by Melody Rose
I could already tell that Chef had seen it as a long shot, but that didn’t stop him from giving me words of encouragement for my ambitious proposal. “No one has ever been able to convince him to eat what he hasn’t asked for, but ye are a special lass with a good heart and a fiery spirit, two of the greatest gifts for a cookin’ mage. Why don’t ye give it a try? It’s a test worthy of ye.”
“You know, I think you’re onto something there, Chef. Since he’s given me such a hard time, I might as well assault his taste buds,” I reasoned. “It’s really child’s play considering what he’s capable of, so it’ll just even the odds a bit.”
I gazed at the savory pies that I had designed and suddenly felt a flash of confidence brighten my spirit. Even though these were damn good, I really wanted to mess with Theo’s head and treat him to a breakfast buffet to make him seriously consider his hold on reality. I didn’t want to give him a mental breakdown or anything. Quite the opposite. I wanted to entice him to try new flavors, especially if he associated those with me. Maybe then he’d stop calling me a useless lamb’s blood and recognize that I had my own gifts to offer, even if they were so far just of the edible variety.
I could practically taste his inevitable confusion and begrudging enjoyment. I wished I could bottle that and keep it on a spice rack!
17
Theo
While most of my peers were sleeping and would only rise for the incentive of food, I had already woken up and left the castle to perform my morning regimen. I believed that it was imperative for my success as a mage to not ignore the vitality and vigor of my body. I did not want sluggishness to siphon away my powers when some added daily effort could ensure that my wits and will were sharp.
I strode along the perimeter of the castle as the brisk air stirred me even more until I had found the two closely spaced guard towers for my first morning trial. I had chosen them based on a passage from a tome detailing the training of knights. Naturally, I selected the most challenging task, the wall climb, a maneuver that required me to spread my arms and legs out to gain contact with each tower at once and pull myself up as high as I could. I stretched to ensure my muscles were suitably limber, then leapt up so that I gained a foothold on the marble bricks and grabbed a couple above me. I repeated this motion of securing my feet and clutching onto furrows in the wall, vaulting upwards each time with all the energy my body could muster. I could scale quite an impressive height and nearly made it to the top before I bounded back down.
Another trait of a disciplined mage was to not expend all his stamina at once but rather to be wise about when it was called for.
I then grabbed a sledgehammer that I kept near a boulder to strengthen my shoulders, arms, and back. No one had ever dreamt of removing it from its location, so I could always find it with ease. Besides, if anyone did have a mind to interrupt my daily exercise with foolishness, my new routine would be to utilize my power to remind them not to cross me again.
As I swung the unwieldy instrument around as though I were fending off invisible assailants, I was struck by my father’s chiding about how hostile I looked while engaged in this activity. He pointed out that I might frighten some of the younger students if they looked out the window and spotted me. I wasn’t terribly concerned because most mages here were indulgent and wouldn’t even wake up early to review their tomes, let alone peer outside. He thought it would have been better if I grabbed an axe and chopped at some trees since hearth spells are stronger with wood that has been gained with labor, but I laughed that off as the grunt work of peasants.
My final exertion was to set the sledgehammer down and pick up the hefty boulder. This was the greatest challenge of the day, and while it wasn’t quite as large as some of our competitive athletes were capable of carrying, it was still substantial for my stature. I furrowed my brow and muttered a silencing spell, mostly because I didn’t want to be bothered by mages running over to pry, and pitched it fifteen paces ahead of me. After I had completed a set of twenty throws, my skin glistened with sweat, my cue to finish for the day. I still had half an hour to cleanse myself, cast a dressing glamour, and settle into my dining quarters before the breakfast rush dawned upon the dining hall.
I knelt by a cold stream and cupped my hands to gather its water. I relished in the refreshing sensation as I splashed it onto my face. While enchantments were certainly expedient, the natural elements of Lemuria possessed their own character, and at times, it was useful for a mage to remind himself of this. After all, without the surrounding world to serve as inspiration, I would not be able to spin my visions into being with my spells, similar to how Chef Douglas collected tales to serve my meals.
Speaking of which, it was high time to nourish myself. I closed my eyes and allowed the essence of water to wash over me and banish my sweat, then replaced my breeches with a glamour that covered me with black trousers, a white dress shirt, a cobalt silk vest, a golden cravat, and polished leather shoes.
Once I was finished summoning my attire, I took long and quick strides to make my way to the dining hall. I cocked an eyebrow when I noticed that rows of pies, encased in warming spells, were laid out on the students’ tables. Other than that strange detail, I went straight to my dining quarters without greeting Chef Douglas. Since mealtimes were an everyday occurrence, I thought that it was entirely unnecessary to regard the cook each and every time. Why waste time with that formality for a common routine?
I stopped and curiously studied the medley of dishes my table was furnished with. Perhaps Chef Douglas had traveled recently or exchanged tales with a bard from a faraway realm because few of the items laid out were recognizable. There was a platter of flattened bread with grids that contained what looked like syrup, sliced red berries, and a remarkably indulgent amount of butter. A bowl filled with a yellow, gritty substance was topped with a pinkish shellfish, chopped green onions, and ground fatback. A dish held what had the silhouette of a chicken breast but was crispy and brown in texture. I noticed the unmistakable color and consistency of eggs, but rather than served in their plain scrambled form, diced meats and vegetables seemed to be snuck into them.
Wherever Chef had received his inspiration from, it struck me as a flamboyant culture with an insistence upon decoration and unneeded additions. One staple stood out to me as almost aligned with what I normally ask for, the biscuits. However, the regrettably creative cook had taken to absolutely drowning them in gravy and ground sausage. Didn’t he realize that all of this would slow me down? I desired only unspiced, lean meats, simple grains, and steamed vegetables for all my meals. I had expected boiled eggs and oats, specifically.
Well, I couldn’t very well eat all of this, and I was sure that I would need to have a stern talk with the imaginative faun about keeping his flashy visions to himself. When Chef had first been employed by Bouclier, I had arranged a private meeting review all of my nutritional demands with him, so I couldn’t understand why he had made such an egregious mistake. In order to add weight to my grievances, I decided I would have a taste from each of these suspicious dishes so I could outline what exactly was wrong with them in great detail. I sighed and grabbed a napkin, then sank down into my chair at the helm of the table and tossed the cloth into my lap. I wanted to get this over with.
I drummed my fingers on my lap because for all my capabilities, I could not yet muster the courage to pick at the food. I really started to feel quite offended that I was forced into this position, and I started to wonder if Chef had been offered a goblet of that toadstool tea that causes temporary madness. It really didn’t seem like him to refuse any of my orders. I supposed I would start with what was the most alien to me and proceed from there.
With a reluctant groan, I grabbed a fork and stabbed it into the checkered piece of bread. When I pulled it up, it sagged a bit, dripped, and left a sodden mess on its plate. That wouldn’t do. I couldn’t very well just take a bite from the doughy hunk, or I would stain my cravat. I really had to go out of my way for th
is debacle. With the aid of the knife, I cut the soft bread into small squares and finally took a taste.
Unwittingly, I closed my eyes and savored it. The flavor profile was remarkable and beyond what I had ever experienced before. The bread was spongy and a bit firm and tasted of buttermilk, and the syrup complemented its nutty quality. The sliced berries lent an agreeable tang to balance the sweetness.
While it was far too decadent to finish, I did help myself to several bites before investigating the rest of the offerings. Perhaps Chef Douglas had actually carefully considered the premise of serving me an uncommon meal because he had deemed it worthy of me. Each shockingly rich course redeemed itself with a certain harmony, such as the peppery, crunchy skin that was just short of too opulent by revealing plain white chicken underneath. After I had tested every contribution to my breakfast, I resolved that I would not terminate Chef’s employment or even severely reprimand him for deviating from his duties. I felt sustained by the end of the meal and determined I would ask the faun who was responsible for his new creations.
I set my napkin on the table, stood up, and walked to the front of the table. A wave of students already started to trickle into the room, but I was sure that the cook could spare the time to answer my questions. I crossed my arms and looked at him intently in order to convey an air of authority.
“To what do I owe the odd but not entirely unwelcome pleasure of my unique feast, Chef Douglas?” I channeled a deeper tone of voice so that I didn’t sound too enthusiastic. I still wanted to bring to light that I was aware of his misconduct. “I would have you inform me the next time you decide to change my breakfast courses, but today, I am satisfied. Have you been hosting a royal bard?”
Despite my surliness, I could never faze Chef Douglas. He was good-natured as ever and met me with a toothy grin. He must have been pleased that Bouclier’s students were already taken care of and that he didn’t have to exhaust any more of his will. He could merely watch over the dining mages who tucked into their pies and revel in the accomplishment.
“Aye! I am glad to hear that ye enjoyed yerself, young master. I can’t take all the credit, no, I can’t!” he exclaimed cheerfully. “And that was no bard, either, though ye can easily make that mistake! Yer guest from last night has turned out to be quite the cookin’ mage!”
I had been so focused on how to obtain details about my meal from the chef that I hadn’t even noticed Joan on the far end of the counter. She was murmuring to herself in the manner that Chef Douglas had when concocting food for the students.
“Orange juice… the type that makes you pucker your mouth with the perfect sourness… cuts the sweetness of syrup and jam…” Joan whispered excitedly, but I had no idea what she was on about.
At any rate, I was more concerned about what she wore, a lovely burgundy bodice embroidered with a pattern of cream-colored cherries was tightened around a soft, white linen robe. I took advantage of her concentration to study how the innocent motif of berries seemed so tortuously provocative when stretched across her ample chest. Her pristine robe also invited me to drag it up her creamy thighs and pin her onto the serving counter if it weren’t for any pesky onlookers. I was aggravated by how much one night had incited my craving for this lamb’s blood, and her fetching ensemble didn’t help. It brought to mind a servile woman who would be attentive to a mage’s needs. Unfortunately, Joan was more on the mouthy side, and the delicate suggestiveness of her appearance belied her stubbornness.
Since I wanted to prevent her from having any power over me, I did the best I could to redirect my thoughts. I was impressed that her attire had transformed after one morning with the faun. Her energy must have been very focused on her task to have influenced her attire to such a great degree.
“Joan, I see that you are fitting in somewhere quite nicely, at least.” I gestured to the serving counter. “I’m glad you’re making yourself useful.”
She looked at me searchingly, as though she was expecting me to be much more expressive. When she had waited long enough to determine that I would not give her a pat on the head or an ode to her cooking, she decided to cross over to the other side of the counter, clearly miffed. The novice kitchen maid pressed her knuckles into her hips, tapped her foot, and then finally spoke up.
“So, what’s the verdict?” she asked intently, her voice strained with a touch of annoyance. “Did you enjoy yourself? Discover a few new flavors?”
“For what it’s worth, I wasn’t entirely put off by your elaborate creations,” I reasoned. “It isn’t what I would have sought out, but I was able to stomach it.”
I thought I could detect a pout play upon Joan’s lips as she processed my underwhelming reaction. “Is that really all you have to say?” she questioned, trying to coerce some crumb of flattery out of me.
Poor creature. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. I didn’t want to reward a disregard for my desires. I would rather that she cultivate her cooking skills into a form of service, not a means to play tricks on me.
“Well, if you must know,” I responded casually, “while you introduced me to a fascinating array of dishes, I do not wish to be subjected to such a surprise again. Lamb’s blood cuisine is far too rich, and it’s an embarrassment for a Von Brandt to be caught with a whole banquet worth of it.”
I continued with my admonishment. “Besides, if you’re looking to get ahead here by catering to me, then you might as well take that deferential role seriously and listen to what I’ve asked for. I’m sure it’ll fall in place in due time if you manage to even remain here. Let me know if it becomes too overwhelming, and I need to bring you back to the world of the meek.”
“To hell with that!” Joan snapped back as her eyes flashed with offended rage. “I’m not your little maid. I just thought that maybe you could widen your horizons a bit because the scenery must get pretty boring with your head stuck so far up your ass!”
She swept her arms out widely to signify all the pies she had summoned. “Just because you don’t see my potential, doesn’t mean there isn’t any there! Isn’t this enough damn proof that I’m capable of figuring out a spell or two?!”
Aurelius whined, and the students began to gawk at us even as they continued delving into their pies. I noticed that Lydia and her companions, however, had disdainfully shoved their designated meals off the table so that they lay as a multicolored puddle on the floor. However, beyond pooling their will together to create their own individual bowls of fruit, they did not intervene. They must have been entertained by the scene. Lydia even placed her elbow down on the table and cradled her head in her hand, smiling dreamily as though our conflict was the greatest gift bestowed upon her.
“What this is all evidence of,” I drawled as though I was bored with the raving of a child, “is that you choose the lesser crafts and that you aren’t terribly concerned with channeling your will into more noble undertakings. Shame, since that’s why I was appointed to bring you here, to hone your gifts, not dawdle in the kitchen.”
Joan stood frozen, paralyzed momentarily by my scathing lecture. Her gaze drifted to Lydia and the other mages who witnessed her humiliation and then brought her eyes, wet with tears, back to me. She looked painfully pretty after I had chided her, the picture of wounded innocence.
When she wasn’t yelling back at me in defense, I thought that I could determine her intentions more clearly. The purity of her stunned and hurt expression led me to believe that perhaps she really had gone out of her way to deal me a favor and lavish me with an extraordinary meal. I reached out to touch her arm in consolation, eager to feel her tender flesh. Once I did though, she found her voice again and violently shrugged my hand off.
“Talk about a fucking rollercoaster! You’re seriously unhinged, handing my ass to me in public and then trying to comfort me?!” She was incensed enough to blink back her tears and will herself not to cry. “Just leave me alone. You’ve had your breakfast, and now you’ve had your fill of making me the class laughingstock
.”
I collected myself and resisted balling my hand into a fist in irritation. Joan was intent on rejecting every gesture of goodwill and concern I provided. Her frustrating reluctance dampened what little compassion I had to spare. I was enchanted nobility, and I did not need to answer to her or tax myself attempting to help her feel in place or cared for.
“The lady has made herself heard.” My response dripped with sarcasm. “I will take my leave and allow you to fall down the ranks with your own foolishness. Just mind that you don’t tarnish the good name of Bouclier with the stench of lamb’s blood cuisine. Do exercise some caution, Joan.”
She turned on her heel to return by Chef Douglas’ side, and I gracefully strode out as though I was indifferent to her bruised emotions. If this were any other day and any other woman, that wouldn’t have been an act at all. I made it a habit to refuse getting caught up with the unpredictable tempest that was feminine feelings. Though I was admittedly amused to elicit tears in others for a night, I didn’t much care what happened afterward. The young mages knew who I was when they sought me out, and I wouldn’t bend to any woman’s will to cater to her needs.
I desired the privacy of my room and an escape from the infernal chatter of my peers. Surely they would have plenty to chew over after the dramatic show that Joan and I had put on. While that was certainly an inconvenience, I wasn’t terribly bothered by it. Hardly a week could go by without me launching into a tirade about standards and customs, so everyone had grown accustomed to this. In fact, I’m sure they would have thought that I would have been remiss if I hadn’t lived up to my role as the Headmaster’s demanding son. My berating the newest student, and a clumsy lamb’s blood at that, was my calling. How else would she learn what was appropriate?