Quevas leaned back in the comfortable padded desk chair that had once belonged to the mayor. “Don’an Ridwyn. What news do you have for me of the town’s affairs?”

The human nervously responded with updates on the reconstruction of the damaged areas of the twisted tower. He discussed the preparations that had been made by Naris Vandree and his new business with obvious disgust and sorrow.

“Careful scribe.” Quevas warned.

“Yes master.” he sheepishly answered back.

He had begun to discuss the townsfolk missing from his most recent census when there was a knock at the door.

Quevas narrowed his eyes and raised his hands, prepared to turn the unannounced visitor to ash. Don’an Ridwyn quivered in fear eyeing the doorway as a soft hand pushed the door aside and a young chestnut haired maiden entered. “Sincerest apologies my lord but I have just finished baking sweet cakes and thought perhaps you might enjoy some.” Her mannerism was meek and supplicating.

Quevas answered angrily, “I called for no meal wench. Why would dare presume to disturb me.” He still hadn’t lowered his hands.

“I am most sorry my lord. It’s just…”, she was obviously afraid, ‘the previous mayor wanted cake brought to her fresh from the oven.”

Quevas smelled the air. The steam from the dessert on the plate had a fresh citrus odor married to the sweetness of the cake. “You know drow can not be poisoned wench. If I find foul play at work here I shall turn you over to my brother Nazmyr. He has already demonstrated his propensity for violence and cruelty.”

Her hand trembling, “If it please my lord I will taste the cake to prove it safe.”  Quevas watched her carefully break a piece off, chew then swallow.

She cut a nice sized piece of the cake and placed it on a plate she had already set down on a table. She produced a fork and slowly approached Quevas.

Taking the plate from her hand he once again smelled the fragrant odor of citrus. Tasting the cake he was quite pleased with its flavor, fresh and warm, sweet yet a little sour on the pallet. “What do you call this?” he demanded.

“It’s lemon pound cake my lord. It was the favorite of our previous mayor. We grow the lemons fresh in the orchards outside of town.”

Quevas had finished the first piece before her answer was complete. “I’ll have some more I think.” and the serving girl cut another piece carefully placing it on the plate for Quevas. “Do you have a name girl?’

“April my lord” as she bowed low.

“Listen to me April. You will continue to make this cake for me and bring it fresh from the ovens when you do. In turn you shall be well treated. I approve of your creation.”

April smiled and bowed. “Thank you my lord. Shall I prepare more cake for your brothers?”

Quevas narrowed his eyes, “No girl. They have sensitive tastes. This ‘lemon’ as you call it might be too tart for them. You will make this cake and bring it only to me. Is that understood?”

“Yes my lord.” she answered bowing low to leave.

Quevas cut himself a third slice. “Yes” he thought pleased with himself, “I will have all the lemon pound cake…”