Chapter One

Enlo Cakes

In the 83rd year of the Sona Era, and the 19th year of King Mŭ So’s¹ reign, the crown prince So Ga² turned nineteen. And already his mind had begun to exceed his tutors’.

This, the prince knew, was what they had reported to his royal father. Though what the king would make of it, So Ga did not know. It was, after all, one of four reports he would receive. And not even the king knew which of the princes described in the reports was his son.

It was the eleventh day of the ninth month of the year. The crown prince So Ga looked up from his book — the second volume in the collected histories of Láokoth — to sniff the air. With his thin, pale countenance and his nose pointed at the ceiling, the prince seemed very like one of the Palace groundskeepers’ lithe hunting dogs. Of course his purpose was similar. The stale afternoon air in his brightly lit study had suddenly received a sweet, sugary fragrance and no amount of studious diligence could make him ignore it.

So Ga listened to the distant sounds of his servants going about their daily tasks. For a moment he thought the approaching footsteps he heard might be bringing someone into his study — someone, perhaps, who might be carrying the source of this wonderful smell. But then the steps faded.

The prince had been distracted all day and now his restless mind was bored. He was considering pausing in his studies to go in search of the sweet smell, but Hin Lan³ would probably have something to say about his royal charge abandoning the accounts of eighth century Láokoth’s first treaty with Srenléth⁴ in the pursuit of a sugary confections.

Hin Lan, the prince’s tutor, had left the study a half hour ago to answer the call of nature. So Ga expected he’d been waylaid on his return journey by domestic matters. Despite his status, the prince did not exactly run his household. That task fell to Hin Lan who managed the Little Palace with the same strict attention with which he managed the prince’s studies. Though the Little Palace was small, a mere cottage compared to rest of the Palace proper, it was no less difficult to order than any other large estate in Láokoth. Twenty-two servants maintained the palace and another twenty-two bodyswords lived in the Front Hall, the Little Palace’s gatehouse. The whole of the prince’s household lived and worked inside these high stone walls. By royal decree they never left the Courtyard of the Four Little Palaces, and would never leave except when So Ga himself did so. And that would only happen when the king died and the crown prince had to come forward to take the throne. For almost ten years So Ga had been confined with his household, and for all that time Hin Lan had somehow managed to maintain order and peace without any disruption more severe than an outbreak of the common cold.

As the prince tried to take up his reading again, he heard the distant sound of soft laughter and quiet voices. Laughter in his Little Palace was not uncommon. His servants were well-disciplined, but his palace was also their home. Having been together in his service for almost a decade, a certain familial bond had begun to form among them, a bond which, to a lesser extent, included himself, as they viewed him as the head of their household and had done so since he was eleven and this had all begun. So Ga sometimes wondered if it was the same in the other Little Palaces, in the households of the other Little Princes.

With a great sigh So Ga finally gave up on his reading. Whatever had brought about that distant laughter — and whatever was the source of this sugary smell — was a great deal more interesting than eighth century Láokoth. At least, right now anyway.

Hin Lan would probably return any minute. Maids had a way of appearing at random, though he suspected there was a carefully maintained order that he simply hadn’t divined, or that was being deliberately kept from him. Regardless, in that moment he was alone.

Getting up from his desk, he sniffed the air. Of course it made the most sense that this sugary smell would be coming from the kitchens, but it didn’t hurt to make sure. Standing in the center of his study, he put his hands behind his back and took a deep breath.

The Little Palace had been built around a narrow central courtyard. Three wings comprised the main residence and a fourth — divided by a wall from the others — was the Front Hall. None of the wings could be accessed from the others except by way of the many covered walkways that divided the interior courtyard. A veritable labyrinth of paths and corridors crossed this way and that. So Ga understood that this was intended to make ingress to the main residence more difficult, but the army of bodyswords who lived in his Front Hall was unlikely to ever allow an intruder to make it as far as the interior courtyard.

The back wing of the Little Palace, where So Ga now stood looking out over the gardens and the maze of walkways that divided them, was home to his primary living space. He spent most hours of most days in the back wing, usually in his study, usually at his desk.

The entire inner wall of the study could open in sections that rotated and slid together along a wooden track like books on a shelf. The prince preferred to spend the long hours of daily study at his desk with the wall open and the verdant, fragrant breeze from the garden tickling his nose. In the winter, of course, this would be impossible. With autumn already here, winter would not be far behind. Even today his servants had had to wait till well past morning before it was warm enough to open the wall.

The eastern wing — to So Ga’s left — housed the kitchens. There was even a very small courtyard accessible only to this wing where a kitchen garden flourished year round. So Ga was always surprised by how much continued to grow there even under the heavy snows of late winter. He took another deep breath to be sure, but yes: the smell was undoubtedly coming from the east.

Just when he had decided to depart his study and venture forth along the pathways to the east in search of the rich, sugary scent, a maid soundlessly appeared.

So Ga started, as if he’d been caught doing something forbidden. She bowed at him and uttered a greeting, then set about closing the wall.

“No, leave it,” he said.

Stopping, she turned and bowed again while she answered. “But, Your Highness, the cold—”

“Just for a little while.” The prince again clasped his hands behind his back. He had been finding it rather pleasant to move around and stretch his legs. Already his mind was feeling less restless, therefore his mood was also improving.

Just then a thought occurred to him. He turned to the maid — a small woman of about twenty-five, whose name was Tá Sol⁵ — and he said in a conspiratorial whisper, “This smell…”

She smiled. “Your Highness has noticed the Enlo cakes. We’ve all smelled them as well.”

“Ah,” the prince said. “So this is the smell of Enlo cakes.”

He had almost forgotten that he had requested these from his cooks some days ago. They had had to send out for the ingredients, but it seemed the day for them had finally come.

He asked, “Do you know if they can be eaten?”

She blinked in confusion. “They were made at Your Highness’s request.”

“I mean, are they ready?”

“Oh!” She looked embarrassed, but amused. “I’m afraid I don’t know that, Your Highness.”

The prince nodded and lifted his head, attempting a grand posture despite his undersized stature. “I suppose we’ll have to find that out for ourselves, won’t we?”

“Your Highness?”

“Come along!”

It wasn’t like him to abandon his daily routine like this. But So Ga had been finding that many things about himself had been changing in the last months. In less than a year he would come of age and his father would arrange a marriage. Once he was married, he would be expected to participate in government affairs. But how could he do that from within his Little Palace? For that matter, how could he marry from within his Little Palace? How would the court react if he failed to marry when he turned twenty? Too many considerations began to overlap in his mind if he sat in silence for too long. So Ga hoped this condition was temporary. He was eager to shake off his restlessness and go back to his comfortable routine.

Tá Sol, confused and a little concerned by the prince’s uncharacteristic behavior, followed So Ga as he left the study through the open wall and made his way to the east wing. He had donned his simple leather shoes — which he could easily step into at the study’s broad threshold — without even breaking stride. The maid had had to hurriedly put on her slippers before running to catch up with him again.

So Ga’s long silk golt was thin and he only wore a linen summer golt under it. Though the afternoon air was warm, the wind was cold. As a sharp breeze cut through her own thin clothing, Tá Sol considered running back for the prince’s cloak but thought it best to remain with him for now.

So Ga, with the maid close behind, first traversed the narrow covered porch that stretched the length of the palace’s back wing. Then he took a quick right turn to cross a little bridge that connected the porch to a walkway. Tá Sol hurried after. When the prince stopped suddenly in the middle of the walkway, she nearly ran into him.

“Your Highness?” she asked.

But he shushed her. Then he suddenly dropped into a crouched position. According to the protocols, her stance could never be above his, so she quickly followed.

So Ga, who had heard the unmistakable timbre of Hin Lan’s steady voice coming from somewhere in the east wing, peered over the rail of the walkway.

Several sections of the east wing’s wall could open in the same manner as So Ga’s study. It was difficult to see inside from their position on the walkway, but So Ga still inspected the shadows for the shapes of figures until he was satisfied that Hin Lan was not nearby.

“We mustn’t be seen,” he whispered. “The enemy won’t allow cakes before the completion of studies.”

Tá Sol wanted to laugh, but managed to maintain decorum with only a smile. It was heartening to see the prince in such good spirits. He had seemed, of late, to be in a low mood.

So Ga looked at her intently. “I will reward you for your service,” he announced in a whisper. “But first we must complete the mission. Tell me, have the cakes been prepared inside the kitchens? Or in the ovens in the courtyard?”

Struggling to match the prince’s serious demeanor, Tá Sol replied, “Inside the kitchens, Your Highness.”

He nodded. “Very good. Onward.”

They continued along the walkway in an awkward crouching shuffle. So Ga had tried to gather up the front of his golt in order to prevent it from getting underfoot, but Tá Sol had to also hold up the silk in the back, lest it trail through the rain-sodden mud on either side of the walkway. Once they had made it past the opened sections of the east wing’s wall, So Ga stood upright again and Tá Sol straightened his clothes, though he barely seemed to notice.

From there, they had to take a walkway that led west for a time, before they could reach another covered porch that would allow them to cross another bridge. This bridge would, at last, lead them to the doorway into the east wing which, during the day, was always kept open. And the warm, sweet smell of the Enlo cakes — which had only been intensifying as they drew closer — poured from that open doorway in such great waves that they half-expected the air to be sparkling with sugar.

A week ago the prince had overheard some of the maids discussing their favorite foods. One had described a cake that she had once been given by the queen consort, So Ga’s mother. The maid had related that when she was a child she had climbed a tree to save the queen consort’s precious pet cat, who had found himself clinging by his claws to a thin branch that was about to snap. The queen consort had been so grateful for the child’s help that she gave her an Enlo cake from her own plate, explaining that these delicate sweets had once been given by Enlo — the attendant of the lesser Ădol⁶ Imnethrun — to a pair of starving children lost in Imnethrun’s endless forest. These cakes, the maid claimed, had been a tradition in central Láokoth for eight hundred years, where Enlo was revered as a particularly beloved guardian of children. The maid had then gone on to describe the flavor and texture of the cake in such a way that every person who heard her was desperate to try this sweet confection.

So Ga had listened to this tale curiously. He remembered his mother’s pet cat, an undersized white creature who answered to Lí Lí⁷, and who was, indeed, hopelessly stupid and always in need of saving. But as far as he could remember, he had never tasted these Enlo cakes, nor could he even remember his mother eating them. In that moment he had been overcome by the fear that he was forgetting memories from his childhood. He had asked them to make the Enlo cakes not because he was curious to taste something new, as he had told them, but because he hoped the taste would not be new, but familiar and would even return distant memories to him that he was in danger of slowly forgetting. Throughout their journey from the study to the east wing, So Ga had been trying to decide if the smell was familiar to him, but so far he was still uncertain.

There were a few maids and servants in the narrow hallway that led through the east wing to the kitchens. They all bowed as the prince went by and then shot glances of confusion at Tá Sol who was too preoccupied in her effort to keep up with him to pay attention to any of them.

The kitchens, a vast expanse of industry far from the primary living spaces of the Little Palace, were bustling with the labors of several cooks, all of whom answered to So Ga’s head cook, a towering, gray-haired woman who had round red cheeks that seemed always to be glowing as if lit perpetually by her fires.

Several processes were underway in the kitchens, none of which were comprehensible to the prince. And though the rooms were filled with an assortment of fragrances, the sweet smell of the Enlo cakes had attracted more than just So Ga. Other maids and servants were lingering idly in the kitchen’s several doorways and even a small batch of gray and brown kittens, the offspring of the cook’s chief mouser, were endeavoring to make their way into the kitchen, despite the efforts of a young boy in an apron.

Tá Sol made to announce his presence, but So Ga quieted her. The protocols would force all this work to come to a sudden halt in order for the many who labored here to offer him the compulsory greeting. He didn’t want to interrupt them, but he also knew that such an abrupt disruption would absolutely summon the attention of Hin Lan.

He tucked himself behind a cabinet and gestured Tá Sol into a position that more or less blocked him from sight. The maid again struggled to suppress a laugh.

“Do you see them?” he asked in a whisper.

She made a quick survey of the kitchens, and at first saw no sign of anything that could have been a cake. But then she noticed an overturned basket that had been placed over a large platter. Steam was curling through the woven gaps in thin tendrils of white ribbon.

“I think I see them, Your Highness.”

So Ga peeked out from behind the cabinet. But he couldn’t see what she was looking at.

“I don’t think there’s any way to get to them unseen, Your Highness,” Tá Sol whispered. She looked at him over her shoulder while trying to maintain a proper bow. “But they will be a part of Your Highness’s afternoon meal, if—”

“But we’re already here. And anyway, I suspect they are meant to be eaten when they are fresh.”

So Ga considered the situation. If he sent Tá Sol forth in an attempt to sneak a cake or two from the cook’s table she might be caught and then perhaps even punished. The only way to save her from punishment would be to reveal himself, whereupon the entire kitchen would be reduced to silent stillness until he permitted them to continue their work. Though, with his presence, they would find it a bit uncomfortable to work as they were now.

However, if he attempted to sneak one of the cakes himself, he would also likely be caught. And then he would have to reveal himself. And the end result would be the same. In either situation Hin Lan would be summoned by the commotion and So Ga would be pulled back to his quiet study and the unease of his own thoughts.

Just as he was trying to determine the best path forward, he heard the sound of a throat clearing. It was a very familiar sound and he knew immediately what it meant.

Standing a little in front of Tá Sol was the stone figure of Hin Lan. A man of average height, but with the ability to silently fill a room with his imposing presence, Hin Lan’s arrival in the kitchens was noticed immediately. His small round face was unreadable, but his dark eyes flashed. He wore the long, stiff, green silks of his station and had his hands tucked inside his large sleeves. The plain green folds of his golt shone in the kitchen fires.

As So Ga turned to look at him, Hin Lan bowed deeply and said, “Here is where Your Highness has been.”

At that moment a series of actions occurred that could not have been planned or predicted but which resulted in disaster.

So Ga, startled by the sudden, soundless appearance of his tutor, hurried out from behind the cabinet. Tá Sol, in her effort to move out of the prince’s path, fell against a slight young maid who had been carrying into the kitchen a large basket of potatoes she’d just unearthed in the kitchen gardens. The maid lost her footing and plunged to the floor, sending the potatoes flying. So Ga, who had tried to step back when he had realized he was about to collide with Tá Sol, fell prey to the rolling army of freshly harvested potatoes and began to fall. The young boy in the apron just behind him looked up to see the silk-shrouded figure of the prince collapsing towards him and let out a cry of alarm as he dodged out of the way. The boy’s cry frightened the kittens who began to scurry to and fro across the doorway. So Ga, who had nearly managed to get his feet under him again — though his frantic efforts had sent him backwards towards the kitchen door — now found himself in danger of trampling the kittens and again lost his footing. His heels caught on the kitchen threshold and he toppled backward into the kitchen garden until he landed, in a seated position, in a muddy bed of carrots and turnips.

Everyone in the kitchens and many other maids and servants besides, had stopped what they were doing to gape in shock at the sight of the prince who now found himself planted, as it were, among the vegetables. Gathering themselves, they all bowed. Several asked if His Highness was alright.

Hin Lan, who had watched the entire catastrophe with his usual unmoved expression, stepped over the kitchen threshold and bowed again at the prince.

So Ga tried to wipe splashed mud off his face but found both hands to be covered in it as well. Somehow the sight of everyone bowing made him feel even more embarrassed. Though he was glad to see Tá Sol, who stood a little behind Hin Lan, trying to suppress a laugh at the sight of him. In fact, he detected more than one carefully concealed smile of amusement.

Hin Lan said, “Had I known Your Highness had such a keen interest in botany, I would have included it in your studies.”

In that moment, it was all So Ga could do to restrain himself from throwing a great handful of mud directly at his tutor’s silk chest.

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1

My-uh-SOH

2

Soh-GAH

3

Hin-LAHN

4

SREN-leeth (a nation to the west)

5

Tay-SOLE

6

EE-ah-dole

Lie-LIE

7.