The Reluctant Queen (The Queens of Renthia #2)(58)

"Oh, you delightful child! This is magnificent!" Hamon's mother circled the cake, admiring it from all angles. "You made this for me? I'm so delighted I could kiss you."

Remembering what Hamon had said about his mother's lipstick, Arin took a step backward. Now that the cake was delivered, she should leave. She hadn't meant to be away from Daleina for so long-it was only that she'd been absorbed in the baking. For the first time since she'd come to the palace, she'd felt like herself again. She'd felt useful and appreciated, instead of the horrible, drowning helplessness she felt when she thought about her sister's illness. "Enjoy," she said, and added a curtsy.

"Tell me the truth now," his mother said. "Did you do this, or merely deliver it?"

"I'm a baker. I like to decorate."

"You have a steady hand. Useful." Circling around Arin, Hamon's mother examined her. "Yes, yes, I think you will do nicely. I am in need of an assistant. My Hamon has delivered to me an intriguing puzzle, and the work would go faster with a set of young, steady hands."

She felt as if a warning bell were chiming in the back of her mind. She knew she wasn't supposed to stay and spend time with Hamon's mother. He might be angry as it was, but she'd wanted to deliver the cake while it was still fresh. Stale cake made no friends. "I am sorry, ma'am, but I already have a position at the palace." She was supposed to be watching her sister, even though Daleina kept sending her away.

"Not one more important than this." All trace of the flighty, overblown personality had vanished, wiped clean as if with a washcloth. "Make no mistake: my son wouldn't have called me here for anything less than the gravest of emergencies. He's a fool if he thinks I haven't guessed whose blood he wants me to test, or to think that I can't read the fear in his eyes. You will help me, because it is necessary." 

All excellent points, but she should check with-

Without waiting for Arin to speak any objections out loud, Hamon's mother beamed at her and clapped her on the shoulder. "Be a good girl and borrow something sharp from one of those guards. Let's cut the cake, and then dive into work, shall we?"

She hesitated again. Bringing a weapon anywhere near Hamon's mother did not sound like the best idea.

"Do you think I am going to slit your throat and make a run for it?" The woman smiled. "I wouldn't have come if I'd wanted to run. I'm here to see how this turns out. But if you won't ask a guard, then I'll simply do it myself."

Arin tensed, but Hamon's mother picked up a plate and used it to slice a wedge out of the cake. "See? Messy but effective. Don't be so untrusting." Hamon's mother handed Arin the first slice and took a second piece for herself.

Biting into the cake, Arin watched Hamon's mother. She dived into the cake with gusto, inhaling chunks of it as if she hadn't eaten in days. Arin nibbled at her slice. It was, Arin admitted, excellent cake. The hint of nutmeg was what turned it from merely good to great, and the frosting . . . Odd that it should have a tang to it. She hadn't remembered adding that flavor. She had an excellent memory for tastes.

Arin blinked as the cake blurred in front of her for a moment.

"Are you all right, child?" Hamon's mother asked.

Shaking her head, she cleared the blurriness. Everything snapped back into focus. Looking at Hamon's mother, she realized how kind a smile she had. Anyone who smiled like that couldn't mean any harm, and of course it was important to help her. Arin felt silly for resisting. She wanted to help this woman. "I'm happy to help you any way I can."

"Of course you are, my child. And you won't leave me when I need you, will you?"

She's beautiful, Arin thought. And brilliant and kind. "Never."

Hamon's mother smiled at her, and Arin took another bite of cake.





Chapter 15




The academy twisted, as if unscrewed by a giant hand, and cracks shot up the walls, splitting into a dozen more cracks. Naelin scrambled to keep her feet beneath her as the ground writhed and rolled. She caught Ven's arm, and he yanked her out of the loose, sandlike soil that filled her shoes and pulled on her ankles, and toward the stairs. They fell onto the steps as he herded the headmistress in front of them. The other masters swarmed around their headmistress, helping her to higher stairs.

"Focus," the headmistress ordered them. "Act, don't react."

Above, the students were screaming. Pressed against the windows, they clung to the sills as the tower shifted and shook. Naelin tried to see her children-Which window? She couldn't see them, but they must have woken, must be scared, and she wasn't there.

"Send it back, Naelin," Ven told her, gripping her arm. "You can do it."