“One hundred and sixty, to be exact.”
Amethyst frowned. “That's a lot of bread.”
Holding the clay up next to Amethyst's arm, Keeva looked at it critically. “I think that's pretty close to your skin tone, don't you?”
Amethyst looked down. “I think it's about as close as we're going to get.” The clay was slightly paler than she was, but it was a near enough match.
The older woman nodded, and rolled the clay into a ball, dropping it into a leather pouch. “All right. I don't suppose you have ever made bread before?”
Furrowing her brow, Amethyst shook her head. “The servants always made it at Castle Lonwick, and Giriraj has an enchanted table to provide food in his home at Mount Stromgard. The Citadel has servants that bake it, so I've never had to.”
Keeva sighed. “I was afraid of that. Alright, let me show you how it's done. It's very simple, really...”
It turned out that Keeva had an exorbitant amount of flour stored in her home. She showed Amethyst how to stoke the fire to bring the oven to the right temperature, crossing smaller pieces of wood back and forth, letting it form a draft to create an even bed of coals. Larger and larger pieces of wood went on top until the entire bottom of the brick oven was covered in roaring firewood.
Once they had the fire set, it was time to start working on the dough. Keeva cleared off the table and brought several large bowls out, as well as some beaten brass measuring cups. They were more like measuring buckets, Amethyst noted, but she did her best to follow Keeva's instructions as she gave them.
“The first thing you do is add the yeast to the water,” she said, “and let that sit for a while.” Amethyst watched as Keeva demonstrated by scooping up a cup of yeast, leveling it off with her finger, and dumping it into the water. “Add a dollop of honey, and stir it about until it's well blended.”
Amethyst mimicked her actions, doing her best with her bandaged hands. Once the yeast, honey, and water were blended, Keeva set her bowl to the side, and Amethyst did the same.
“Now, I already have the salt and flour mixed,” Keeva told her, “so that is going to make it easier. Just take this cup and scoop it into the mixing bowl three times. Make sure you don't pack the flour, or it will give you too much and it'll be dry. Also, don't let it mound over the top of the cup... use your hand to make it level.”
Amethyst took the cup, which looked as though it had been kicked across the room half a dozen times, and scooped from the sack of finely ground flour that sat at her feet. Using her free hand, she leveled off the top and dumped it into the bowl.
“No, you let it pack as you scooped it,” said Keeva. “Don't dig for the bottom of the bag, you only need to take it from the top. Pour the flour back into the bag and try it again.”
Frowning, Amethyst did as she was told, but this time, when she scooped the flour, she took only as much as she needed from the top. She leveled it off again and dumped it into the bowl, and Keeva nodded her approval.
“That's perfect. Shake the bag up a little to loosen up the flour – it makes getting unpacked scoops much easier.”
“I didn't know that making bread was this specific,” Amethyst said, scooping two more cups of flour into the bowl.
“Neither did your father. Almost thirty years, and I couldn't get him to make a decent loaf. He loved to sit in the kitchens, but he never learned to bake.”
Amethyst scoffed. “I can hardly imagine him in the kitchens at all. He wasn't much for that sort of thing, not for as long as I can remember at least.”
A wistful, slightly sad look crossed Keeva's face. “That's too bad. I had hoped that he would continue to try to learn.” She shook her head. “Ah well, no matter. Let's get those bandages off your hands. They'll be in the way when it's time to knead the dough.”
She pulled the strips of cloth from Amethyst's fingers and helped her wash her hands in warm water. The red marks were all but gone, and though they were still a bit tender, the pain had all but completely subsided.
“Now, most of the time,” Keeva said, leaning in towards Amethyst slightly, “a baker will start mixing their bread now, but I add a turkey egg to the water and yeast before I mix in the flour. You have to whip it up very fine, until it starts to froth and holds its shape, then immediately start mixing in the flour. It makes the bread fluffier and a bit more savory.”
Keeva handed Amethyst an egg that was as large as her fist, and showed her how to crack it into a clean bowl, then whisk it vigorously until the beaten egg took on a frothy texture.
“When you lift the whisk out, it should be able to make the beaten egg form a peak,” Keeva said, demonstrating with her own bowl.
Amethyst tried to replicate the shape, but her egg stayed more or less liquid in the bottom of her bowl. She went back to beating it with a renewed vigor until she managed a decent froth.
“Now, we add it to our yeast and water, which should be ready by now, then mix in the flour a little at a time, until it has the right texture.”
Little by little, Amethyst mixed the salt and flour into the bowl of wet ingredients, stirring it with her wooden spoon until it grew too thick.
“Excellent!” Keeva said, smiling broadly. “Dump the last of the flour out onto the table, and roll the dough out onto it like this.” She flipped the dough onto her own pile of flour and shaped it into a rough ball. “Don't hit it too hard, or you may make it collapse. Instead, when you knead it, grab the back and push it forward, against the table, like this.” Keeva demonstrated the motion, stretching the ball of dough out over the floured part of the table. It stuck a little bit, but not too badly. She cut her ball of dough in half, and Amethyst did the same.
“Now, fold the side over, trapping some air inside, and pull it back toward you. Then do it again, and again, and again, until it's light and fluffy.”
Together, they kneaded their balls of dough, working the flour from the table into the mixture. Eventually, Amethyst had two light, fluffy loaves of bread dough in front of her, formed into low, wide disks.
“Take one of those strings,” Keeva told her, “and tie it around the edge like this. Then take one more, and score the tops all the way across four times, then tie it around the other. This makes the bread easier to slice evenly.”
Awkwardly, she copied Keeva. Though she had never expected to be making bread, let alone one hundred and sixty loaves, she found the whole process engaging. The news that Keeva had once tried to teach her father how to cook surprised her; he had always seemed like such a hard military leader that the thought of seeing him in a kitchen, kneading balls of dough seemed preposterous, yet at the same time endearing.
Keeva dusted some flour over the stone counter to the left of the oven and set the loaves on it to rise. “For your first time,” she said to Amethyst, “you didn't do badly at all. It would take quite a while before you got a real knack for it, but that's just the way such things are. One must practice a skill before one can claim to be a master at it.”
Dusting off her hands, Keeva returned to the table. “All right! Time to do that thirty-nine more times,” she said, grinning. “Your hands are going to be tired tonight!”
~~~
Amethyst slumped in the chair, exhausted. She had just finished kneading the final loaf of bread, and Keeva had it set aside to rise. Currently, the older elf woman was using a long-handled paddle to scoop four loaves out of the oven, laying them on the counter on the right to cool.
“Come on, Amethyst,” Keeva said. “We've still got twenty-four more to bake. In batches of four, that's at least two hours. We need to stoke up the fire a bit first.”
Dragging herself up out of her chair, Amethyst groaned slightly. The firewood had been stacked up near the door, and she gathered an armload of it, mostly pieces as thick as her arm. She brought it over to the oven and dropped it on the ground, stretching her back before she started stacking the wood on the coals.
Keeva had sat down at the table and poured a cup of tea, watc
hing Amethyst. When she was finished, Amethyst plopped down in the chair across from Keeva, who slid the cup to her.
“You're much better at this than your father was,” Keeva said. “You learn very quickly. Given the time, I imagine you could become quite the baker yourself.”
“Thank you,” Amethyst said, blowing on the tea to cool it as Keeva made another cup. They sat, listening to the firewood crackle as it ignited, sipping from their cups.
“Do you miss him?” asked Amethyst.
“Sometimes,” said Keeva, sighing. “I remember how strong he was, how brave, and how smart. He was always willing to jump to the defense of anyone who needed his help. He was a good leader and a good king. I hope he still is.” She shook her head. “We just saw the world far too differently for it to work between us any longer. He saw the other races as unable to care for themselves, as unfit to govern without strong elven guidance, and that's just wrong.”
Amethyst frowned. “But, our histories show us that before our kind settled Lonwick, it was a savage place, with tribes of dwarves and humans living in squalor, warring amongst each other. We brought peace and safety to all.”
Keeva raised an eyebrow. “So your father said. Tell me, who wrote those histories?”
“Well, we did, of course.”
“I wonder if the histories of the dwarves and humans agree with the histories of the elves.”
“Why wouldn't they?” Amethyst asked, furrowing her brow.
“Well, when the conquering civilization is the only one to paint the picture of what happened and how things were, they get to put their own color on the pages. Of course they are going to represent themselves as the saviors, the liberators, the protectors.”
“But, their lives are better now! They don't raid and kill each other, they don't fight amongst themselves, they don't steal from each other...”
“But how many were killed during the battles that brought them to heel?” interrupted Keeva. “They might not be being raided, but what of the taxes that are taken from them? What of the goods that they produce that are not theirs to keep because they are farming or logging or mining land that no longer belongs to them? In the end, what has really changed?”
Amethyst was silent, not knowing what to say.
“I'm not trying to say that Lonwick needs to dissolve,” said Keeva, sighing. “Nor that it is inherently bad. It's there now, and it has been for a very long time. There are things in place now that would be catastrophic if they were to suddenly disappear without something to replace them.” She pointed at Amethyst then, nodding her head towards her. “But someday, you may be sitting in your father's place, and you'll need to ask yourself, what kind of ruler will you be? If you ascend to take your master's place, what kind of Master will you be? Will you be a kind, benevolent ruler that looks to the freedom of all, or will you impose your vision over the rights of others to choose for themselves?”
Amethyst looked down at her coffee cup. “I can see why you and my father disagreed. He seems to feel that Lonwick is the gift of the Gods to whoever might be lucky enough to encounter it.”
“And how do you feel?”
“I think that there are definitely some improvements to be made,” Amethyst said. “Our relations with other countries could be better, as could our internal affairs when dealing with the dwarven settlements, as well as our southern and northern provinces. I think a lot of people, especially in Castle Lonwick, only look at Greatport and the capital as the important parts of the country.”
“Do you want to be the queen?”
Shaking her head again, Amethyst looked up at Keeva. “I don't know. I'm only one hundred and sixty-two. My father is still healthy and strong. He will be ruling for many more decades, probably centuries. It's not something I've really thought about.”
“That's fair. They are questions, however, that you will eventually need to answer, and it would do you well to answer them sooner rather than later.” Keeva set her cup on the table and spread her hands. “Here in the Far North, amongst our villages, we don't fight, we don't conquer, we don't tax each other or take what others make for our own profit.” She pointed at the baskets of bread that were sitting to the side. “I didn't grow or mill the grain for the flour, nor did I harvest the honey, or raise the turkeys. I cultivated the yeast, but that's because I know how. It's a service I provide to the community that hunts for me, that protects me, that feeds and shelters me.”
She stood and started clearing the bowls from the table, sweeping the remaining flour into a pile. “Help me wash these?”
“Oh, of course," said Amethyst, gathering up the bowls and utensils she had been using and carrying them to the washbasin, which was a wooden tub that had been sealed with pitch. The bottom was filled with fine sand that Keeva used to scrub the wooden bowls, washing off the bits of remaining dough and flour.
“I'll admit that I've never done this before,” Amethyst said, dipping her dishes into the cloudy water. “Do you not have soap?”
Keeva chuckled. “I figured as much. Your father hadn't either. You don't need soap for these, just some water and sand.”
Amethysts shoulders already ached, and by the time she set the bowls and cups and spoons aside to dry, she was ready to collapse into bed. However, she had only seen the one that she had been lying in.
“Have I been sleeping in your bed?” she asked Keeva.
The older woman nodded. “Yes. It seemed appropriate, considering the condition you were in when you were brought to me.”
“Where did you sleep?”
Keeva pointed to the ground in front of the oven. “I had some extra blankets, so I made my bed here.”
A pang of guilt hit Amethyst. “I'm sorry. I can sleep here tonight.”
“Don't be absurd,” said Keeva. “I'll take my bed tonight, no doubt, but you can sleep in front of the fireplace in my bedchamber. That way, we only need to keep one fire going throughout the night.”
After straightening up the bakery, they set out the blankets that she was to use, and Amethyst was surprised at how soft they were despite the wooden floor they were laid on. The heat from the fireplace kept her from needing more than one blanket, even though the world outside was still bitterly cold.
Tomorrow, Amethyst would help Keeva deliver the bread to the merchant, and pick out her stones. As she fell asleep, she found herself doubting whether or not their scheme would work, but excited nonetheless. If Giriraj took her back, then perhaps she would be able to make sure that her duties were taken care of after all, without having to give that part of herself.
Chapter Fifteen
9th Waxing Sap Moon, Year 4368
Despite the fact that she wore a pair of trousers borrowed from Keeva, a tight-fitting shirt, her trousers and robe from the Citadel, and a long cloak made from sheepskin, Amethyst was freezing. Keeva and the trader seemed to be fine in their woven cloth garments, but Amethyst was shivering so hard that she could barely grasp the stones that were laid out before her.
The trader, a younger snow elf of maybe two hundred and fifty years named Talore, raised an eyebrow at Keeva. “Are you sure she is your daughter? She shakes like a leaf.” He was slender, lean, and slightly taller than most elves in the south, his arms bare and almost as white as snow. His hair and eyebrows were both a very light gray, like pale ash. Blue tattoos wrapped around his shoulder and under his tunic, trailing down his arm to near his bicep, the patterns similar to a primitive depiction of flame.
“Her father was from the south,” Keeva said, and the merchant nodded knowingly.
“I am standing right here,” Amethyst grumbled. She lifted the citrine, turning it back and forth in the frigid sunlight. Just like the sapphires and diamond that Keeva had used, it was expertly cut, but Amethyst didn't care much for the color. She set it down and looked at the other two stones, a tiger's eye and a bloodstone.
The bloodstone was a beautiful deep green color, almost gray, with a red streak across the face of it. It wasn't
faceted; instead, the front was polished into a smooth dome with a mirror shine, and the back was flat. She lifted it, rolling it in her fingers, and it felt good, but there was something that kept drawing her back to the tiger's eye.
It was polished into a sphere, with a core of what looked like hematite running down the middle. Since tiger's eye was one of many iron ores, that didn't surprise her. The bands of color that wrapped around the sides were stunning shades of brown, amber, and gold, their colors shifting and blending as she turned it in the sunlight.
“What is she going to be using it for?” Talore asked Keeva, watching Amethyst as she examined the stones. “She seems very concerned with their quality.”
“It's not the quality,” said Amethyst, “it's whether or not I can connect with it. The citrine was beautiful, but it didn't feel right.” She picked the bloodstone up again, feeling it in contrast to the tiger's eye.
Keeva leaned over to the Talore. “We're going to be making a golem. However, we're going to be using clay instead of snow.”
The trader shook his head. “Not many can do that. I hope she has the ability, despite her southern blood.”
“I think I'll manage,” Amethyst said, setting down the bloodstone. “I definitely want the tiger's eye. The two amethysts are perfect as well.”
Talore nodded. “Well, as agreed, ten baskets of bread for three stones. I wish you luck on your path, whatever it may be!”
Amethyst and Keeva helped the young elf load the baskets onto his sled, which was hitched to two reindeer. As he drove them off down the trail out of the small village, Amethyst looked down at the stones in her hand.
Two of them were the amethysts that Keeva had told her about, and they had indeed been a near perfect match for the shade of Amethyst's eyes. They were about an inch across, and perfectly polished on both sides. They looked very much like thick coins, except instead of flat edges, the faces came together at a forty-five degree angle, facets sparkling in the sun.
“Yes, I think those will do very well,” said Keeva. “Come, let's get started on them.”
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