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wasn’t expecting you. That’s all.” He held out his hand. “It is nice to meet you, Maewyn.”
    Mae reached for the long fingers. The man’s grasp was warm as it closed around her hand.
    Skin the color of brewed tea crinkled around hazel eyes. Freckles tiptoed across the wide bridge of his nose. In the brim of the man’s hat, a small furry creature was curled, asleep. “Are you the Protector of the Wedge?”
    â€œSome call me that.”
    â€œWhat do the others call you?”
    The man chuckled softly. “Callum. The others call me Callum, and so can you.” He let her hand fall from his. “I have a lovely partridge roast and some vegetable soup, but it needs a few more minutes to simmer. Would you like some fresh bread?”
    Mae nodded. She had always just accepted what was given; never had Gelbane asked what she would like.
    Callum gestured for Mae to follow as he loped down the steps with an easy gait. She had to run to keep up with his long stride. Callum pointed to a meadow behind the cottage. “Do you see the wheat stalks?”
    Mae nodded. They looked like pale shafts of moonlight rising from the earth. But this wasn’t the right time for wheat!
    Callum gathered ripe kernels from the stalks, took Mae’s hand, and turned it over in his grasp. He placed the kernels in her open palm. She ran her thumb over their rough surface while Callum strolled to the creek. To make bread you had to have flour, and flour came from grinding wheat kernels into powder. She’d learned that much from Mrs. Birchbeam, the village baker. But how were they going to make bread in time for supper? It needed time to rise.
    Returning with a handful of water, Callum dribbled it on the grains. Mae swallowed hard as the kernels grew warm in her hand. Her heart pittered against her ribs. She wasn’t sure what to expect.
    Using the braided end of his beard like a wand, Callum swirled it above the wheat kernels. “A sweetened loaf is the prize. Grains of flour, quickly rise!”
    The kernels wiggled and danced. Water swirled and steamed. Mae’s nose twitched with the smell of fresh bread. She watched in awe as the kernels expanded, the hard hulls falling away. Soon Mae held a small, browned loaf of bread. Her mouth watered as a pat of butter appeared and melted over the crusty surface.
    â€œGo on, eat it,” Callum said with a wave of his hand. He turned and strolled back to the fire-lit cottage.

    Mae pulled off the end of the loaf and stuffed it into her mouth. The bite was warm and soft, and it didn’t hurt her teeth like the stale barley bread she’d always had to eat. “Thank you, sir,” she mumbled through a mouthful.
    â€œIt was the least I could do after you’ve come so far,” Callum said. “Are you coming in or not?”
    Mae skipped back up to the cottage. By the time she reached the first step, the loaf was nearly gone. When she reached the threshold, she swallowed the last bite. As she entered the cottage, her curiosity grew bigger than her hunger.

Chapter Five
    Books were stacked everywhere, with titles on the spines like Badabing’s Cache of Spells, Pognut’s Potions and Brews, and Ahem’s Book of Proper Grammar for Spell Casting .
    Mae’s mother had owned a lot of books, too. Gelbane had used most for kindling, but Mae was able to sneak a few away and hide them in the rafters of the barn. She’d read those few stories over and over again, until she could nearly recite them by heart. The only book Gelbane had kept was The Hapenny Farmer’s Guide to Pig Wifery and Husbanding. It was a large tome explaining the finer points of swine breeding. Gelbane had recited the first rule: “Never breed a pig during a full moon.” Leif’s dad, Farmer Burrbridge, said that full-moon piglets would turn feral and grow tusks. Mae wasn’t sure if he was teasing her when he told her that, but Mae never