Havok Publishing
S2 Fantasy Friday featured image (season 2)

Let Them Eat Cake

By Julia Skinner

Apparently, poison tasted like cake. The M.A.’s—aka Master Assassin’s—butler hovered over my shoulder as I stared down at the remaining crumbs. After I enjoyed every bite of the slice of cake, the butler victoriously announced he’d poisoned it.

What an idiot, a shrill, airy voice whispered straight into my mind.

I poked one of the crumbs. If you’ve already eaten a whole slice of poisoned cake, is it acceptable to eat the crumbs as well? The humanoid black mist to my right—my Shadow—drifted closer.

Could you at least taste the poison? It isn’t worth it if you can’t taste the poison, my Shadow said. I’d named it Shade. Sounded kinda country, with a bit of mystery. Perfect for a prophetic creature who’d cursed me with immortality and tasked me with the job of heralding the end of the world.

I licked my finger and swiped it across the plate, gathering all the delicious crumbs. Licking my finger, I hopped up and shoved the plate into the butler’s hands.

“Wha—” He stumbled back. He was a surprisingly small man, matching his twin brother in his glowering complexion, beady eyes, and blue stained hair. “Any moment you, should, uh…”

“Thanks for the cake!” I ducked out of the back kitchen. The upside to being a cursed immortal is you get to eat poisoned cake. Though, apparently, it makes everyone want to kill you, too. I strode down the hallway. The bland red walls loomed on each side like weathered, blank faces.

This place looks like the butler threw up his poisoned cake all over it, Shade said.

After a few dead ends, I stumbled into the Master Assassin’s throne room. The double doors slammed against the walls like two battle drums. It reminded me of the unfortunate visions Shade always showed me. They always ended with fire and ash and everyone dying.

“What in the—” Mr. M.A. stood on his marbled throne, balancing a plate at the top of the headrest. Blue hair flopped over his face, shielding beady eyes.

He’s just a man! Shade threw his misty hands into the air. A normal, murderous man. Why in eternity do people fear him?

“He also has a twin!” I waved back at the hallway. “Twins are always trouble, as they say.”

The butler shuffled in and froze, a platter with a cake slice in one hand.

“How are you… but you’re supposed to be dead!” he said.

I smiled. “Well, shockingly, I didn’t just come for cake.”

“What’s this?” The M.A. hopped from his throne. “Why is the stinking street minstrel in my room?”

I eyed the cake slice in the butler’s hand. “Really, why are any of us here?”

The butler pivoted toward the M.A. “He broke in, Kane.”

The M.A.’s hand rested on the pistol at his side.

“He’s the one who dumped twelve gallons of glitter in the front room last summer,” the butler rushed on, “and who keeps stealing all our food—”

“—Not stealing,” I corrected. “I’m merely taking payment for frequently mentioning you in my ballads.”

Reason ninety-nine why humans will be wiped from the face of the planet. Shade lurked at my heels. Y’all are idiots.

“I’m not human,” I said. “I’m an immortal cosmic hunk made up of poisoned cake, lost socks, and splinters.”

Idiot.

The M.A. looked at me. “Who are you talking to?”

Shade cackled. He thinks you’re insane.

“Just shoot him,” the butler said.

“Speaking of shooting people…” The M.A. glared at the butler. “Why are you in my room?”

The butler plopped the cake into the Master Assassin’s lap. “An apology. For our earlier argument.”

The M.A. poked at the cake. “And I can be assured that you didn’t poison it?”

The butler widened his eyes. “What? I mean… How… Why would I?”

“Hmm.” The M.A. took a bite and turned to me. “Be quick, minstrel, or your body will burn in the pyres for the Shadows to claim before you can say ‘cake.’”

Shade cackled. Joke’s on you. He’s already been thrown to the pyres.

I leaned against the wall. “I’ve come to deliver some news.”

Why’d they throw you in again? Oh yeah, you filled the King’s socks with cake.

The M.A. wheezed and stared at the plate. “Oh, for the stinking life of me, I’m an idiot.”

“Oh,” I continued, “the usual bad news.”

The Master Assassin toppled over, deader than my great aunt’s skill to make good pastries.

Bad news, Shade said, is the best news.

I sighed, and the butler scampered over. He glared down at his now dead identical brother. “That’s for saying you can make poison cake better than me.” He spat. “And for all the times people said you were the brother to fear.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I doubt he can hear you.”

The butler spun to face me. “You should be dead, too!”

I already am, bud. Eying the precious cake now lying on the floor, I tapped my head. “As I was saying, I’m here to deliver the terrible news that someone is going to die today.”

The butler snorted. “Well you can go away, minstrel. Someone already died. And now I run this place.” He stepped over his brother’s body and climbed onto the throne. “Now that I’m in charge… um… This place will be way cleaner. Yeah.” He snatched the plate balanced at the top of the throne and gave a curt nod.

I licked my lips. “Of course, I never said who.”

A tiny dart shot from where the plate had been resting and pierced the butler’s arm. He yelped, dropping the plate.

Maybe there was still some cake left in the kitchen.

Cake makes wonderful end-of-the-world food, Shade said.

I spun away from the scene and headed to the hallway. Humming an old battle song, I distantly heard the thump as the butler collapsed to the floor behind me.

[ratings]

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Julia Skinner is a seventeen year old writer, blogger, and ice cream enthusiast. When she’s not working on one of her (many) Sci-Fi Fantasy novels, she can be found playing video games, happy-ranting about one of Brandon Sanderson’s books, or wondering just how many germs are on the door handle. Julia strives to bring glory to her Savior, Jesus Christ, and if any good comes from her journey, it’s because of Him.


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