Page 19 of Until the End of Ever (To the Cruel Gods #2)

KLEOS

W e walked into the intimidating crystal-blue hall, and while I watched openmouthed, Cassiopea called, “Kael, my darling? We’re to have a few dozen guests tonight. Get your muscled derriere moving, would you?”

It was six thirty, and she casually just announced they were to host a shit-ton of people. Every single person I know would have had a heart attack, me included. At this point, I expected the man who rushed into the hall to scream, “quick, a takeout menu!” like a sane person.

Instead, Kaelius threw his hands up, as if to thank the skies. “An impromptu dinner! You spoil me, my love.”

And then he was snogging Cassiopea. With enthusiasm.

I was too shocked to think to look away.

“Do you have to? There are young, impressionable minds here,” Lucian grumbled.

Cassiopea detached herself from her husband’s embrace. “Elias is sixteen, not six.”

“I meant me, Mother,” Lucian deadpanned.

Watching them all together was fascinating.

The stunning power couple was as different as fire and water. Where she was elegant and refined, he seemed to be the kind of man happy to wear jeans.

Kaelius looked slightly older than Cassiopea—in his forties or so, by my estimate, if he’d been mortal. But looks didn’t mean much in Highvale. He could actually be forty, or forty hundred years. The latter was more likely, given what I knew of the family.

Blond, with warm blue eyes, the man had very little in common with Lucian at first glance, save that both were uncommonly handsome.

Yet I could see how Lucian had morphed into a mix of both of his progenitors; he inherited her fashion sense, poise, and grandeur, pairing it with his easygoing, adaptable nature, and clearly, his gusto for entertaining guests.

Lucian loved having someone other than Cassius at the manor, that much was evident.

“And who are these beautiful girls?” Kaelius asked, smiling at me and the kid by my side.

Elias glanced down, and the rest of us froze.

“This is our son’s guest, Kleos. And Elias is a boy, darling,” Cassiopea clarified offhandedly.

“Boy, then!” he corrected himself easily.“Still beautiful. You’re going to break some hearts, hey?”

The dragon peeked at the cheerful man.

“Do you enjoy a good roast, Elias? I could whip up something else, I suppose, but with a small army descending to raid my food anon, that’s the easiest thing to cook.”

“ Lucian mentioned—? ” the boy started, in his strange words that still made sense, as he glanced at Lucian. “Potato?” he added in English.

“Ha! My famed roast potatoes, yes, yes.” Kaelius looked as smug as if someone had just offered him an awkward. “I don’t know what the fuss is about it, truly. I use three types of fat: goose, bacon, and olive oil. With rosemary and garlic. Any idiot could do the same.”

Wait, humility?

“Are you sure you’re related?” I whispered to Lucian, who bumped into my side.

“Are you questioning Cassiopea’s honor, Valesco?”

I swallowed. Never mind. I was not going to take that joke any further.

“Lucian, dear,” his mother called. “If you could, take Elias to your old room, show him around? Find some clothes if you still have some from those blessed days when you were shorter than me. I’ll get started on theinvitations.”

Confused as to whether I’d be more in the way if I followed the mother or son, I opted for a third course. “Happy to help. I could peel potatoes, or whatever you need,” I offered to Kaelius.

He laughed. “Out of the question, dear. Unless you consider making sure my glass never is empty helping.”

“You created a spell for that, Father,” Lucian reminded him as he walked towards one of the many opened arched doorway leading out of the main hall, Elias on his heels.

“I did, but if the young woman wants to feel helpful, let her pour drinks,” he replied, making it sound like it was a well-known adage.

And maybe it was in this part of town.

“She bakes, darling,” Cassiopea shouted from across the room.

I don’t know why, but I could imagine her penning elegant invitations with a fancy fountain pen, if not a quill and an inkpot. Instead, she’d seated herself on a comfortable armchair, and pulled a mobile phone out of her suit.

“My father said so, don’t you recall? So please give her some counter space and allow her to use your oven.”

“A baker?” Kaelius rubbed his palms together. “Just what we were missing. Go to work. You can have the right corner.”

I followed the enthusiastic man into his idea of a kitchen. It could have served as a ballroom in a pinch, if a counter or two was moved out of the way. With columns and arches and great windows giving a view of their light tree garden, it was the single most beautiful palace kitchen I’d ever seen.

There were a good hundred copper pans, large and small, and knives the size of my arm attached to the wall, and in the middle, a stove the size of a small car emitted no heat whatsoever, despite seeing great blue flames through a glass panel close to the floor.

By the gods, these people just could not do normal .

“How’s that oven working ?” I mused, completely befuddled.

It looked as modern as mine. Hell, it looked futuristic, with a number of buttons and options I wouldn’t know what to do with on a side panel.

“Apologies, lovely. If you want that secret, you’ll have to join the family.

But it’s intuitive enough. You can have the back, and I’ll take the front—we can stay out of each other’s way.

Each level can be set at a different temperature, humidity, with some fans, or with a grill option.

Whatever you need.” Never mind humble. He was showing off.

I definitely recognized Lucian, after all. “Holler if you need help.”

The “right corner” I was offered was, naturally, around three times larger than all of my counter space at home.

“How many are we going to serve, you think?” I asked, trying to decide what I should bake tonight.

Cassiopea mentioned a few dozen; that could mean anything.

“Don’t know, no clue.” He shrugged, the picture of indifference. “More than twelve, less than fifty? There’s no such thing as too much food—we’ll put whatever’s left under a stasis charm and offer it in the town square on the morrow.”

More than twelve, less than fifty . This was actual madness.

“All right. How long do we have?”

As the Saltzin-Regis’s pantry was as well stocked as The Royal Manor’s, I was only limited by my imagination. And for one night, everything else—the worry about my runes, the threat of an all-powerful shadow following me, my mother and her suitors—could be put aside.

“I’d say, about three hours before the guests arrive, four before they’re starved?”

I nodded, calculating proofing and resting times, to come up with a game plan. With their invite list, one cake wouldn’t do. It was hardly my first time handling more than one dessert, but I liked to be efficient.

Lucian had bribed Elias to follow him with the promise of more cookies, so that was a must—but cookies were easy and fast enough.

I could start on a sponge and use it as a base for cupcakes and at least one cake. Chocolate could never hurt.

All those options received a resounding “yes” but they just weren’t enough. Not when I’d started the day with bloody canelés. I needed something special…

All of a sudden, I had a plan, and a roughly estimated completion time of two hours and forty-five minutes—thirty, if I cheated on resting times with a little magic.

“I got this.”

Two hours and thirty-seven minutes later, there was a chocolate fondant, a lemon meringue tart, an apple pie, a completely out-of-season galette des rois—only because it was my favorite, and I wasn’t French, so no law said it had to be served in January—and a fresh strawberry cake resting around my centerpiece.

Kaelius walked away from his sauce long enough to stand in front of my tray, staring at the pyramid of delights. “Is that…”

“Choux à la creme. Hollow, light pastry, filled with a cr ème patissière. It’s a little like custard, but don’t tell the French. And then, there’s caramel holding it together,” I offered before he could ask. “They call it a croquembouche.”

He walked the length of my counter twice, to analyze it from every angle.

“I sense little to no magic.” He seemed confused. “How did you do all this in so little time?”

“I mean, there’s a bit.” I shrugged. “I cheat on the resting time for some of the pastries with cooling enchantments—and I put healing spells in my creme. No one has sued me for it yet. Literally everyone has minor aches and pains. They’re far more pleasant once they’re out of the way.”

Kaelius nodded twice, smacking his lips. “I’m only sorry it would be a shame to ruin the display before you get it out. I would love to try it.”

I smirked, uncovering the little basket of choux still the side of on my counter—along with cookies and cupcakes. No one needed those tonight.

“The caramel’s still on the hob.” Conspicuously, I whispered, “I do use magic to keep it liquid, but only a little.”

The man dashed to the hob to dab a choux in the pan, and like any baker, I watched for a reaction. I didn’t always nail everything, after all.

“Well.” Kaelius cleared his throat. “No one’s going to give a damn I nailed the bloody crust of my Wellington now, are they?”

He didn’t even sound mad about it.

“Hardly.” I grinned. “The Wellington looks divine . Honestly; I like to bake, but I much prefer to eat savory food. I’m certainly looking forward to it.”

“Good, good. Out of the kitchen, you genius! I’ll put everything in stasis. You go find Cassiopea; she’ll show you to a room so you can freshen up. And tell her to lend you the little thing I got her on our hundredth anniversary, will you?”

That made me pause. “An anniversary gift? Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

I couldn’t imagine what Regises—or Saltzins—gave each other for century anniversaries. Islands, probably.

“You will, and that’s that.” He patted my cheek. “Go get changed.”

“I don’t have anything to wear. It’s fine, really.”