Apparently, laminate meant problems.

  Dragon crescent moons were a type of pastry, which was a type of bread made fancy, all of which was news to Runa. And where her hot hands had come in handy getting regular bread dough to wake up on sluggish days, it turned out that what you wanted for pastry was cold.

  Runa wasn’t good at cold.

  The bakery wasn’t good at cold. The oven kept the main room a steady, warm temperature, and her first attempts at creating a layered, buttery pastry dough like Severine described turned into claggy disasters. Edible disasters—lots of disasters were edible, if you ate them hot out of the oven—but nothing like the light, flaky treats Severine described.

  Outside was no better. Summer was at its peak, dry and bright and hot.

  The only cold place was underground.

  “You stay over there,” Runa warned the volcano sprite.

  It hissed at her unhappily.

  “You can watch. You can have your share once I’m finished here. But only if I get something finished, and that’s not going to happen if I have to fish you out of the butter pot again.”

  “Blop…”

  “Coming through!” Severine bounded down the stairs, neatly leaping over the disappointed fire sprite. “Ooh, it is cooler down here. I’ve had a brilliant idea, you’ll be excited to hear.”

  Her grin was infectious. “Go on,” Runa said, placing butter between layers of waxed paper to pound flat with her rolling pin.

  Butter. So much butter. Butter in the dough. Butter between each carefully rolled layer of dough. Butter that melted out in expensive puddles when she let the crescent moons get too warm before baking. At least, she thought that was what she was doing wrong.

  “You need—oh, brr, it is cold down here. You need light without heat. I need to hang around and bother you while you work on the dragon moons, but I’m not going to sit down here and freeze myself. And if I sit at the top of the stairwell, I’ll block your light.” She demonstrated. “And so—tadah!”

  She pulled out a dagger. Eerie blue light filled the cellar.

  “That’s the knife that popped out of your pack and scared the spiders off me.” Runa frowned. “You still haven’t told me why that happened.”

  “It needed enrichment,” Severine said, with a promptness that Runa found faintly suspicious. Well, she’d had days to come up with a good answer it. “Swords get depressed if they can’t fulfil their enchanted purpose. It’s been feeling terribly sad and useless, with nobody picking it up to go slay spiders, so I thought I’d bring it out for some fresh air.”

  “Fresh spidery air?” Runa’s eyes narrowed. “Why’s it glowing?”

  “Because of the spiders!” Severine unveiled a small wicker cage in her other hand.

  The knife glowed brighter.

  Runa really should have expected that. “Where’d you get those?”

  “Tam had them.”

  She should have expected that, too. “What was he doing with them?”

  “I believe the words dried and crushed and delicious pancakes were involved. Errant started banging his head on the table about that point, so I left.” She strung the cage onto a hook in the ceiling and hung the knife underneath it.

  Runa shot it a wary look. “And that’s what it does? Its… purpose? Light up when there’s spiders around?”

  “Only big spiders.”

  Runa squinted. The spiders in the cage looked around the size of her palm. She guessed that was big, for someone who hadn’t spent much time in the Cauldron. “Why?”

  “Um, to help fight them, I guess?” Severine sauntered over to her workbench.

  “Come back after it’s baked, if you want to steal something. Between the two of you it’s a miracle I have anything to fill orders.”

  “Do you have any orders for these?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Ooh, good, I’m safe to steal all of them, then.” Severine darted away before Runa could swat at her. She settled herself at the top of the stairs, outlined in soft daylight, her packroll laid out in front of her.

  Runa couldn’t see Bloodburster from where she was standing, but she knew it was there. The hairs on the back of her neck rose.

  “Do all the blades have a purpose?” she asked. “Your job is to help bring them to the people who are fated to wield them, but—it’s wielding them to do what the sword is for, right?”

  “…Yep!”

  The hesitation before Severine answered was slightly too long, no matter how much sparkle she put in the word. Runa frowned as she gauged the size of the flattened butter block. About right.

  “And that knife wants to glow when spiders are near. To frighten them off?”

  “To frighten them with their impending doom, more like,” Severine muttered. She’d pulled out a polishing cloth, and was polishing one of the smaller swords.

  “Wouldn’t work.”

  “What?”

  “You saw what happened when the cave spiders saw it down in Dawdledale. It started to glow, they got a fright and scarpered. Maybe you’d blind them if you kept it scabbarded until you were right on top of them, then pulled it out quick, but you’d probably blind yourself, as well.”

  She rolled the thought around in her head as she laid the butter on top of a long rectangle of cold, rich dough. “If you keep it out long enough that your own eyes adjust to the light… well, the spiders’ eyes are going to adjust as well. And light startles them, but it doesn’t hurt. Not enough to miss a meal, anyway. Of course, you, slayer of spiders wielding the spider-slaying sword, probably think they’re going to be warned off regardless. And you don’t want to blind yourself, and you need to see, so you keep the sword out. Glowing in the darkness. Showing everyone exactly where you are.”

  Severine was staring at her.

  “Is it the spiders the knife wants to be slain, or just… anyone who happens to be around?” Runa asked innocently. “It’d probably work with mothwyrms, too. Like a big, bright sign saying free lunch here.”

  “That’s—that’s—” Severine looked aghast. “That’s so sneaky!” She glared at the knife. “Is that true?”

  The glow wavered slightly, and Runa laughed.

  “Maybe you should be the priestess,” Severine said glumly.

  “No thanks. I have a job.” She inspected her work critically.

  “Which is?”

  “Wasting butter.”

  “No, I’m sure it’ll work this time…”

  “Thanks, princess. Everything about the way your voice just trailed off fills me with confidence.”

  They fell into a comfortable silence, punctuated by winding trails of conversation that didn’t need to go anywhere, and didn’t. Severine inspected her swords for rust or damage—not that any of them could get damaged, in the magical pack. Runa suspected it was more about showing the swords they were being looked after, than doing any actual gear maintenance. She spoke to them, sometimes, in a low voice that was equal parts fond and frustrated.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  And Runa worked on the dragon moons. She hammered and rolled the pastry dough out, and folded it, and rolled it again. She touched it as little as possible, using metal scrapers and the rolling pin instead and dunking her hands in cold water whenever she couldn’t find a way around handling it directly.

  It all felt like a hell of a lot of work for what might, if she was lucky and the recipe was correct, make maybe half a dozen rolls.

  But that had been the whole job so far, hadn’t it? Every time she found a new recipe—or the volcano sprite nudged her towards one—it seemed impossible, a waste of time to even try. And every time, it worked out.

  Eventually.

  And deliciously.

  At last—after folding, and flattening, and cutting, and rolling—she was done.

  Six small, moon-shaped dough rolls lay in front of her.

  But she’d been here before. This wasn’t the final hurdle.

  “Blop!”

  She sighed and shook her head. “You’ll get your share once they’re out of the oven,” she told it, the same way she did every time. “They’ve got to rise first. Down here, in the cold.”

  “Blop!”

  “All right. Which one do you want?”

  It scuttled up and pressed a splay-fingered paw into one of the moons. She shooed it away before the heat that surrounded it warmed the dough too much.

  And then, not to be a hypocrite, she shooed herself upstairs too.

  Maybe it would work this time.

  Lucky for her, she had something to distract herself with.

  “Fionn said to come around today for our clothes,” she reminded Severine. “You want to come with?”

  “Can you pick mine up? If I stop this halfway through they’ll get jealous.”

  And lo, the mysterious magic of the priestess of the blades. Swords getting jealous of each other. Runa’s mouth twitched. “Sure thing. I’ll see you back here. Remember to feed yourself.”

  “Mm…”

  “Not the uncooked dragon moons.”

  Runa stepped out into the afternoon sun. The traders caravan had moved on a few days after she recovered from the spider venom, and Pothollow had fallen back into its usual slow routine. Runa waved to her neighbors as she passed them, and breathed in the rich vegetable aroma filtering out from the tavern.

  It was good to be home.

  She visited Fionn first. One of Errant’s many cousins, she did odd mending and sewing for the village, and had made new outfits for Runa and Severine with the cloth they’d bought from Agetta.

  Having clothing made for her was a new experience. When she was a child, clothing had appeared as part of a complicated system of gift and exchange between her mother and the other island nymphs and human villagers. When she visited her father for the first time, his chamberlain had opened ancient chests of equally ancient clothing, and outfitted Runa without even thinking about asking for her opinion. Clothing in Sollus’ Gate was readymade and poor quality, or second-hand with worrying tooth-shaped holes in it.

  What Fionn had made was a whole new experience. She made Runa stand in the middle of her room while she measured her, and prodded her, and made her bend and move her arms around to see how her existing, worn-out clothes moved on her body.

  Then she’d banished her, and now, as though by magic, Runa had clothes that fit her. New underthings. A tunic and long skirt, and trousers for when it got cold. A cloak that went past her hips.

  Then there were Severine’s clothes. The same basics as Runa had ordered, in linen and bright cottons instead of wool… and one other thing, that Severine didn’t know about yet.

  Runa took her time heading back to the bakery. Anticipation was a warm ember in her chest, rising like the dragon moon dough, slow and delicious. She visited Tam and Errant, putting in another order for fine flour and demanding answers about spider pancakes. She dropped in at Junilla’s and asked about dinner. She helped a pack of kids rescue a ball from a roof, and made her escape before they kicked it up there again.

  She even went to visit Corvin, to thank him for the foul potion, and had the pleasure of watching him crankily accept her thanks.

  The sun was shining. Birds sang in the trees and from beneath thatched eaves. The village’s two resident enemy cats sat in their self-assigned territories, enjoying the summer almost too much to actively glare at each other.

  It was the perfect day.

  Severine had packed her swords away by the time Runa ambled back to the bakery. The pack was leaning in the corner opposite Bloodburster, all of six feet away from where Severine was sitting frowning at a curling piece of parchment on the front counter.

  She looked different without the swords at her back. Lighter. More relaxed.

  Less likely to run away at any minute.

  Runa pushed the thought away.

  “Swords all happy?” she asked.

  Severine glanced up, and her eyes brightened as she saw Runa leaning in the doorway. “They’d better be. They’re all sharp, shiny, and tucked up for bed. Except for this fellow, who’s on his way there.” She waved a short dagger.

  “What’ve you got there?”

  “A map with nothing interesting on it.” She rolled it up with a sigh. “Not even Pothollow! Can you imagine? And this such a bustling metropolis. Oh, you meant this little guy?”

  “I know what a map does. It’s your swords I’m starting to get suspicious of.”

  “Only starting?” Severine widened innocent eyes at her. “This one—it’s easier to show you, I guess.”

  She unrolled the map again and laid it out on the counter, using measuring weights and bowls to hold the edges down. “It works better pinned to a wall, but you’ve made it clear you don’t trust me around a hammer. Here. I hold onto the dagger, think, ooh, I’d love to find something today—maybe some treasure, okay, thinking about treasure—”

  Her eyes flicked to Runa’s chest. Runa crossed her arms. “Ha, ha.”

  “Where can I find some treasure?” Severine continued innocently. “And if I think about it hard enough…”

  The dagger twitched in her hand. She let go of it, and it swerved through the air to bury its tip in the map, so fast its handle vibrated.

  “Ta-dah!” Severine said.

  Runa leaned over the map. The dagger had stabbed itself into an unmarked section of hillside on the north-eastern outer slopes of the Cauldron. “Huh. There’s treasure here in Pothollow, is there?”

  Severine blushed. “Maybe.”

  “Plenty of treasure, looks like.” Runa tapped the map with her finger. There were a dozen other pin-prick holes in the parchment where the dagger had stabbed itself into the same spot already.

  “I…” Severine bit her lip and looked away. “Yeah.”

  Was it really treasure she was looking for, or something else? Runa pushed that thought aside, too. “You know what else I see?”

  “Um…”

  Runa tapped the map again. “Something stabbing my workbench with a knife.”

  “Ooh…” Severine winced. “That’s not a good thing, is it?”

  “Not particularly.”

  Severine pulled out the dagger and inspected the wooden surface beneath the map with a wince. “Sorry. That’s enough enrichment for today, little knife.”

  “You’re about to be sorrier.” Runa grinned and laid the bundle of new clothes beside the map.

  “Our new clothes!” Severine all but tossed the map knife back into her pack, and leapt upon the clothing. Runa held her present aside, feeling awkward about finding the right moment to give it. Let alone the right words.

  “Oh, just look at them, Runa. Clothes that only have holes where holes are meant to be. Colours that haven’t run from being dunked in ponds. Look at all these stitches that are still stitched! I never appreciated good stitching back when I wasn’t the one who had to keep my tunics from falling off of me.” She sighed happily. “I’m so happy, Runa.”

  “I can tell.”

  Maybe now wasn’t the moment. She didn’t want to take away from Severine’s joy in the things she’d chosen for herself. And what if she’d got it wrong? What if her present wasn’t what Severine wanted at all?

  Besides, the crescent moons had risen. Severine was as excited to try them as Runa was to turn them into something ready to be tried. She set a fire in the oven and told herself she was cleaning, not fretting, as she waited for it to get hot enough to bake in. And of course that meant stuffing the present onto a high shelf where it wouldn’t get floury fingers all over it, or sloshed by the mop and bucket.

  The six dragon moon crescents went into the hot oven. The uncooked pastry was soft and jiggly, in a way that made Severine make terrible jokes.

  As Runa fitted the wooden door to the oven, a scuttle of fiery red slipped in. She swallowed with relief. With the door shut, she couldn’t see into the oven. She had to trust to the recipe and her own paltry baker’s instincts to know whether the moons were ready, or underdone, or exploded. With Nobody in there to keep an eye on them…

  …Well, she assumed it had gone in to keep an eye on them, and not eat them all.

  She glared at the oven door, just in case.

  Slowly, as the sun crept across the sky and the birds outside began to rehearse their evening chorus, the bakery filled with a new, luxurious scent.

  Runa held her breath as she pulled them out of the oven.

  They weren’t perfect. They didn’t have to be. They were hot and richly buttery, a ridiculous decadence for someone who’d lived most of the last two decades on a diet of poorly rehydrated stew. Runa closed her eyes as she bit into hers. Steam puffed out either side of her tusks. The pastry melted in her mouth, and she almost melted, too.

  And, sure. After that first bite, the problems were obvious. It was flaky on the outside but a bit gluggy inside. Like the layers hadn’t all kept apart while they were baking. She was pretty sure she’d followed the instructions properly, after locking up her pride and asking Severine to help her translate the words she didn’t know, so that meant more experimenting. Maybe she’d end up writing her own notes in the recipe book for this one.

  Then she looked at Severine. The human woman wasn’t as heat-proof as Runa, and hadn’t plowed in tusks-first. She’d plucked a corner off the moon and was blowing on it carefully before she popped it into her mouth.

  Her eyes fell to half-mast.

  “Good?” Runa asked.

  “Mm.”

  Maybe they would be inedible when they cooled down. Maybe it had all been a waste of expensive butter and fine-ground flour. But she wouldn’t have traded the dreamy look on Severine’s face for anything.

  Severine chewed and swallowed, and plucked another steaming piece of pastry. “You know, I’m starting to think you might be good at this whole baking thing.”

  Warmth blossomed inside Runa. She shrugged, awkwardly, and the warmth moved to her cheeks, like a cat trying to find the best patch of sunlight. “Nice to be good at something other than running into problems head-first,” she said.

  Severine stopped chewing, just for a moment. “Mm,” she said, and stuffed some more pastry into her mouth. “True. Can’t even take you shopping without you playing hero.”

  She smiled, but it seemed strangely tight. Then she sighed and rubbed her face, and narrowed her eyes at the other dragon moons cooling on the counter. “Hey! Weren’t there four of those left a minute ago?”

  The bundled-up present stayed on its high shelf. Not forgotten. Just safely out of sight until the right moment.

  And then it turned out there wasn’t time to give it to her, after all.

  The next morning, Severine was gone.