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“A little, a little. I helped a little,” the cook said, waving an arm but looking pleased. “We are making the most divine stew, My Serene Sovereign. A stew like none will have tasted before.” He touched a finger to his lips, then looked at Medra who had momentarily stopped crying, and his eyes widened. “But little one, you have no wish for stew, do you? You seek only the milk. Never fear, I will fetch it for you.”
He turned on his heel and moved towards one one of the staircases leading down to the cooling cellars below the kitchens.
“Serene Sovereign?” Draven murmured.
I glared at him. “Hush. Hush immediately.”
“Whatever you say, My Radiance,” he whispered.
I kicked his shin before I remembered he was holding a baby. He yelped, and I saw one of the passing apprentice’s eyes widen in shock.
Yes, I longed to say. The Empress of Myntra is terrifying indeed.
Since entering the kitchen, Medra’s bawling had stopped. Instead, she stared wide-eyed at Hawl in total silence, watching their every move.
The Bearkin tended to have that effect on her. She was completely mesmerized.
Draven let out a sigh of relief at the reprieve from crying. “So you’ve made friends here already, I see,” he observed to Hawl.
“Danielo Castellano is a great improvement on the company I was forced to keep in your fleet,” Hawl growled. “He is a talented cook, a man of taste and refinement.”
I hid a smile. Draven had told me all about the very inhospitable Vemak Bear-Killer who Hawl had encountered on a Myntra ship.
“He certainly seems to admire you,” Draven said.
“We get along well,” Hawl acknowledged. “Our interactions have been collegial.”
“So everyone has welcomed you? There haven’t been any... issues?” We did not want a repeat of Vemak in the castle kitchens.
Hawl’s gaze softened as they looked at me. “I have been mostly accepted. Of course, some fear me. They always will. Others are overly curious and stare with their bulging, beady human eyes. I’m used to it.”
“But you’re comfortable?” I pressed, deciding not to dispute Hawl’s assessment of mortal eyeballs this morning. The Bearkin tended to have a rather dismissive view of humans and fae at the best of times. But then, with the state of the world, who could blame them?
“As comfortable as any of us can be as we while away these tedious days,” Hawl complained, dropping a large knife onto the cutting board beside them with a thud that made me jump. “Waiting, waiting, and more waiting.”
Draven glanced down at Medra, then ran a hand gently over the baby’s head. I wondered if he felt guilty for not minding the wait.
“Sunstrike’s wing couldn’t be helped,” I reminded Hawl. “But yes, I share your impatience to get on the road.” Though I felt a little guilty for admitting it in front of Draven.
“Her wing is healing nicely,” Hawl conceded. “I looked at it again last night.”
“The exmoor?” Danielo had reappeared. “Have you shown them what you’ve made for the exmoor, my dear friend?” The chef bounced up to us, holding a bottle of milk in each hand.
I looked towards where Hawl stood over the copper pot and raised a brow. “What’s in the pot, Hawl?”
Was it my imagination, or could Bearkins actually blush?
“Hawl?” Draven prompted.
But it was Danielo who eagerly answered. “The most tender cuts of venison, slow-cooked to sweet perfection and infused with yarrow, comfrey, and chamomile.” He waved his hands towards his nostrils and drew a long, luxurious sniff. “Ah, heavenly. And of course, it shall be served with the pâté, already plated and prepared."
“Pâté?” I inquired.
“Elk liver pâté. Seasoned with the finest healing herbs, fresh burdock and dandelion, and blended with brandy, garlic, onions...” Danielo waved a hand. “Well, I’m sure you do not wish for a full list of ingredients, Divine Elegance.”
I cringed. “There is truly no need for such formalities, Danielo. Please, call me Morgan. After all, I’m not even your sovereign.”
“Ah, it is true I hail from fair Lyonesse,” Danielo agreed. “But if only—”
