Page 5 of The Rake and the Cake

Aisling’s tail swished behind her fitfully, betraying her irritation. Traitorous thing. Maybe she should’ve gone with the prosthetic; at least it wouldn’t have a personality of its own. “Well, I just stopped by to bring dinner. Come by the stall if you want more tomorrow. I’ll be busy!”

And before they could ask her any other insulting questions, she ducked out the tent-flap and into the buzz of Inventor’s Row. It was still light out, but the globes over the pathways had been lit, like massive fireflies leading the thinning crowd back to their tents and cabins. Most elves were moving north to the village or south to the camping at Portage Point, where her own wagon was parked.

She should get some sleep. But seeing her family always left her feeling like a silly child, invisible and unheard. They loved her with all they had and in the only way they could. She just wasn’t one of them and never would be.

But she had a stall at the Everend Midsummer Market, by the goddess—a very successful one, if the last two days were any measure. And she was only just getting started.

She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and started down the path. A few of the Copperford contingent recognized her, and she said hello and kept walking, as if she had somewhere to be. She stopped by her stall to make sure her bread was rising for tomorrow morning. The smell of yeasted dough and sweet baked goods lingered, though she’d shut up an hour ago. It soothed her.

She replaced the cloth over her rising dough, then checked the mechanical bellows on the back of the oven. It was similar to the one her mother had invented for the metal shop back home, but Aisling had shrunk it to a portable size. The mechanism, along with her two-tier racks and forced air system, allowed her precision most bakers could never dream of—not without magic, anyhow. With her tail, she snatched up a little bottle of oil and applied some to the bellows joint.

“Oh, you’re still here.”

Aisling jumped, dropping the oil, which began pooling at her feet immediately. “Bugger!” She fell to her knees, trying to sop it up with her apron.

“Sorry!” The raven-haired beauty from the lunch hour rush—Brook, wasn’t it? –entered and joined Aisling on the floor. “I thought you must’ve heard me knock.”

“I didn’t.” Aisling pulled her apron off over her head to get a better angle on the mess. At least she hadn’t spilled all of it, so she wouldn’t have to go borrow some from her parents.

“I was just wondering if you were, uh…” Brook sat there, hands out as if she wanted to do something with them but had no idea what. “Well. I clearly interrupted you in deep thought again. I heard you clanging around, is all.”

Once the mess was contained, Aisling wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Her hair was everywhere, askew from the apron, and her shirt wasn’t much better. She tried to set herself to rights, suddenly very, very aware that she was alone in her deserted stall with perhaps the most beautiful elf she’d ever seen. Brook even smelled good. Like warm smoke and perfume from wood and herbs.

“Can I help with anything? Closing up for the night? Preparing for tomorrow?” Brook asked, her eyes black as the night sky and almost as wide.

Aisling swallowed the lump forming in her throat and shook her head. She wrapped her tail around the brace beneath the counter and stood with as much grace as she could muster. “No, thank you. I’ve done it already. I have a system.”

Brook smiled, slow and lazy. “Yes, I noticed. Fascinating stuff.”

Aisling barked out a laugh that seemed far too loud in the growing quiet. “Do you, ah, have a stall this year?”

Brook sat back on her heels and tilted her chin upwards. Her hair fell in long, silken tresses, brushed back from her forehead and over one shoulder. Her clothing was of the finest leather, with intricate, decorative stitching and pins and buckles of precious metal. “Not exactly. I’m more the wastrel type than you productive elves. It’s why I admire you so much.”

Aisling snorted out another laugh. “Admire! If you can afford to come just to shop, I should be admiring you.”

Brook winked.

And that was when Aisling noticed that Brook was still on her knees, looking up at her through thick, dark lashes and grinning as if she knew a great secret.

That damned lump appeared in Aisling’s throat again as she tried to think of something to say. “Er, or maybe you’re here to find a match?” popped out somehow.

Brook’s nose crinkled up far more adorably than it had a right to. “No. In fact, my family comes every year, and every year I spend the entire time ducking the marriage market.”

Aisling’s laughter came more easily this time. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Brook held out one hand. Aisling took it and pulled, though Brook unfolded with the grace of a dancer. She drew herself up to her full height, half a head higher than Aisling’s, and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I prefer playing things by ear. Letting love come naturally rather than over a contract table. Don’t you?”

Brook lifted Aisling’s hand as if she’d kiss it, holding it just a few inches from her lips. Her fingers were as long and elegant as the rest of her, dark brown and soft as silk. Aisling’s stubby, pale fingers looked almost child-like in comparison.

Brook cocked an eyebrow.

Aisling realized she’d quite forgotten the question. Wait, had there been a question? “Uh, you were saying…?”

“Love, Aisling. How do you feel about love? The very reason for this market, according to most elves.”

“Oh.” Aisling considered this seriously. “Well…”

Brook smiled as if something was funny, finally releasing Aisling’s hand.