Page 9

“I WANT TO show you something.”

Char froze, his face stretched in a yawn, his body only halfway into the hallway as he had been in the process of leaving his room. He snapped his mouth shut, continuing out and closing the door of the very comfortable room behind him, then turned to look at Fen where he was leaning against the banister.

“Show me what?” Char asked. It was six thirty in the morning. If Char were working the morning shift, he would already be up and elbow-deep in bread flour and eggs, but after the last few weeks of hard travel, sleeping in had been a luxury. Sometime in the night his clothes had been returned, neatly stacked in folded piles on the bed he wasn’t using. This morning, he changed into a set of his own clothes, packed everything else away, and was ready to see Terrance.

“Something to think about while you’re at the palace kitchen,” Fen explained cryptically. He gripped the handles of the closed double doors and pushed them open, revealing a massive room easily the same size as the entire building behind them. To the left were at least a dozen dusty four- to eight-seater tables, the chairs upside down on top. Two more sets of double doors were located in the wall past the tables, also closed. Char looked and realized the doors he and Fen were standing in were also paired by another set in the same wall, so Char assumed four bunkhouses fed into this space. The wall directly across from Char was entirely windows, with the final set of glassed double doors leading out into some sort of courtyard.

To the right—Char sucked in a shocked breath.

The kitchen was enormous, spanning the entire wall. Two huge sinks were installed on either side. The left one, located near a massive cabinet containing more pots and pans of every shape and size than Char could ever dream of, was clearly meant for dishwashing. The other sink was located near what appeared to be a proper—meaning magic-produced—cold and ice box, so was obviously for preparing food. Along the back wall, metal countertops for food prep spanned the space between the sinks, and upper shelves filled with serving dishes were hung above the long counter.

A massive island was placed between the tables to the left and the sink to the right. Char crept closer, knowing his mouth was hanging open but not caring. This closer side of the island was clearly for serving. Featuring a long flat space with indentations for warming candles or ice, there were also drawers underneath, no doubt containing various stands for different sized chafing dishes.

Char reached the other side of the island and stopped dead. The entire span was stove. Dozens of burners of different sizes, grills, warming plates, even a dipped space for a wok. Below that were oven doors the entire length, each one meant for different heats depending on how close or how far from three separate spots to build a fire. Though everything was coated in a thick layer of gray dust, it was so beautiful.

“There are only about a hundred to a hundred fifty royal guards on staff, plus about another fifty servants,” Fen explained. “A lot of the time we’re off on missions, so that number is constantly fluctuating. We’re an unruly bunch too. Finding a cook willing to stay here in the stark military complex with only us for company—and only while we’re actually in residence—has proven impossible. I know you have a job in the palace waiting for you with your cousin,” Fen added quickly. “However, I wanted you to know if you were interested, this kitchen could be yours. There would be a food budget to stick to, but you would make all culinary decisions here.”

A dream kitchen and a dream job. Char couldn’t imagine why anyone would turn it down. Except for a chance to work in the palace, of course. Here, Char would be alone, using only his own skills. In the palace, he could learn from other masters. That wasn’t an opportunity he could afford to pass up.

“Let’s head over to the palace so you can meet your cousin,” Fen continued, clearly understanding Char couldn’t give him an answer yet. “All I wanted was for you to know you have options.”

Char had to clear his throat to find his voice. “I appreciate it.” He followed Fen back out of the kitchen, tearing his eyes away as Fen closed the doors again. They went down the hallway and through the common room, empty this early in the morning.

“Today is a day off for everyone who was out at the lake with us. Everyone else should be at the main mess getting breakfast,” Fen explained as they walked through the silence of couches and low tables that last night had been full of boisterous excitement ringing from every corner.

They went outside and retraced their path between the buildings and across courtyards until they reached the main gate. A horse and Char’s pony were waiting for them, saddled and ready to go. Char secured his bag and mounted, following Fen through the long tunnel under the wall and then outside.

With the sun shining, Char could see a lot better today than yesterday. The walls were made of gigantic stone blocks, dark gray and sturdy. Outside, fields of grass were dotted with what Char thought were flocks of goats and sheep, likely why the grass was short. The road out of the gate was cobbled, not that Char had noticed last night. They rode through the fields until it forked, one heading into the forest where they must have come from last night, the other they took now.

Fen had said it was only a ten-minute ride to the city. Within five minutes, Char could see the smoke rising from the chimneys and the outer wall, which looked to be made of more gigantic gray stone. The city was on a hill, sprawling down into the grassland below, and at the very top of the hill were the spires and towers of the palace. The road forked again, one going downward to what was probably the main gates into the city. They went left, away from the main gates and heading up the hill while still angling toward the city.

“We’re going to the private entrance for the palace residents,” Fen explained as they approached a large gate heavily manned by guards. They caught sight of Fen from a distance, so the gate was already raised when they arrived. Fen and Char didn’t slow as they trotted under the wall and into the complex. A hostler and a bevy of servants met them inside. Char took his bag but left his pony to the hostler.

“Head Chef Musen is expecting him,” Fen explained to one of the servants. “Can you show him the way there?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the servant replied, bowing.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around,” Fen said to Char. “So, I won’t say goodbye. Good luck though.” He smiled and then spun to the group of people fighting for his attention.

Char let out a breath and turned away, following the servant across the courtyard, purposefully not looking back to get one last look at Fen. They didn’t travel too far. What looked like warehouses surrounded the left side of the courtyard. The servant took a path between two of them, which let out into a smaller yard with a set of wide double doors set into the wall at the foot of one of the soaring towers. The doors were open, letting the clack and clang of pots and pans, the rhythmic thumps of chopping, and the general bustle of a lot of people inside flow outside. It already sounded wonderful; so much going on, and so much to therefore learn.

Inside, the servant paused, which gave Char a chance to look around. If Fen’s kitchen from the morning had been impressive, this was magnificent. Triple the size, three massive islands, and the walls completely enclosed in countertops, aside from the left wall which was half cold box, and half ice box, and the right wall, which was entirely ovens and stovetops. The entire wall! Every flat surface and each of the six sinks had people working feverishly. The atmosphere was frenetic though. No one was smiling, but it wasn’t because they were focused. They were stressed, which made Char frown too. Cooking ought to be fun—hard work, yes, but still fun.

“What?” someone snapped at the servant, skidding to a stop in front of them, hands full of dirty dishes.

“Chef Musen is expecting him,” the servant explained, apparently unfazed by the rudeness.

“Right.” He left the dishes on an already overfilled counter next to one of the sinks where someone was busy scrubbing. “This way.”

He led them through the bustle, deftly avoiding everyone working. Char wended past as well, catching sight of fish, meats of all kinds, so many vegetables being prepared in dozens of ways, and that was as amazing as Char had hoped. These were experts at their craft, with so much to learn and so many people to learn from. The opportunities in the room that Char could see were nearly endless. And yet, no one was smiling.

“Chef,” the man said, knocking on the jamb of a doorway leading into a private office.

“I’m busy,” Terrance snapped. “What do you need now?”

“Visitor here for you?” the man answered before backing away and returning to the bustle.

Char stepped into the doorway, looking into an office with a large desk covered in paperwork, the walls full of shelves and cabinets.

Terrance stood from behind the desk, appearing behind a stack of papers. He was scowling, his eyes blazing with fury until he caught sight of Char.

“Charmaine! I was getting worried!” he exclaimed, scowl fading as he hurried around the desk with his arms out. He pulled Char into a hug. “I expected you last week.” Terrance was about fifteen years older than Char. They shared the same deep-black hair, but the similarities ended there. Where Char’s eyes were dark blue, Terrance’s were brown, and Terrance was a few inches taller, with his mother’s nose. They were blood related through their fathers.

“It took a little longer than expected to cross the mountain,” Char explained. “But I’m here now. This is a very interesting kitchen.”

Terrance nodded. “It’s a great place for an Oba-Musen to work. Easy. Let me show you around.”

He slipped past Char and led the way into the kitchen. “Food preparation is this side of the kitchen,” he explained, heading to the side of the room where the cold boxes were. “Cleaning meat, washing vegetables, any peeling. Once it’s ready, it goes to the center stations where it’s chopped, stuffed, kneaded, and marinated. On this side is where the cooking happens,” he continued, going over to the ovens and stovetops. Terrance idly picked up a spoon and stirred one of the sauces bubbling there—a thick marinara if the sharp scent of acidic tomatoes and fragrant garlic that met Char’s nose was correct—after which he flipped a tag hanging from the pot’s handle so it showed blue, rather than the red from before. “Our job is simple. They hired me—and you—to ensure no food that ever leaves this kitchen is poisoned. We are required to stir, baste, or knead every single item cooked. I marked that sauce as completed, so it can now be served.” He returned to his office, leaning against a corner of his desk and grinning at Char. “What do you think? Nice, easy work for really good pay. I take care of a lot of the paperwork for ordering and planning, so it’s not like I’m freeloading here.”

“When do you cook?” Char asked. There were so many helpers, with every space out there filled, and Char was starting to get a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Terrance shrugged. “If the king orders something particular, I might take the lead on the preparation, but that’s the beauty of working in this kitchen. We have other people to handle the drudgery. Now with you here, the mundane tasks will be halved!”

Char kept his mouth shut on the thoughts furiously swirling inside. They were chefs, not paper pushers! And their magical gifts weren’t for stirring sauces, of which Terrance hadn’t even tasted before marking ready to serve! Char wanted to cook, not sit around waiting for someone else to do the work. If he stayed here, Char knew he would go crazy. Luckily, he had another option. A very welcoming kitchen that was all his own.

“Terr, I’m sorry. I came to let you know I made it to the city, and to decline your offer of employment. I’ve been asked to become a private chef, running my own kitchen. It’s an opportunity I have to take.”

Terrance looked shocked, his jaw hanging open, as if he couldn’t imagine Char saying no to a lazy job as a chef where he didn’t have to actually do any real work.

“I’m a head chef at twenty-six,” Char continued, grinning. “Even for an Oba-Musen, that’s young.”

Terrance shut his mouth and let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, that’s certainly true. Very prestigious. Well, if you change your mind or this job doesn’t work out, you’ll always have a position here.” He held out his arms, pulling Char into another hug. “I am glad you made it to Etoval safely. Be sure to come visit on occasion.”

“Of course. Thank you, Terrance.”

Char left, wending his way through the bustle of the kitchen and back out into the small courtyard. Once outside, he let out a heavy breath, trying to let the weight of the unhappiness within that kitchen fall away. Fen must have known Char wouldn’t be happy working with Terrance—the timing of his offer of the kitchen in the barracks was a little too pointed—but Char had loved that kitchen. In the end, the decision was easy. Yes, Char would have to figure out his feelings for Fen, and how to suppress them despite continued close proximity, but in the end the draw of that kitchen won.

And, perhaps, the draw of being able to continue cooking for Fen won as well.

Char hurried along the path between the warehouses, returning to the courtyard with the gate. Fen would have to return to the military complex at some point, so Char would wait for him in the yard to let him know Char was happy to be his chef again.