by Frank Morin
Hamish rose, eyes glued to the tome, and walked with stunned reverence to her side. He extended a shaking hand to touch the huge book and his soft voice carried easily across the silent room. “How?”
Jean laughed and kissed his cheek. “Oh, Hamish. You are adorable.” She pressed the tome into his hands and he hugged it, looking close to tears.
Connor laughed, as did many people across the room. Anyone else would have looked a fool responding with such awe to a cookbook, but Hamish and his well-known love of food somehow lent the moment great importance. Connor glanced back at Verena and caught her dabbing at her eyes.
She shrugged helplessly. “He’s so happy.”
Hamish laughed with delight, launching into the air, thrusters firing and sending him up toward the high ceiling. He somersaulted several times, triggering bursts of multicolored light.
The crowd packing the tables cheered with him, and Connor spotted more than a few other women dabbing at moist eyes. Grandurians were more emotional about food than he’d realized.
Hamish returned to land next to Jean, grinning like a mad fool. Over the noise of the crowd, Connor barely heard her explain, “We were looking in the wrong place. I found it down in Lord Eberhard’s records vault. I was searching for information on some of the original histories of Schwinkendorf. I discovered this with them.”
Then she added loudly, “Tonight’s feast is made up entirely of dishes from this cookbook. We couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate the birth of New Schwinkendorf.”
Cheering resumed, and Hamish could not contain himself. He swept Jean and the book both into a bear hug and lifted them into the air, laughing.
When they landed again, Jean left the book in Hamish’s hands and said softly, “I think you should be the guardian of Schwinkendorf’s secrets. I know no one else who appreciates food like you do.”
Hamish looked like he was about to faint with joy. She added, “Of course, we’ve made copies for all of the chefs in New Schwinkendorf, and are preparing copies to gift to the royal family in Edderitz, but this tome needs a special home.”
Hamish turned toward the crowd and raised the tome in victory. “What are we waiting for? Let’s feast!”
As everyone cheered, and many banged their tables with utensils, Lord Eberhard rose once more and gestured for quiet. Jean started to return to her seat, but he pulled her back to stand beside him.
“Indeed the feasting will begin soon, but there is one other item of business we must attend to in order for the birth of New Schwinkendorf to be complete.”
An expectant hush settled across the room and much of the good cheer was snuffed out. Clearly the moment had arrived for the announcement of the new governor. An eager energy seemed to emanate from many of the people gathered, and Connor noted Evander and Kilian both grinning.
They were keeping secrets again.
Why did that not surprise him? Knowing that they seemed to know something about the appointment helped ease some of his worry. At least this time, the secret was being revealed in a fittingly epic manner. That pair might be two of the most powerful, ancient Petralists on the continent, but they had a terrible habit of dropping mind-boggling secrets without any flair whatsoever. Maybe they were finally taking his feedback to heart.
“I have done what I can to assist in rebuilding New Schwinkendorf, and I and my people remain committed to assisting in every way possible. We consider this community to be one with us in every respect,” Lord Eberhard said.
This time people remained quiet, and most leaned forward, expectant and eager to learn the identity of their new leader. It was not terribly common for a lord to be appointed a new city, but it was not unheard of either. Connor glanced around the room, wondering which door the new lord would enter from.
Then he glanced back at Lord Eberhard who was smiling widely, with Jean standing beside him, and understanding struck like one of Evander’s death beams.
“Therefore, it is with enormous pleasure that I announce Lady Jean as the governor of New Schwinkendorf!”
Jean gasped, looking thunderstruck. For a second a stunned silence hung over the room, then it shattered under a torrent of cheering so loud it shook the hall. Connor felt like a fool.
Of course he should have realized what Lord Eberhard planned. Jean was the only choice that made any sense. Lord Eberhard had already taken to calling her Lady Jean along with everyone else, but no one had expected the king to appoint an Obrioner commoner leader of such a vital community.
Connor leaped to his feet, along with everyone else seated at the high table, all clapping and cheering. The rest of the hall followed a second later. People cheered Jean enthusiastically, and an undercurrent of tension that Connor had felt all evening bled away.
Well, almost everyone looked pleased. Shona’s expression as she too rose to clap with the others looked like she’d eaten a handful of sour grapes. Although she was smiling, he knew her too well not to note the signs of displeasure.
He couldn’t help tapping chert. Instantly emotions boiled into his mind from all around. Enthusiasm, joy, gratitude, and hope made up most of them. Thoughts from the multitude clamored for his attention, forcing him to carefully focus to avoid getting overwhelmed.
After a couple seconds, he managed to limit it to the high table alone. Many of those gathered were skilled at shielding their thoughts, but most weren’t bothering at the moment.
Wolfram was thinking, “She’s come so far from that scared but determined healer in Alasdair.”
Ivor was thinking, “Good for you, Jean! Obrioner lords were fools to let you escape. Smartest thing I ever saw Lord Eberhard do.”
When Connor focused on Shona he picked up, “. . . was he thinking? Yes, Jean has proven herself, but are they so short of nobility that they needed to raise a commoner, and a foreigner at that, to lead this vital community?”
Then she glanced at him. When their eyes met, her thoughts went quiet. She might not know he was listening, but she was smart enough to know to shield against the possibility.
So Connor winked at her. Let Shona stew on political ramifications. She’d been brought up tangled in political intrigue all her life so she wouldn’t be able to help herself. Connor didn’t have that limitation. He could simply cheer a dear friend for a well-earned promotion.
It took almost a full minute for Lord Eberhard to speak over the din. “For months now, my dear Lady Jean, you’ve demonstrated every quality that best defines nobility. Today we can finally grant you Grandurian citizenship and the formal title that you have already been living. Congratulations, Lady Jean.”
He bowed over her hand, grinning. She curtsied, then wrapped her arms around him in an exuberant hug. Tears glistened in her eyes, and Connor didn’t think she had ever looked lovelier.
Then Hamish swept her off her feet and soared with her around the hall so friends could reach up and touch her hand. Friends who were now her adoring and enthusiastic subjects.
Connor clapped loudly. Often nobility made little sense, although Lord Eberhard was a refreshing exception, but today they had done something right. Jean deserved the title more than anyone he had ever known. She was already acting as administrator, governor, and the beating heart of the community. No one else the king could’ve appointed could ever hope to do half of what she was already doing.
He gripped Verena’s hand and laughed. “This is amazing.”
She was grinning as wide as he had ever seen, and her eyes glittered as if on the verge of tears. “A lot of nobles wanted this post. New Schwinkendorf is already becoming a vital national asset, but Kilian’s opinion still carries a lot of weight.”
Connor laughed again, glancing over at Kilian. Aifric was speaking into his ear. The two sat just beyond Verena, but the cheering was so loud he didn’t bother trying to thank Kilian yet.
“I didn’t think he interfered with politics,” he commented.
“I made sure he did this time. He is the king’s uncle, after
all. And my father helped convince the rest of the ruling council to ratify the decision.”
“Your father?” Connor could scarce believe it. Verena’s father had at first been very opposed to their courtship, and had only come around during their recent visit to the family estate.
“You won a lot more than my father’s blessing,” Verena said with a grin.
“I’m glad, although courting you is all I ever want to do.”
That earned him a quick kiss.
A new thought struck him and he asked, “Once the king approved Jean as the new governor, why let all the rumors build like they did? People were worked into a frenzy over it.”
“Lord Eberhard could have quelled those rumors, but they were necessary.”
That didn’t make sense to Connor, but she read his confused look and added, “Look around, Connor. By letting everyone stew over the threat of some unknown lord arriving and messing up everything, Lord Eberhard helped everyone realize just how important Jean’s work is.”
“But everyone loves Jean already,” Connor protested.
Verena nodded. “They do, but she’s an Obrioner commoner, and she’s getting appointed to rule a very important city. The people love Jean, but there is opposition among the Grandurian nobility. By playing his cards this way, Lord Eberhard has sealed this community to Jean with an unbreakable loyalty. Word will spread and no one will be able to oppose her. There are no weaknesses to exploit here.”
She was right. Everyone was so thrilled, so relieved with the way things turned out, they would never allow Jean to be removed. Lord Eberhard had proven himself an adept political strategist more than once already, but this was a much more sophisticated display of his skills. Jean deserved to have such powerful friends.
Kilian laughed at whatever Aifric had said. She turned toward Connor and Verena, leaned close and spoke in her Student Eighteen voice. “You think they’ll grant you and Hamish titles too?”
“I doubt it,” Connor said.
“Why? You two have done as much as Jean in your own ways, and you’re both risking your lives every day to help save this country. That should earn you something.”
Connor gestured to where Hamish was just dropping back into his seat after returning Jean to her spot. He was again hugging the cookbook. “We’re already getting rewarded. Hamish has his cookbook and Jean, and I’ve got Verena. What more could I want?”
“Oh, that’s good, Connor,” Verena said with a dazzling smile. Then she added, “We actually considered the idea, but decided against it.”
Aifric laughed, her face shivering for a second as she shifted to another personality. Connor recognized Cacilia’s flirtatious tones. “Oh, Connor. You’re going to have to work a little harder to help Verena overcome that politically savvy mind of hers. I can suggest a few ideas.” She added with a wicked laugh.
Verena rolled her eyes. “Connor is managing just fine. The work they’re doing is vital to the war effort. They’re both serving in critical capacities with our allies.”
Connor said, “Makes sense. We do have the rank of commander in the Althing military, and we’re both working a lot with the Arishat League. Right now our statuses are pretty independent.”
Student Eighteen nodded approvingly. “I agree. If you and Hamish were given Grandurian titles, it might complicate some of your work.”
Verena nodded and took Connor’s hand again in her warm one. “Let’s just focus on surviving this next year. At that point we can worry about titles and whatever else comes next.”
Connor hoped they got to that point. He was looking forward to a time when he didn’t have to focus most of his energy on trying to learn deep, arcane secrets to try to stay alive for just a few more weeks. He’d love to simply spend time with Verena, maybe travel the continent and visit some of their friends from other countries, and enjoy life a little bit.
With encouragement from Lord Eberhard, Jean lifted her hands high and declared, “Let the feasting begin!”
The side doors flew open and servers rushed in carrying what was already proving to be a singularly epic meal.
13
Old Man Schwinkendorf’s Mad Chef Skills
Dishes fit for a king flowed like a flood tide across the dining hall. There were so many, each cooked to perfection, each seemingly better than the last. Connor forced himself to sample only a little bit of each one, even though any individual dish would’ve made a fine meal on its own.
Unfortunately he was sitting too close to Hamish, who clamored to try every single dish. The servers all knew his love of food and his long quest to find the missing cookbook, so they eagerly obliged. He consumed the first three dishes all by himself.
Jean thought that was hilarious, but Connor saw it as a challenge. Verena took a meat pie with a crust of woven bread, dripping with warm honey. It looked amazing, but Connor diverted one server heading for Hamish and snagged their pot of stew before Hamish got it.
The tall ceramic bowl was filled with thick, spicy stew, bursting with chunks of savory sausage, crunchy greens, and maple flavoring that momentarily made him forget he wanted to try other plates.
As more servers swarmed the room and pushed dozens of dishes at the diners of the high table, it was hard to decide what to try next. Connor suddenly felt ravenous as he dug into a savory pork roast with a delicate balance of subtle spices that rippled across his tongue, each flavor building upon the last until he almost forgot to swallow.
It was not flavored like anything his mother had ever made, but somehow the first delicious bite seemed to melt into his tongue and remind him of long autumn evenings lounging with Hamish near the Wick. He sighed and tapped quartzite to his tongue. Instantly the flavor intensified like an erupting volcano. A really delicious volcano. If only tapping marble tasted like that every time, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
A warm sweetbread came next, rolled into a twist and coated with sugar. Inside it was filled with cream that was somehow still chilled, and the unexpected mixture of warm and cool made him grin. Next he dove into a dish of beef slices layered over a bed of Sehrazad white rice. The beef had been marinated until it was so tender it fell to pieces off his fork. He closed his eyes and for a moment forgot to breathe as he slowly chewed, drinking in the savory taste with quartzite-enhanced taste.
Across the room, everyone was eating with unrestrained gusto. It seemed like every person had at least one server assigned to them, providing a never-ending stream of delicacies. Conversation faded to exclamations of delight. No one could waste breath in needless chatter. There was too much eating to be done.
Connor was happy no one interrupted as he next consumed a dish of chewy pasta chunks in a rich, tomato sauce that left him feeling warm and content. He lost track of all the dishes he sampled and could not have chosen his favorite.
Schwinkendorf was a culinary wizard, and the city’s chefs had lived up to their namesake. If King Henrik ate that well every night, it was a wonder the man fit through the door. Maybe that’s why so many palace doors were so huge.
At one point, Connor caught Hamish’s eye and in unison they raised their forks in salute.
Verena paced herself better than Connor did. She was more accustomed to big feasts. He continued to tap just a little quartzite to his tongue to increase the magnitude of the flavor, although the food was so good he did not really need to. Still, using quartzite while he ate was quickly becoming one of his favorite habits. If only he could share the wonder of it with Hamish.
If he ever could, Hamish might eat himself to death. He was already eating with such enthusiasm that it was inspiring the entire high table. Everyone else had plenty of reason to smile, with the birth of New Schwinkendorf and appointment of Jean as the governor, but Hamish’s enthusiasm helped take the feast to a higher level.
The table was filled with more laughter and cheer than they’d usually enjoyed through the long winter of frantic work and fear of attack. During that feast, Connor felt like perhaps the sprin
g thaw had finally come.
A sudden headache stabbed him behind his eyes. He winced, dropping his fork and rubbing hard at his temples. The pain seared into his thoughts, snuffing out his joy and for a second he forgot where he was. He stared down at his meal, and it disgusted him.
“Are you all right?” Verena asked.
When Connor glanced at her, he growled with sudden fury, and he felt an overwhelming urge to scream a vile curse at her. Shocked by the intense feeling, he only barely remembered that he loved Verena.
How could he love a horrid Builder? More angry words tried boiling out of his mouth and he frowned, trying to make sense of his wild emotions. He loved her. . . . But he hated her too. He wanted to kiss her, but he also really wanted to grab his dagger and ram it—
Connor recoiled from the thought, rocking back in his chair, horrified by what he’d been thinking.
Except she was a Builder, a vile—
Connor seized chunks of his own hair and pulled, the pain helping center his thoughts for a second. What was happening to him? He hadn’t tapped porphyry, but it felt like the uncontrollable rage that had swept him away the first time he tempted the dangerous stone.
He fought against it, but felt his mind slipping under the boiling torrent. He was going to lose control. Somehow he was going to unleash rampager rage when not even tapping it. He felt chilled with horror and slapped himself hard, trying to wake up from the nightmare slipping over his mind, but it didn’t help.
Then Student Eighteen arrived, one hand gripping his shoulder painfully hard. Instead of offering healing warmth, she connected with him using chert. He was not tapping chert, but recognized its effects. She was pushing calm and peace into him. He wasn’t sure how she knew he needed it, but that rush of peace helped reinforce his mind against the fury that was already setting his hands shaking with the need to smash . . . Verena?