The Assessors did not know what to make of him.
That he had Power was evident- it fairly seeped from his pores- but it had yet to manifest itself in any Gift they could discern. It was frustrating to them, to sense such potent Power simmering just below the surface, and yet have no way to draw it out. And the boy was of no help- unlike most with a Gift, he felt no compulsion to use it; moreover, he was of such an even temperament that he never lost control (which often led to a surge of Power indicating how the Gift had manifested in the individual: rainstorms, flying objects, etc). Finally, after years of study, the Assessors threw up their hands and left him alone, telling his parents that it was quite possible he was one of those rare-but-not-unheard-of individuals with Power but no Gift. They said that he might just rise in Court by making an advantageous marriage, but advised "trying him out" on a few Gifted peasant girls to see if the Power bred true. His parents thanked the Assessors and paid their fees without qualm.
Not even this frank dismissal of him as good for nothing more than stud service made him angry- and at age thirteen he was more than old enough to know what they were talking about. He had no particular interest in rising at Court, anyway, and so he shrugged it off and went about his business. If anything he was relieved that he now had more leisure time to attend to said business, especially since his parents decided it might be wise for them to invest more time and development into his younger siblings, each of whom had already manifested Gifts of their own. None had Power to rival his, but they could
access theirs, which made all the difference for their walk of life.
Now that he had been left to his own devices, the boy took to spending more and more of his time in the kitchens. He was fascinated by what went on in there, especially by crafting of desserts. He had always enjoyed looking at the great spectacles the master pastry chef came up with, beautiful confections shaped like fruit and flowers, or animals, or even perfect reproductions of famous palaces. The latter especially impressed him, and he made it his great goal in life to create a castle of his own.
The kitchen-workers could not very well kick him out- he was still his father's heir, for the time being- and so slowly but surely he began to pick up enough knowledge to make a few not-
entirely ruinous attempts. When some of the under-chefs saw that he was really serious about learning, they began to take a moment here and there to correct him, tutor him, and generally guide his progress. Before too long he was able to turn out a wonderful cake with no great difficulty- but the fine craft of elaborate decoration was a mistress that required far more study.
One night, when the kitchen was all but deserted, the boy decided to try his hand at a small palace of his own design. After all, there was no one around to see if he failed, and if someone
did just happened to see it, well, there would be no real construction for them to compare it to for accuracy's sake.
He labored many long hours on his creation, using marzipan and spun sugar to add many fanciful, intricate details to the structure's facade. So intense was his concentration that he did not notice when the sun began to rise, nor when the kitchen began to fill with it's daily allotment of workers. He was in a veritable trance as he shaped and molded, and none dared to disturb him. When he suddenly collapsed after adding a final flourish to the roof, however, at least seven people rushed forward to catch him.
When he woke he found the household in an uproar- not so much over his strange faint (not so strange, perhaps, when one considered how long he'd gone without sleep), but over the fact that there had appeared on the grounds a small but beautiful building. No one knew where it had come from, and so far no one had been able to get a response from any inhabitants that may or may not have been inside. Furthermore, they had been unable to open any of the doors.
The boy, helped to his feet by no less a grand personage than the master pastry chef himself, wandered outside to take in this marvel for himself. When at last he saw it, shining in the sun, he forgot how to breathe. His companion had to his him on the back to remind him.
It was his palace.
His palace. The palace whose every detail he had labored over, brought to life in stone and mortar. He had no words for what he felt.
The master pastry chef, on the other hand, did.
"Did you mean to abandon symmetry on the cornice, then? Or leave the main cupola lopsided?" he asked, gesturing at the castle while fixing the boy with a reproving look. The boy flushed, for of course he had not.
"Well let's see what can be done to undo the thing, and I guess I'd better take you in hand, myself. Can't have structurally unsound castles popping up all over the place..." so saying the man laid a gentle hand on the boy's back, and guided him back to the kitchens.
(Icing)
