“I don’t think I’m too good for anything,” I say quickly, holding up my hands in surrender. “I know I’m dressed like it, but I’m not here to work in the kitchens.I’m with…Lord Lockhart.”
Her eyes widen, and her tone shifts so fast it gives me whiplash. “Oh, my stars, you must forgive me.”
“Please, don’t apologize,” I say. “I completely understand. One of the attendants gave me this to wear while my dress is being washed. I—I don’t have any trunks, but I’m not—”
“No need for explanations. A woman’s work is a woman’s work, no matter how she finds it.” There’s a fierce protectiveness in her tone. “And don’t you let anyone tell you otherwise.”
It takes me a second to register her meaning, and when I do, my cheeks flush. Before I can correct her assumption, my stomach growls loudly enough to echo off the stone walls.
The cook lifts an eyebrow. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
She chuckles, already turning back to the counter. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve got plenty. Sit yourself down. You look like you could use a good meal.”
She gestures toward a small scrubbed wooden table near the hearth, and I take a seat on one of the worn stools. A moment later, she places a loaf of crusty bread and a jar of golden honey in front of me.
“Eat,” she says, planting her hands on her hips. “And no complaining if I do end up putting you to work. These are my kitchens, and I can be a bit bossy. Might as well warn you now.”
Before I can respond, Not-Elsie appears at the bottom of the stairs, an empty breakfast tray in hand. “A bit bossy?” she snickers. “That’s putting it kindly.”
The cook rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. I tear off apiece of bread and dip it into the honey. The first bite is like a revelation—warm, golden and floral. The sweetness blooms across my tongue, so pure it makes my eyes flutter shut.
“I must apologize for earlier. For Clara.” Not-Elsie dabs her brow with a linen cloth embroidered with faded red flowers. “I’m Sylvie, by the way. This is Bernice.”
I brush crumbs from my fingers and offer a small wave. “Gemma. Nice to meet you.”
“Don’t mind Clara,” Sylvie adds with a shrug. “She’s nice enough—deep down.”
Bernice snorts and resumes chopping carrots. “Keep making excuses for Clara, and you’ll find yourself sent back across the water. That girl’s not worth the effort.”
“She’s harmless,” Sylvie says, plucking a slice of carrot from the cutting board.
Bernice inhales sharply, clearly ready to argue, but Sylvie leans in and kisses her cheek. “You know I’m right,” she teases, sliding into the chair across from me before the cook can swat her.
Bernice grumbles, shaking her head as she turns back to her work.
“Glad to see you survived the party yesterday.” Sylvie takes a bite off her stolen carrot slice. “Your dress is a bit… Well, let’s just say Althea is doing her best. But it might be a lost cause.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I set the bread down. “Last night was…a lot.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Bernice drops a handful of chopped carrots into the pot with a splash. “Lights going on and off, then coming back on again like they’d forgotten why they were made. Not to mention all the gears andpipes firing up then going dead just as fast. I feared I would faint dead away,” she says, pressing her palm to her chest. “None of this has worked since my grandmother’s grandmother was a cook here in this very kitchen. Then it all comes alive at once? Well.” She stirs the broth harder than necessary. “Suppose it’s none of my business.”
Sylvie leans forward slightly, lowering her voice as though the castle itself might be listening. “Cups used to be the most advanced kingdom in the realm. Steam powered machines, running water, light—it was the envy of everyone. Although, before yesterday, I’d never actually met anyone who was alive to see it all come on at once like that.”
Bernice’s wooden spoon clatters against the pot. “Sylvie,” she warns.
Sylvie doesn’t flinch. “Gemma was here. She saw it. She watched the machines turn on. She watched that woman—” Her voice falters. “We all know this kingdom isn’t running right.”
Bernice clears her throat, but her jaw tightens. “Doesn’t mean we go filling her head with stories. Some things are better left unsaid.”
“They’re not stories. And, Bernice, she’s from Pentacles,” Sylvie presses, leaning toward the cook as if to drive the point home. “It’s only a matter of time before magick is no longer outlawed in their kingdom. I’ve heard their new king himself wields it.”
“Sure he does.” Bernice crosses her arms. “And I’m a dragon.”
“You hoard enough copper pots to convince me,” Sylvie fires back, grinning.
Their laughter and banter fade into the backgroundas my mind spirals. Magick outlawed? A king wielding it? It sounds like something out ofLord of the Rings, but it scratches at the edge of a truth too real to ignore.
