Magic Bitter, Magic Sweet Read Online Free PDF

chance to flee or dive as we’re moved from land to sea, but the marauders stay clear of the beach. We camp and wait until more of their kind arrive with carts lined with bars. They loose us from the horses and corral us without unsheathing our wrists. To my relief, I’m the last one shoved into the cart that contains Cleric Tuck. Once the horses begin moving, I worm my way to the back of the cart, careful to avoid the gaze of the marauders who ride to either side of it. There is little room to sit, though some of the captives do. Cleric Tuck leans in the nook where the wall of bars meets the wall of wood that separates us from the cart’s driver.
    The wheels hit a bump in the road, jostling us. A man knocks into me, and I sail forward into Cleric Tuck, who grasps me by the elbows with hands that are too cold.
    “Maire,” he whispers, so quiet it could be the wind. He doesn’t look at me, but at the bandit riding nearest to us. He adjusts, putting more of his back to the man. “Are you all right?”
    I nod, though none of us are. I don’t speak for fear of being heard.
    Cleric Tuck licks his lips, which sport several cracks. “They’ll sell us.”
    I nod, too weary to cry at the unwelcome reminder. The marauder near us quickens his mount’s trot, eyeing me, and I pull away from Cleric Tuck’s hands. The last thing I want is to be put into a different cart.
    Cleric Tuck notices as well and eyes me with what I can only assume is exasperation, as though the attention on us is my fault. I grit my teeth and stare past a few other prisoners to another set of bars and the passing landscape. After what must be an hour, Cleric Tuck grasps my thumb and doesn’t let go.
    We travel north. Most of the marauders who attacked our village don’t attend us. When attention leaves the cart for an argument up ahead, I test each bar of the wagon, the floorboards, and the lock, ignoring Cleric Tuck’s gestures for me to remain still. They’re all sound. Rubbing my hands over the rusting bars, I try to encourage them to enlighten us, try to usher love and peace into them as I do my cakes, but the jostling of the wagon makes it hard to grasp fond memories, and the iron bars remain as unsympathetic as they are unyielding.

CHAPTER 3
    When we arrive to the marauders’ destination, they transport us into cages—little more than animal pens with high walls. I grasp the gate of my enclosure and will sweetness into it, but it remains rigid and uncompromising. It will not bend to my desires as my confections do.
    I rest my forehead against the gate. It’s level with my height, just short enough to climb over were I to shed my shoes, but a new shackle encases my right foot and tethers me to the floor with others from my village. I stare at the harsh crescent moons encircling the bases of both hands. The marauders followed the coast until we reached the city-state of Aureolin. At least, I believe this is Aureolin. I’ve never traveled so far from Carmine. Not that I can remember, at least.
    I touch the tender scabs about my wrists and close my eyes, releasing a slow breath through my nose. I try to remember the world beyond Carmine, traveling to Carmine. I find only darkness. My earliest memory, still, is Arrice.
    Footsteps call my attention. A bald, heavyset man, peach skinned like the marauders, eyes me and one of the men sharing my cage as he walks by. I meet his eyes, trying to see beyond them. I can’t understand how he can ogle me like that, like I’m a goat or a cow in the market. Like I’m something less than human.
    Stepping away from the bars, I try again to think of love, try to grasp on to good feelings that will alleviate the embers scalding me between every bone. Something to plug the beads of cold sweat that run down my back each time another pair of eyes finds me. But all I can think about is the ashes of the lavender cake left in the oven, as if they were an omen of things to come.
    A woman tethered to the opposite side