Lanni smeared flour across the table with practiced ease, the white powder drifting in a fine mist as she dropped the pie crust dough onto it. With a quick press of her hands, she flattened it, dusted the rolling pin with more flour, and began rolling it out with steady strokes. The rhythmic movement helped calm her, giving her a brief moment of peace before the kitchen filled with the chaos of preparations. The door creaked open, and Lady Barta entered with Sifa in tow. Without preamble, Sifa set to peeling apples in silence, while Lady Barta stopped just inside the threshold, her mouth tightening into a familiar frown. "Another pie?" Lady Barta’s voice held the faintest note of exasperation. Lanni nodded, not pausing in her work. "Two, ma’am. The new squad is arriving today." Lady Barta sniffed disdainfully. "Another new squad? Why can’t we keep the guards we have?" Lanni pressed down on the rolling pin, biting back the thought that sprang to mind. Because you can’t be trusted, and if the soldiers stay too long, they’ll grow too familiar—dangerous for someone like you. Instead, she offered a diplomatic response. "It’s the prince-general’s decision. No one is to be stationed here for more than three years." "It’s disruptive." Barta’s tone grew sharper. That’s the point. Lanni shrugged, feigning indifference. "It’s only a few soldiers. The rest of the staff remains unchanged." "Yes, it is," Lady Barta replied coolly, her eyes narrowing as they flicked over to Sifa. Lanni followed her gaze. Sifa, who had once been a noble’s daughter, was peeling apples with an efficiency that belied her former life of luxury. Lanni had taken the younger woman under her wing when she and her husband, Lamin, had first arrived. Lamin worked in the stables, and Lanni had convinced Lord Rantar to hire Sifa as an assistant cook. Over the years, Sifa had proven eager to learn, though she still carried herself with the grace of someone accustomed to privilege—something that rubbed Lady Barta the wrong way. "Why do you always make them pies?" Barta asked, suspicion lacing her voice. Lanni gave a small shrug. "They’re soldiers. They’re hungry. Having a treat helps build goodwill." "Half of them get sick," Barta pointed out with a raised brow. "Not from my cooking." Lanni allowed herself a smirk. "Those transport charms they use—those turn their stomachs, but it passes quickly. Once they’ve gotten over losing their breakfast, they’re ravenous by lunch. You’d think they were dragons with the way they devour everything." "Dragons?" Lady Barta’s frown deepened. The people of Yarba still harbored an ingrained fear of the great beings, even though sightings were rare this far north. Lanni leaned into her rolling. "Dragons can transport themselves without those charms, no stomach sickness to worry about." The squads that included dragons or elves with the gift of transport didn’t need the enchantments. They moved in stages, safely and efficiently. But most squads weren’t so fortunate, and the magical charms, though functional, often wreaked havoc on the body. "Well, they’d better not send us any dragons," Lady Barta muttered, folding her arms. Lanni glanced up briefly but said nothing. If Lady Barta only knew how many dragons were there, watching, blending in. Barta cast one more critical look at the kitchen, then huffed. "And don’t let lunch be late," she added sharply before stalking out. "Yes, ma’am." Lanni gave a mock bow to her retreating back. As soon as the door swung shut, Sifa’s voice cut through the tension. "Why do you stay here?" she asked quietly. "You have no family keeping you here." Lanni paused, her hands momentarily still. It wasn’t something she could answer truthfully, not to Sifa. "I’ve worked for worse," she finally said, picking up her rhythm again. "Now, get the sugar and spices for the pies. I’ll take over the apples." Sifa nodded, complying quickly. "Yes, ma’am." Lanni winced at the title. "Don’t call me ma’am. I’m not the lady of the house." With a flick of her wrist, she cast a small spell, and the apple skins began peeling themselves, coiling off in neat spirals. Sifa’s eyes widened as Lanni set three more knives to slice and core the apples alongside her own. With another spell, the knives danced in the air, moving with precision. "Lanni..." Sifa stared at the floating blades. "What are you doing?" "Check the soup," Lanni said, avoiding her gaze. Sifa blinked, shaken from her surprise. She turned to the soup pot, gave it a quick stir, and frowned. "It’s still cold." “Blast!” Lanni muttered a quick incantation, and the flames beneath the pot flared to life. Within moments, the liquid bubbled merrily. "Lanni!" Sifa’s voice held a note of alarm. "That’s magic." "So?" Lanni replied, pouring the sugar and spices into the apple mixture. "It’s not allowed." Lanni shot her a sidelong glance. "In public, maybe. But this is a private kitchen. My home." "It’s Lord Rantar’s home," Sifa corrected. Lanni rolled her eyes. "It’s his house. I’ve lived here for seven years. That makes it my home too." "What if Lady Barta sees you?" "She can’t do anything but complain. I’m a registered mage, and this is my residence," Lanni said firmly. "She could fire you." Lanni snorted. "She won’t. Lord Rantar won’t let her." Sifa hesitated, then asked in a small voice, "Are you sleeping with him?" Lanni’s hands stilled, her fingers tightening around the rolling pin. "No," she said tersely. "I’m just better at my job than most who’ve come through here. I was trained by a palace chef." Sifa blinked in surprise. "Truly?" Lanni allowed herself a small smile. "Yes. That, and I make food Lord Rantar can boast about to his guests. But even I know that doesn’t grant me complete immunity." Sifa glanced nervously at the floating knives and bubbling soup. "What spells were those?" "Simple ones. A dragon-shedding spell for the skins, levitation for the knives, and a fever spell to heat the soup. All done now." She gestured for Sifa to relax. Sifa nodded, but the tension in her frame remained. Magic was still a point of discomfort for many in Yarba, even with the kingdom’s new rulings under Menthanla’s annexation. Though magical practice had been opened to all citizens, it still carried the weight of centuries of restriction. "Check the bread," Lanni said, shifting back into the rhythm of work. "I’ll soften the butter." Sifa turned to obey, but Lanni’s mind remained elsewhere. In this land, where magic was feared and power quietly wrestled over, she had to tread carefully. Every day here was a balancing act between tradition and survival. A special thanks to ShvrDavid for helping me create Lanni's morph. #fantasy, #magic, #dragons, #hiddenlands