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Once, when I was having a really awful day, I did it too hard, and half the bread wouldn’t bake at
Being a wizard is almost all like that—you don’t know what you can do until you actually do it, and then sometimes you aren’t sure what you just did.
Our city is called Riverbraid, because of the canals.
The gingerbread man put his hands to either side of his head and made faces at the constable, as best you can when you don’t have a tongue to stick out.
It seemed like once you agreed that the government could put you on a list because of something you were born with, you were asking for trouble.
You’re not that weak, youngster. Wizards have done more with less.”
Master Gildaen was dead. And that meant that I was the last loyal wizard left in the palace.
It doesn’t make you a hero just because everybody else didn’t do their job.”
“We heroes gotta stick together.”
Sure, I was scared to death, but it didn’t do much good to be scared, so I wasn’t going to dwell on it when there was work to do.
Death by sourdough starter. Not a good way to go.
I have never seen anything else like it, and if I live to be a hundred years old, I imagine I never will.
Not…you know…heroic. She shouldn’t have had to be a hero.”
After a minute, I said, “I never wanted to be a hero.” His face was solemn. “Nobody ever does.”
