by M K Hutchins
“You know her?” asked the oldest guard—a tall man with dignified gray hair.
“She’s the girl I tried to get rid of to bring Violet into the palace.”
My ankles quivered from the strain.
“Is she a spy?” the old guard asked—I think his armband gave him the rank of commander. I wasn’t sure if he’d interrogate me or kill me if Fir answered yes.
Fir pursed his lips, studying me. “She’s not one of ours, if she is.”
“Why are you out here?” the commander demanded of me.
Fir waved a hand and my guard stepped back. Finally I could let my heels drop. My calves burned. “I... I’m condemned.”
“To death. At first light,” Fir tossed in. “For lying to the Royal House.”
Behind Fir and the commander, the guards’ posture shifted as the aroma of my dish filled the narrow path. Their shoulders turned subtly; they glanced at my simmering crock. It did smell good—of warmth and rest and renewal, properly seasoned.
The commander took a step forward. “The king sentenced you to death?”
“Yes. For lying.”
“It sounds like you need a new master.” He flicked a meaningful look at Fir.
Fir raised an eyebrow, asking a silent question I couldn’t discern. The commander shrugged, then nodded at me again. Fir studied me, as if seeing me for the first time.
My hands shook. I didn’t try to hide it. Let them see me as weak. As anything but a threat. “I just want to live.”
“You might live, depending on your answers.” Fir stepped closer. “Why did you lie to the king about your gift?”
A thousand excuses ran through my head. I could pretend to be the street waif who stole Dami’s identity. I could describe a simple misunderstanding. But I didn’t know if I could lie well enough for that. So I said the words I’d wanted to scream since I first entered the Redwood Palace. “My name isn’t Dami.”
The commander’s eyes narrowed. Fir stared at me; the guards stared at my cooking.
“My sister is Dami. Strong-of-arm. She ran away from home because she didn’t want to work in the Redwood Palace.” Even though I doubted these traitors could do anything to hurt Dami, I glossed over where she’d gone. Let them think she’d run off to extended family, or a beau, or simply vanished in the woods. “My family couldn’t afford the back-taxes if we forfeited her post at the palace. So I pretended to be her. My real name is Plum.”
Fir sucked a sharp breath between his teeth. “You. Pining after Sorrel. That makes sense now.”
The commander didn’t say anything.
“You’ve always been a traitor to King Alder,” Fir said. “And now you’re a fugitive. Let’s see if our army has any use for you.”
The commander was oddly deferential, watching as Fir pulled a spoon from the supplies on the endboard of the cart, took the lid off my crock, and eyed it eagerly. But he brought the spoonful to me. “You first.”
I ate it.
“Not poisoned. Good.” He smiled, then got himself a bite. His shoulders softened. His face eased. The weariness melted from his limbs and his soul.
“Fir?” the commander asked when he didn’t turn around.
“We’ll keep her.”
Another guard wet his lips. “Sir... may we have some?”
The commander glanced at Fir; Fir nodded. “We’ve earned a short break. Take shifts. This half,” the commander waved at the guards, “watch the cart. The rest of you may eat. There’s enough here for one person’s generous supper, so you will take small bites instead of gorging yourself, leaving plenty for your companions to sample. Understood?”
They saluted. Soon a half-dozen guards sat around my cooking. They dipped their spoons in and licked them slowly, savoring every glistening bite.
Fir stayed next to me, but he sheathed his knife. “How did you learn to cook like that?”
“My father taught me,” I said. I couldn’t read Fir’s face.
“You possess a strong birthgift, no doubt. Your skill is superb.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you had an interest in cooking.”
Outside of poisoning people.
“I wanted to be a chef when I was little.” He gave me a half-smile, no malice in it. That unnerved me more than any cruel thing he could have done. “Cooking seemed so enticing—the hearths and crocks and the bubbling smells.”
I glanced at the obsidian knife gleaming in his belt, delicate black whorls reflecting orange firelight. Would he stab me once I relaxed? The commander kept a sharp eye on both of us.
“What changed?” I asked. The longer we talked, the longer the cart stood still.
Fir shrugged. “My mother indulged me in cooking lessons, but I gave it up myself. I could become a decent cook with enough effort and practice, but I’d never be a true professional. Not in cooking or any other traditional occupation—not with my lack of birthgift. So I placed my efforts elsewhere.”
“Ah.”
“The palace wasted your skills,” Fir continued. “Having you scrub crocks instead of cook.”
“Thank you.” I stared at the ground, then at the soldiers licking spoons. The aroma of caramelized carrots hung thick in the air. What else could I say to Fir? A conversation with a stranger would have been easier.
“You don’t trust me,” Fir said.
“You just held a knife to my throat.”
Fir shrugged. “A moment ago, you were Lady Sulat’s person, loyal to Rowak. Now you’re a traitor with no one to turn to but Shoreed and Red Lord Ospren.”
“Red Lord Ospren?” I feigned ignorance.
“He’s going to sit on the throne.” Fir glanced at me. “Does that bother you?”
I fervently shook my head. “Not if it means I live.”
Fir’s relaxed smile almost made him seem amicable. “You’ll need someone to watch out for you in this new monarchy. Keep you safe. Find you work.”
The commander ordered the guards to switch their posts so the other half could sample my cooking.
But Fir didn’t move. His words turned in my head. “You want me to become your person.”
“Of course. You’re talented. Everyone with a high post in the government needs loyal followers. And in Lord Ospren’s new government, I will be someone, Plum. He’s promised me no meager position for my help.”
I stared at him. Fir wasn’t fiercely loyal to Lord Ospren on principle. He was ambitious. Cruelly ambitious. He’d put deadly snakes in my crock. Got Hawak out of the palace, brought the Bloodmarrow Violet in, and nearly killed Lady Sulat’s infant.
I couldn’t imagine Lady Sulat resorting to such means. She was calm, justified, careful.
But the commander still watched us and I had to keep stalling. I leaned against the tree behind me, twining my fingers into the curling, fern-like moss growing up its trunk. “Don’t you hate me?” I asked. “I ruined your plans. I uncovered Violet.”
Regret touched Fir’s eyes, but not for long. “You made a good opponent. Now you can oppose my enemies. I’ll help you find a new life in Lord Ospren’s Rowak. I’ll see you have fine ingredients, imported recipes, and access to the royal greenhouses. What more could you want?”
Once, that was exactly what I thought I wanted. But nothing about Fir’s offer tempted me. Bane admired me without tasting my cooking—he’d seen a soldier in me. That part of my soul was just as strong as the part that loved clean crocks and fresh vegetables.
“Life isn’t just about cooking.” I’d happily serve Lady Sulat for the opportunity to be a chef, but not Fir.
“Ah. You want a post.” Fir nodded as if he’d expected it. “The Redwood Palace may need a new Master Chef. I can’t make promises, but I’ll certainly try to maneuver you into that position. Red Lord Ospren rewards those who follow him.”
The highest chef in Rowak. For all my ambition, I’d never dreamed that high. And I didn’t want to. In Clamsriver, the war had seemed distant. Even now, I’d only seen the smallest part
of it—the veterans heading home on their carts, Bane’s lost arm, Osem’s lost family—but I’d rather haul firewood for the rest of my life than prolong its ruin on my country.
“Oh.” I said, stalling. “I don’t think I deserve such an office.”
“You made an All-of-All. No one could argue you’re unqualified.”
The commander frowned and strode up to us. I made a horrible actress. He stood on the other side of me, flanking me against Fir. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”
Of course I was scared. How did I answer that?
“It’s a lot to take in,” he said. “A new monarch for Rowak. But Fir makes no small claims here. He’s worked diligently for Lord Ospren, and they’re kin. Fir can care for us.”
Us. Fir nodded benevolently at the commander, who bowed politely in turn. The young man really was building himself up a network of followers.
“You can be part of this, Plum,” Fir said.
The commander patted my shoulder and smiled. He looked almost like Moss when he did that—the grandfatherly Moss, not the sarcastic one. “You seem like a nice young lady with hard times behind. But now you have this great opportunity to benefit yourself and your family in our new Rowak. Your luck has finally come in.”
The commander toppled onto me. I shrieked and pushed him away, trying to spot his knife hand.
He thudded to the ground, an arrow sticking from his neck. His blood soaked my hands, my dress, the ground.
Fir protectively threw himself on top of me, tackled me. We crashed hard onto the ground. He tugged on me, trying to get me to crawl into the ferns with him. Better cover. A chance of escape. When I didn’t move, he left me there, laying in the dirt, ribs aching from the fall.
Half of the Palace Guards around me yelled and brandished their spears. One whipped out a bow. The rest lay dying on the ground from arrow wounds.
“Drop your weapons, or you will also die,” called a voice in the treetops.
Three of the guards, including the archer, sank to their knees and placed their shaking hands on their heads.
The remaining three guards charged. They all fell, dark-fletched arrows sticking out of their chests.
My throat pinched closed. How could there be corpses where men once stood? How could the sympathetic commander be slumped over so unnaturally, his face in the dirt? I didn’t even know his name. The sticky blood on my hands and dress shone black in the pale moonlight. It felt far too thick to be beet juice.
Ancestors, I hated this war.
Bane ran to my side. He gawked at the blood. “Dami, are you injured?”
“No.”
He beamed at me. How could he smile so easily, when corpses stared up at us? “The Rowak army sent me with twenty of their fastest runners. The ghost plowed ahead of us, blazing a trail straight to you. I’m glad we made it so fast. You led us to victory today.”
I couldn’t even stand back far enough on this swath of road to see all the carnage at once. “They’re dead.”
“They were traitors.”
I knew that. I did. Our country was safer without them. But lying on the ground, they just looked like men. Surely their mothers, fathers, wives, and children would curse this day.
“We won,” I mumbled. The words tasted acrid on my tongue. My marrow felt cold.
The chef part of me itched to tend all their wounds, but dead men’s mouths can’t swallow curing food. Bane’s soldiers flushed out Fir, then tied him up with the three surviving Palace Guards.
I should be cheering that dark, blood-soaked ground, the blood of traitors, but my marrow gave out. I imagined all the battlefields so much worse than this. I imagined Dami among them—among bodies and blood and life growing cold—and I collapsed to my knees and wept.
Ghost-Fulsaan edged out of the trees, whimpering. He scooted to the nearly-empty crock, throwing me plaintive looks.
I wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Go ahead, Fulsaan. I know your nature makes it hard to resist.”
It seemed fitting that the meal that cost these men their lives should turn to ghost-fouled mush. Fulsaan picked up the crock with his stubby arms and slurped.
Oddly, those beautifully cooked vegetables didn’t turn to slime. His mouth widened. His fat rolls shrunk, his legs strengthened.
“Fulsaan?” I asked, rising from my knees.
I caught a glimpse of a human face, of a grateful smile, before Fulsaan dissipated into smoke. The crock fell to the ground and broke, empty and clean inside.
I tilted my head back and watched that smoke curl and wheel, like a rejoicing eagle, up above the trees. It disappeared into the stars.
Exorcising a ghost requires three things. A meal perfectly cooked. True regret from the ghost. And a confession.
He’d confessed to me that morning in his room—had it only been three days ago? He’d displayed true regret by rejecting laziness tonight. And the meal he’d just eaten—endurance to the limbs and the soul. Isn’t that what a lazy man needed? The ability to keep going, to persevere, to not give up?
I peered upward through the trees, imagining that I could still catch a wisp of him as he ascended to his ancestors.
The ground around me stretched ugly and cold, but gazing up at the stars and the glorious moon, I smiled. “May you rest with your ancestors in peace, Purple-ranked Fulsaan of Askan-Wod. And say hello to my nana for me. You owe me, you lazy old man,” I said fondly. “Make sure she’s all right.”
Somehow, I knew he would.
Bane’s soldiers opened the passenger cart, helped King Alder and Purple Lord Heir Valerian outside, then cut their bonds and gags.
The captain of the soldiers frowned. “Where’s King Former Fulsaan? I understood he was taken as well.”
His subordinate turned to me. “She called the Hungry Ghost that.”
Alder’s face tightened in rage. I wasn’t leaving this clearing alive.
“That was a Vengeful Ghost, not a Hungry Ghost,” I said quickly. “The traitor guards killed King Former Fulsaan on the road. Since we were friends in life, he asked for my help to avenge his murder and save his descendants. Now that you great soldiers have rescued his son and grandson, he is at rest.”
I bowed to King Alder first, then the guards. Alder’s face stayed hard. Unreadable.
The captain’s eyes widened in wonder. “Your Majesty, where is Purple-ranked Fulsaan’s body? I’ll send some of these men to recover the late Purple-ranked Fulsaan.”
“It disappeared. When he changed into a ghost of vengeance. We’ll have to set a plaque for him in the Royal Shrine,” King Alder said, voice flat.
He couldn’t denounce my lie and order my execution on the spot without disinheriting himself. My lie was as good as any—filled with half-truths—but Alder’s eyes showed no truce.
The troop’s captain sent a pair of messengers to run ahead to the Rowak army. The remaining soldiers hid the dead bodies and the cart off the overgrown road.
We all walked through the forest then—me, Bane, prisoners, soldiers, King Alder, and Lord Valerian. Dark, wet ferns brushed my leg. Just dew, not blood.
All of my adrenaline sank into a cold, tired pit in my gut. Bane’s mouth tightened with worry, but he stayed a step back. I was grateful. Forming words seemed an insurmountable task. I plodded one foot in front of the other. Fulsaan was free. The king wouldn’t kill me this instant. I’d stopped a coup. And now Rowak’s armies knew the location and plans of the Shoreed forces. They’d deal with defending the capital.
When we reached the army, an escort group from General Yuin awaited us. Since traitors filled Askan-Wod, he wanted the Royal Family safely in Napil. Soldiers emptied out two supply carts, giving one to the purple-ranked, and one to me, Bane, and the prisoners.
I ended up sitting directly across from Fir.
Bane snored softly, but despite the exhaustion sinking into my marrow, I couldn’t doze. Not with traitors here, not with the smell of mud and drying blood and a lingering hint of my aromatic carrots
, parsnips, and beets.
“Are you going to gloat?” Fir asked in an oddly mild, conversational tone. The muddled sky above us diffused the starlight into blackness.
“Why would I gloat?”
“Because I was somebody, somebody important, and you overthrew me.”
The cart jostled over the uneven road. “I wasn’t fighting you. I fought against a vassal Rowak.”
“I don’t know why you’re more loyal to King Alder than Red Lord Ospren. Only one of those men condemned you to hang.”
“King Alder won’t be king forever,” I said. “But after he passes, Rowak will still be free—if we weather this war.”
“If.” Fir smirked. Then he leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “When Red Lord Ospren takes the throne, my offer still stands.”
I hugged my arms to my chest, trying to ward off the chill. “You tried to sell the sovereignty of your nation for a post. Why would I serve that?”
“You’re still such a country girl. Why should we care if Rowak is sovereign or not? We’ll never rule this country. What matters is how many people you control. I suppose you’re perfectly happy with the way things are. Lady Sulat is a powerful woman to serve.”
I shifted away. Cold, stiff blood plastered my dress to my skin. I didn’t serve Lady Sulat because she was powerful; I served her because she made honorable choices and supported those under her. People like Osem, left without family. People like Bane, left without a limb. Given a chance, I’m sure she could put even Fir to good use. “You’re Lady Egal’s grandson. That wasn’t enough?”
“A doting grandmother bestows little respect or power. Especially on a giftless child.”
I shook my head. “There are plenty of people with little or no gift who live honest lives.”
“But not remarkable ones.”
I stiffened. “Everything Bane did tonight—that wasn’t remarkable? His impaired birthgift never came into play.” I thought of Osem, too—her birthgift wasn’t to thank for her skills as an informant, or her loyalty and kindness as a friend. “Out of pride, you almost destroyed Rowak.”