Page 1 of Sanctuary and Spices (Tales of the Ardent Veil #1)
JANI
T he plate in my hands trembled as I arranged the final garnish—a delicate sprig of crystalized starbloom that cost more than I made in a month. My vision blurred at the edges. When had I last slept? Three days ago? Four?
The kitchen’s heat pressed against my skin, wringing more sweat from my already drained body. Around me, the pristine surfaces of the Celestial Crown’s galley gleamed with cold perfection, a stark contrast to the chaos in my head. Stim-patches itched against my neck, the only thing keeping me upright through this seven-course diplomatic nightmare.
“Chef Crayle.” My sous chef hovered at my elbow. “They’re sending back the Nebula Foam. Again.”
The sprig slipped from my fingers. I caught it before it could mar the perfect surface of the dish, but something inside me cracked. Three times. They’d sent it back three times.
“What’s wrong with it now?” The words scraped past my dry throat.
“The Aurenai ambassador says it lacks harmony.”
Harmony. Three days without sleep. Three days of precise measurements, of molecular gastronomy pushed to its limits. Three days of balancing flavors so rare most humans never tasted them once in their lives.
I set down the plate with precise care. “Watch the line.”
“Chef?”
My fingers trembled as I stared at the dish, my reflection distorted in its polished surface. Three days without sleep. Three days of balancing on a knife’s edge. The words “lacks harmony” echoed in my skull, over and over, like a mocking chant.
I knew I should stay in the kitchen. Stay professional. Let the ma?tre d’ handle the complaint, as we always did. But something inside me had reached its breaking point, a pressure that had been building for years.
I took a step toward the dining room doors, then paused, my hand hovering over the swinging panel. This is a mistake. My pulse pounded against my temples. My father’s voice echoed in my memory: Control the emotion, . The kitchen is no place for weakness.
My body screamed for rest, every step heavier than the last, but something inside me—maybe pride, maybe desperation—forced me through the door.
The Celestial Crown’s grand hall stretched before me, all polished surfaces and soft lighting designed to flatter the golden skin of our Aurenai guests.
I’d never stepped foot in here during service. Never. That’s not what head chefs did. We stayed in our domain, letting the food speak for itself.
The ambassador’s table fell silent as I approached. Six pairs of gleaming gold eyes turned to me, and their metallic skin seemed to ripple in the light.
“Is there a problem with the foam, Ambassador?” My voice came out steady. Too steady.
The ambassador dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Ah, the chef herself. Yes, I’m afraid the molecular structure simply lacks the proper?—”
“Harmony. So I heard.” I picked up his rejected dish. “You know what lacks harmony? Working three days straight on stims to create a menu that honors both Aurenai and human culinary traditions. What lacks harmony is spending thousands of credits on ingredients I can barely afford to touch, only to have them sent back because the molecular structure doesn’t sing to you.”
The silence in the room grew heavier. At the corner of my vision, I saw the ma?tre d’ moving toward me, but I was beyond caring.
I pulled out my plating tool. “Let me show you harmony.”
With surgical precision, I deconstructed the dish. The foam separated into its component parts—drops of essence, suspended flavors, carefully crafted textures. I arranged them in a spiral, a visual representation of the culinary mathematics I’d spent days perfecting.
“This.” I pointed to each element. “This is harmony. This is art. This is science. This is respect for both our cultures translated into food. But you wouldn’t know that, because you’re too busy expecting the impossible to appreciate what’s possible.”
My voice had risen.
When had I started shouting? The ma?tre d’ touched my arm, but I shrugged him off.
A movement caught my eye—my own reflection in the polished dome of a serving cover. My hair had escaped its bun, dark circles stood out under my eyes, and something wild lurked in my expression that I barely recognized.
Oh God. What was I doing?
The ambassador’s skin rippled again, but this time I recognized it as discomfort. The entire room stared at me in horror. Years of work, of climbing the ranks, of proving myself...all destroyed in one moment of exhaustion-fueled madness.
I set down my plating tool with shaking hands. “I...”
But there were no words to fix this. No perfectly balanced flavors to make it right. I turned and walked out of the dining room, past my shocked staff, through the kitchen, and straight to my quarters.
I stripped off my chef’s whites and shoved them into the recycler. Ten years of working toward this position, gone in ten seconds of insanity.
My tablet chimed. Then chimed again. And again.
URGENT: Culinary Guild Review Board - Meeting Required for Chef Crayle
NOTICE: Celestial Crown HR Department - Immediate Disciplinary Review
ALERT: Public Relations - Statement Needed re: Diplomatic Incident
INCOMING CALL: Executive Guild Master Crayle
My Father. The last person I wanted to speak to right now.
I hesitated, staring at the screen. The call ended, but a notification appeared immediately after: Message Received.
I opened it reluctantly.
Subject: Immediate Response Required
,
I’ve been informed of the situation at the Celestial Crown. Do you realize the magnitude of the damage you’ve caused? This isn’t just about you—it reflects on the Guild and our family name. The diplomatic fallout alone could jeopardize trade agreements we’ve spent years negotiating.
You need to address this. Now. I expect a full explanation and a plan to resolve it. Call me immediately.
—Executive Guild Master Crayle
My hands gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white.
I should fight this. I should compose an apology, call my father, and salvage what I could of my career. The logical part of me knew it wouldn’t work—not this time, not after what I’d done. But the thought of walking away from everything I’d worked for made my stomach churn. Ten years. Ten years of grinding my way through impossible kitchens, winning every accolade, chasing every step up the ladder.
For what?
I stared at the notifications again, my vision blurring. I couldn’t go back. Even if I kept my job, even if the Guild didn’t blacklist me, the thought of returning to that sterile kitchen, to the endless perfection, felt suffocating. Cooking had stopped being about joy a long time ago.
The AI chimed softly, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts.
I switched the tablet to silent, but the notifications kept flashing: “...diplomatic incident threatens trade negotiations...” “...unprecedented breach of protocol...” “...rising star chef’s public meltdown...”
My grandmother’s cookbook sat on my shelf, its worn cover a reminder of simpler days in the colony kitchens when cooking meant love, not precision.
When had I lost that? When had I started caring more about molecular harmony than making people happy?
The ship’s AI chimed softly: “Attention all passengers. Transport vessel Caliee’s Call now boarding at Dock Seven, final destination: The Ardent Veil.”
I pulled up the departure details on my tablet, switching screens from the still-accumulating notifications.
The Ardent Veil - that mysterious space station I’d only heard stories about, where people went to reinvent themselves. Where even the most prestigious luxury liners couldn’t dock because their automated systems couldn’t interface with its ancient technology.
My fingers moved before I could second-guess myself, booking passage and submitting my resignation in the same breath. The Celestial Crown had been my dream once, but dreams could change.
Maybe it was time to find a new one.