Merlot's Eyes

Chapter Two

Five solid, square towers stood above all. They were linked with small bridges and were connected by huge, massive walls made of dark grey stone. Elegant windows were scattered generously across the walls, aiming to collect as much sunlight for the interior as they could. Some were of delicate stained glass depicting times of peace and times of war—including the Threefold daemons in all their embodied glory. A regular gate with broad metal doors, a regular bridge and large crenelations gave a safe place to rest in Lumière Monastery, it being the only way in without tearing the walls down. Bestrewn trees grew close to the church gates and provided the courtyard with all sorts of purposes. The monastery had withstood the test of time; it stood well, but cracks had begun to show here and there.
I couldn't help but gaze up at the tall monastery before entering its holy premises. Sunlight bathed it in a shadowed yet glowing sheet, as if the sun only shined to decorate the holy building. Upon entering the humongous cathedral-like monastery, I took my place in line for offerings to the altar in the center of the main hall.
Great braziers half enclosing each of the eight obsidian columns lit up most of the worship hall and blanketed everything in a welcoming glow. The illustrations of gods on the embowed ceiling danced in the flickering lights while carved images looked down upon the marble floor of the marvelous hall.
I stood upon a malachite, maroon and gold rug that ran in a circle around the hall with one path leading up to the altar. Forked banners with burnished lacery draped the walls. Between each of them, a few braziers had been lit, and in turn illuminated statues of the Threefold daemons and lesser deities, simply there for the looks and historical reference.
Vast, stained glass windows depicting important royal and chronicled moments were enclosed by veils colored the same malachite and gold and maroon as the banners and rug. The curtains were even adorned with fancy tassels and emblazoned edges. It was certainly a sight to take in, and sooner than I realized, I was standing in front of the marble altar.
Mounds of hekte, foods, articles of expensive and bright clothing, homemade pieces, paintings and much more were strewn on the altar, even spilling off the side and onto the floor. I place the satchel of steamed buns onto the altar and bowed on one knee, whispering a silent prayer to the daemons. Then, I stood and made my way over to one of the thousands of seats. Sitting, I clasped my hands in my lap and looked around. Hundreds of people sat, bowing, kneeling, praying, and still more were filing in. I breathed through my agoraphobia and closed my eyes. What exactly was I supposed to say? Was there a certain way to speak to the daemons if they were even listening? How would I know if they're listening in the first place?
"First time?" a male voice asked beside me.
I turned and made eye contact with a man with a young face. The first thing I noticed about him was his eyes. Deep, golden-brown pools set deeply into their sockets peered at me laughingly. I tucked my hair behind my ear and carefully formulated an answer. If I said yes, I might get deported for never having been to worship the daemons before. But if I said no... Hells, I wasn't a good liar.
"What is it to you?" I asked coyly, closing my eyes in hope he would take the hint.
"Your hands are positioned wrong."
I looked down at my clasped hands. "I-I know," I stuttered, wiggling my fingers. "This is how I prefer to pray."
"Pray?" The male pointed to a carpeted area of the hall, many people on their hands and knees, all cloistered together. The thought of being amongst that cramped crowd made gooseflesh tumble down my arms. "You pray to the Threefold over there. This area is for offerings and peace hearings and scriptures."
Fuck. "I know that, as well," I stated. "Please excuse me, but you're interrupting my devotion."
"What is your name?"
"Why must you ask so many questions?"
"I'd like to dedicate my veneration to the Threefold to you."
Frowning, I shook my head. "You don't even know me."
"So allow me the pleasure of knowing whom I venerate for."
"No, thank you." I closed my eyes and tensed my legs, hoping to gods he'd leave me alone. This certainly wasn't the encounter I was hoping for this Resting Day. I came to Lumière Monastery looking for peace of mind and a silent heart. Being harassed by a local isn't what I had in mind.
"You own the bakery on Mow-Way Avenue, do you not?"
I rolled my eyes. "Yes... now, please. Allow me to find peace."
"A baker, first time at the monastery... no wedding ring, so alone..." the man crooned, washing me over with his curious gaze. "A beaut like you is sure to have someone true at heart. Do you?"
"Why is any of this your business," I snapped, standing. "I come here looking for peace and tranquility and all I get is a conniving pup trying to stick his nose down my pants. Thank you for making my time at the monastery enjoyable." I began walking away, glad I had rendered the man speechless, then turned back. "And you're not allowed to step foot into my bakery!" I added. "I have the right to refuse service to anyone!" With that, I stomped through the throng of people and finally made my way out onto the bustling street. Gods... the nerve of some people.
Murmuring curses to the man who had ruined my Resting Day experience, I dragged my feet back to my bakery and flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN. Usually, stores and merchants didn't do business on Resting Day, yet I was itching to bake and I had nothing else to do for the afternoon.
Hours flew by as I twirled and sang and moved about behind the counter, mixing and frosting and rolling and shaping. Nothing put my mind at ease more than baking did. I loved the way ingredients could mold and make something so exquisite as a bruburry scone fresh from the ovens. Munching on a cinnamon and cherry strudel glazed with fresh honey, I packed breads and loaves and pastries into the glass cases on the counter, filling the baskets and panniers up to the brim. Scented smoke from the chimney must have reached the nostrils of the townsfolk, because in naught but a few short hours, people flooding from outside the monastery made their way to my bakery, mouths watering for baked goods.
"Here you are," I said, smiling politely to a man as I handed him a basket of lemon-lime cookies. "Enjoy."
The man tipped his hat and left, the next person in line telling me her order. When suddenly, fanfare sounded from outside. A Gold Sentinel of Moth entered my shop, waving his snow-dusted cloak about, making the crowd of people clear a path. "Make way for His Highness, King Dren Heartland!"
I froze.
A bronze-haired male strode into my shop, shaking snowflakes off his perfectly tousled hair. He was adorned in gold and topaz jewels, flaunting his riches like all wealthy people did in Korath. I kept my head down, looking at my hands out of respect for the king. Hells knows I didn't want to get Banished from another kingdom. If I did, I'd only have Iakkethis to live in, and that kingdom was known for their exceptionally high crime rate, despite the Law of the Threefold. Rumors had it that Iakkethis was ran by a child queen.
"You really need to work on your worshipping skills."
I recognized that voice. I whipped my head up and met the dark-eyed male straight on. It was the annoying man from the monastery. "You—" I hissed, but then clammed my mouth shut, knowing it was the king. "Your Highness," I said sweetly, dipping into an embarrassing curtsy. "How may I service you today?"
"Look at me."
I dragged my eyes back to his again.
"I want a honeybutter roll. Made fresh."
"I have some fresh ones in the basket right here..."
"No—I want to watch you make them."
Fucker. "Yes, Your Highness," I mumbled, going to tie on my apron and light the ovens again. "It will take a bit... maybe you'd like to go wait—"
"I'll wait right here, thank you."
What a snob-nosed brat. And of course, I couldn't deny him. He was the King of Korath for fuck's sake. A spoiled one at that. Carefully, I mixed flour, yeast, water and salt together in a large, clean bowl. I kept my eyes on my hands—on my work, yet I could feel King Dren's eyes all over my body. Turning towards the oven, I shook my head. "My king, I'll have to let the dough rise. It'll take a bit of time."
"No need for that," Dren said with a wink, gesturing to the head Sentinel at his right hand. "Bring in Samsara, will you."
"Yes, Your Highness," the Sentinel said, turning stoutly on his heel and marching out of the bakery. As I continued mixing honey into the dough for taste, I noticed the Sentinels had ushered out every other one of my clients. Anger boiled up to my ears and I knew my face was probably as red as a beet.
"Where do you hail from, Merlot Elfhallow?" Dren asked. I rolled my eyes at his weak attempt for a conversation. I knew why he was doing this: either his obvious show of power, or to get back at me for mouthing off to him in the monastery.
"Calanthe City, my king," I answered dully, hoping he wouldn't push it.
"Do you have family?"
"No, my king."
"Do you get enough to eat daily?"
I turned around. "What kind of question is that?"
"Be respectful to His Highness!" one of the Sentinels corrected me, stomping his foot to get my undivided attention. I needed to cool down. "Yes, of course. Apologies, Your Highness. Yes, I eat enough daily."
Before the male could ask another question, the head Sentinel returned with a woman in a black cloak tailing him. "Ah, Samsara, welcome," Dren greeted, spreading his arms wide and gesturing to me. "Make her dough rise at once."
What a fool... I shook my head in disbelief. "It's not something that can be done on a whim, Your Highness. It takes hours to ri—" Samsara pushed past me and angled her palms above the bowl of dough. Blackened dust fell from her fingers and immediately, my dough had formed a large circle in the bowl, rising as if the creation of a child's snowball. Speechless, the lady bowed at me and the king and left with the head Sentinel.
"Wh-what was that," I gasped, touching the dough with my index finger. Indeed, it had risen.
"Just a tad bit of necromancy to make the process faster," said Dren as if he had seen it performed every day. "Get to work, now. Don't dawdle."
"I thought necromancy was forbidden, Your Highness. The Threefold daemons decreed it." Carefully, I rolled and shaped the dough into four small balls, pushing them left and right with the heels of my hands.
"I'm the king, dear girl; I do as I wish." King Dren had seated himself on top of my counters, tossing his legs over the side and kicking them as if he was a child. "How did you come to be apart of the baking business? Childhood dream?"
"Of my own will and wish," I answered through grit teeth. I didn't want this man to know any of my secrets... yet I couldn't lie or just not answer him. He was the king, gods-damnit! How many times must I remind myself before it gets branded in my brain? I was taught to respect royalty—especially those on an upper class... yet, I was taught that in hopes the wealthier would take pity on me and toss me hekte. No longer was I in need of other people's coin. Angrily, I shoved the panned dough balls into the stone oven and moved around the hot coals with a stoker.
"It smells delicious, Merlot," Dren crooned. "Do tell me—what is your favorite thing to make?"
"Lemon pies, Your Highness."
"What a coincidence!" he laughed. "That happens to be my favorite dessert!"
I highly doubt it. I pasted on a fake, stretched smile. I didn't want the Sentinels to think I was holding ill will towards the king, but I wanted the king to know I found no joy in baking for him. "Perhaps you can special order some, Your Highness," I said, wiping my flour-covered hands on my apron. "They do taste good when chilled by the cold winter days."
"Write me down an order for seventy-five pies."
I gawked, my jaw dropping. "S-seventy-five?"
"That's what I said, of course. Deaf, are you?"
My blood boiled. "No, no, Your Highness. I simply have never received such a large order, is all." Either he was trying to get a rise out of me, or he simply wanted to flash his wealth in my poor face. I assumed both. And it was working. I jotted his order down on an order sheet and stuffed it in my pocket. "I will work long into the night to assure that your order is fulfilled and at your table by tomorrow afternoon."
Dren waved his hand. "Gods, no. Take your time. No rush, sweet thing."
I cringed at his name-calling. Impatiently, I waited for the bread to brown. Silence hummed over the atmosphere of my bakery. All for King Dren tapping his fingers rhythmically on the counter top. Minutes went by like hours. And each minute felt like I was standing in magma, slowly burning up until I burst or sank. I had decided I'd rather sink with these feelings than act on them. Acting on them was a sure way to get me Banished or even put to death.
Finally, I hastily pulled the pan from the oven with a large wooden pole, sliding it onto a tray and then carrying the tray over to the counter next to King Dren. "Be careful, Your Highness; they're very hot."
Without warning, Dren grabbed a loaf and stuffed it directly into his mouth. I cried aloud, grabbing his sleeve, but it was too late. He was already chewing and the look on his face was one of... joy? I quickly let go of his sleeve and backed away. No human could withstand the temperature those loaves were... I stood in disbelief.
"Absolutely divine!" Dren called, clapping his hands loudly. "Merlot, how would you like to come work in Heartland Castle? You could be my top chef and baker. You would have a room of your own, your own staff and a gigantic kitchen all to yourself! And of course, you would get monthly pay. More hekte than you could imagine!"
"Do you... truly like my baking that much?" I fumbled for the right words to use.
"It is exceptional!" Dren hopped off the counter and held out his hand. Shocked, I stepped forward, then paused. "Will you give me time to think on it? I'm sorry, it's just... a lot to take in all at once."
Dren nodded. "Of course, dear Merlot. I'll give you a day to make your choice. I will offer you anything your heart could desire. My need for your baked goods at my table is an absolute must!" With that, he turned and walked out of my bakery, the Gold Sentinels of Moth filing in line behind him.
Still shocked, I slumped to the ground and tried to quiet my raging mind.