wide-set, light brown eyes and lips that naturally curved up at the corners in the illusion of a subtle smile. At Suthe's comment, she turned away from the window, where she had been checking on the pastry display, and made her way back behind the bakery counter. One pastry that hadn't withstood the noonday heat as well as the others was thrown into the oven fire, and Dossa brushed the sugary remains on her apron.

"What's unusual, Suthe?"

Suthe frowned down at the dough she was kneading. "That it's so empty, for a Friday," she explained. "It's a nice day outside, one of the warmest in weeks, but there hasn't been a soul for the past half-hour."

Her mother frowned as she thought over Suthe's words. "The street did seem a bit deserted, earlier," she commented, nodding her head in the direction of the window with the pastries. Suthe followed her mother's gaze to beyond the latticed window screen, where the warm sandstone buildings outside stood quiet and deserted.

"Maybe there's a meeting in Speaker's Circle?" Suthe suggested.

"We should have been notified a few days in advance if there was another city debate," her mother said with a shake of her head. "Something doesn't seem right." She approached the set of clothes hooks on the back wall and untied her apron, switching it out for a shawl instead.

"You're going to find out?" Suthe followed her, trying to dust the dough and flour from her hands. Her efforts only furthered the contrasting streaks of white against her brown skin.

Her mother stopped suddenly and turned back to face Suthe with lips pressed together in a grim expression. Suthe could only remember a handful of times when her mother had ever looked so serious, and it sent a pit of dread opening up in her stomach.

"You should stay here," her mother said. "I just put the next batch of glondas in the oven and someone needs to make sure they don't burn."

Suthe let out a breath of frustration. "But—"

"We have to be careful with your traits," Dossa interrupted her daughter in a lowered tone. "We've been fortunate so far that you haven't had any public accidents, and I don't want to risk it now. Or do you want to end up like Pendi Montkubo?"