Page 142 of The Orc Chief's Baker
Trinia was done letting guilt force her hand. “No, Yerina. I’ve made up my mind.”
“Little girl,don’tunderestimate me.” Ronhold’s expression went so cold it nearly made her shiver. “I’ve been running things since before you were even a twinkle in your father’s eye, and Isuggestyou get in line behind me, or you’ll quickly discover just why no one else dares to compete with my affairs.”
“I’m not meddling inanything, Ronhold,” Trinia said with a snort. “I’m letting you win. Give me a moment and I’ll be packed up and gone and you can do anything you like to this place. Run it or burn it. It’s all the same to me.”
With that, she carried a handful of candles and a stack of paper past Ronhold and Tobbis out to the awaiting cart.
“What are you doing?” Ronhold snapped, storming over as she continued to load up. “These things aremine.”
“I assure you they arenot,” Trinia said coldly as she continued to organize her blankets so they wouldn’t fall. “I’m not taking anything that could be considered yours.”
Which was honestly most of the bakery. All the pans and tools, the furniture, even the flour and sacks of grain, technically belonged to the bakery.
She ignored Ronhold’s protests as she went back inside. Her chest tightened as she looked around. An entire lifetime of memories flooded her. She’d taken her first steps on thesefloorboards. She’d played here more than anywhere else in the village. She could count the days she hadn’t stepped into the bakery on two hands.
This was the last day she would ever step foot inside these walls.
Her eyes prickled as she went to the cabinet in the back of the room where there was a large, leather-bound book with yellowed pages and faded writing.
It was a bit dusty. She hadn’t needed to reference it for a very,verylong time. Within, the recipes from four generations of her family were scrawled.
Unable to help herself, she flipped through the pages. The scent of old flour and parchment filled her nose as her eyes glanced over the handwriting of her great-grandmother, her grandmother, and then...
Her mother.
Her mother’s handwriting was large and looped. In the beginning, her mother’s recipes had flowers doodled in the margins. The explanations were flourished with details like “rosemary is so good in this one” and “try this with cinnamon. It’s divine!”
The writing became much more subdued after she’d married Trinia’s father, and then, at the back, there were little notes specifically to Trinia.
“Don’t forget to add the onion again, Trinia!”
“These were your favorite when you were a baby.”
“You should try these with nuts sometime.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to teach you this recipe myself.”
“I wish we had more time.”
Trinia’s eyes welled with tears as she closed the book.
“What do you have there? Show me. Now,” Ronhold demanded as he stormed over to her.
“It’s my mother’s private journal!” Trinia snapped, but she wasn’t strong enough to stop Ronhold from snatching the book out of her hands. Behind him, she could see Yerina had averted her gaze, clearly unwilling to step in.
“This isfar morethan a journal,” he said flipping roughly through the pages. “And considering its contents, I would say this belongs to the bakery, not to you.”
“It’s in the hand of my ancestors. It’s a family heirloom.” Trinia tried to take it back, but Ronhold simply held it above his head, out of her reach.
“This wholebakerycould be considered a family heirloom, but it is mine nonetheless.” Ronhold’s grin made her stomach turn sour. “But if you want to keep it in the family, you know what you have to do.”
Trinia’s stomach twisted and her mind reeled, and her eyes stung as tears welled up.
And then Brovdir’s voice rang in her mind.
“You always call it your mother’s bakery. Shouldn’t it be yours?”
It should be. But it had never felt like that.
