The Pen of a Ready Writer

     It was almost dawn when the prince let her go.   Rayen wiped the weariness from her eyes and headed straight to the bakery. Coups or no, her family still had to eat.   But just as she reached the door, a figure stepped from the shadows.   It was Danwell.      “You did it.” He murmured, admiration in his voice.   “Targallin is on our side. Help is coming from the East.   The prince will be overthrown.   Our people will have a chance of survival.”      Too exhausted for sarcasm, Rayen pushed open the bakery door and donned her apron.   “I’m glad.”      Danwell followed her.   “I was wrong to doubt you, little badger.   I’m honored to have you on our side.”      Rayen glanced at her finger.   The inkstain had almost faded.   “My ‘sweetness’ and your ink.”   She rubbed her finger thoughtfully.   “Watch them ch...

     Rayen pulled her apron off and dusted flour from her leggings.   The letter in her boot poked at her leg – a constant reminder that she had a purpose awaiting her.   “I’ll be back by dawn,” she said to the baker as she folded her apron and laid it over the counter.       He nodded without a word.      The rattle of the carriage caught up with her on the way home.   Was this the summons that she was waiting for?   Rayen paused as it stopped beside her.   It was the same royal carriage that had first discovered her nearly six months before.   Then, it carried the prince.   Today, it carried only his manservant, Callun.       Callun swung down as soon as the carriage stopped.         Rayen surveyed the carriage in scorn.   “Rather late in the evening, isn’t it?   Has the prince no concept of beauty sleep?” ...

     The inkwell tipped, sloshing two spatters of black liquid onto the desk.   Rayen impulsively reached forward, dipping her forefinger into the puddle.   It turned her fingertip black.   She wiped her thumb across it, watching the ink spread from thick to thin.        Danwell looked up from the letter he was writing.   Light from the candle flickered, casting threatening shadows against the wall.   “This is not a mission for a child.”      “I know.” Rayen raised both her eyebrows, daring him to make the response she knew was coming.      “Then stop sticking your fingers in messes like a 4-year-old.” He folded the letter with crisp precision.   From a drawer, he pulled a stick of sealing wax.   For a moment, he held it over the candle.   Then he let a drip fall onto the folded letter.       “Aren’t you going to s...