Page 39 of The Chef

“Hands in the air. You’re under arrest. All of you,” Braxton added pointedly to the healer, who had opened his mouth to protest.

Slowly, all three obeyed, although the loudmouthed guard and healer both looked like they wanted to argue. One of Braxton’s guards—Mark—moved forward to disarm the two guards. He checked the healer, but he wasn’t carrying anything. The other of Braxton’s guards—Sapson—drew his sword and stood ready to intervene if needed. Braxton watched, arms crossed and scowling, seething inside.

How dare these mere guards presume to know what Braxton wanted! How dare they touch Clament! All of his fire, his fierce beauty, shuttered and hidden behind a thin blanket and high fever. And there was no telling what mental issues Clament now bore, since torture was more effective at breaking a man than getting actual answers.

“Luckily we’re already in a prison,” Braxton said, bending down to retrieve one of the sets of keys on the ground next to the pile of weapons. He passed the keys to Mark. “Mark, put them each in their own cell. Quickly. I need to get Prince Clament to the healers’ wing.”

Mark took the keys and dragged the three prisoners away, Sapson following, sword still at the ready. Braxton left them to it, turning to Clament. He gently slid his arms underneath the curled body, feeling the shivering rattling through his own bones, and picked Clament up. Clament’s golden head rested against Braxton’s shoulder, his puffing, panting breaths blowing against Braxton’s neck. He started walking out of the prison, heading for the secret passages that would keep Clament’s presence and illness secret from gossipmongers and spies alike. Mark and Sapson caught up quickly, following as Braxton led the way through the passages to the healers’ wing, hoping he wasn’t too late to save Clament’s life.

Epilogue

CHAR WAS BUSYscraping the meat out of pie pumpkins, the flesh still steaming as they were fresh from baking in the oven, when a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind.

“If you make me drop a pumpkin...” Char growled, trailing off threateningly. His pumpkin-coated hands glowed faintly blue as his magic protected him from the heat, and he held them up and away from the arms hugging Char into a warm and very familiar chest.

“It’s the Frost Festival!” Fen exclaimed. “You’re supposed to have fun!”

“I am having fun,” Char growled. “I’m baking. I promised to deliver a thousand hand pies to the festival grounds in time for the dance tonight!”

“How much longer will it take? I want to steal you away to go look through the stalls. And there’re a lot of games set up on the back lawn too.”

Char sighed. A glance over at Karl said the dough was almost done. Karl was already rolling it out, his circle cutter ready to start making the correct shapes. Shan was bagging all the leftover seeds, which Char would clean and roast for a festive snack to offer back at the barracks. All that was left was thefilling of pumpkin, evaporated milk, eggs, and spices, which he had just been yanked away from.

“Another hour, if you stop distracting me. Can you wait that long?”

Fen let out a huff but started laughing a second later. He stepped back, finally releasing Char, and his smile was electric.

“How about I help out instead? Another set of hands and you might be done sooner.” Fen went over to one of the sinks located in the corner of the massive cooking tent, set up specifically for the festival, to wash his hands. The space was full of cooks and chefs from all around the country, all of whom had been contracted to serve at least one dish sometime during the festival. Even Terrance was actually cooking something on the other side of the tent. The palace kitchens were far too small to fit everyone, so the temporary tent was used.

Char returned to scooping cooked pumpkin. The sooner he got it out of the shells, the faster it would cool to the point he could safely add eggs without scrambling them.

Fen went to help Karl with the dough, leaving Char to focus on getting his spice mixture correct and getting the pumpkin ready to fill the pie shells. Normal pumpkin pie was loose until it was baked; Char would have preferred to use miniature tart shells rather than hand pies for pumpkin, but there weren’t enough tart tins. Instead he had altered the ratios of ingredients to make a thicker filling without compromising on taste. Once the filling was ready, Char showed Shan how much to place in the center of each dough circle, then showed Karl and Fen how to fold and crimp the edges. Once the edges were secure, Char gave the outside a quick egg wash, and then the pies went into the oven. Even with Fen’s help, they still took the full hour, but finally the last of the pies were out of the oven and cooling on a rack.

Char gave his instructions to one of the kitchen servants. There was an entire cadre of servants assigned to the kitchen tent solely responsible for boxing and delivering the completed food. Once that was done, he turned to the kids.

“Here’s some money. Buy some dinner for yourselves, and if you see something at the shops you’d like, go ahead and buy it.” Char held out more than enough money for Karl and Shan to enjoy themselves at the festival. But, when Karl gripped the money, Char didn’t let go. “Stay out of trouble,” he added pointedly, giving them his best suspicious, parental eyeing.

“We’ll be good. Promise, Chef,” Karl replied.

Char smiled and let go. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Karl split the money in half, sharing it with Shan. “We’re gonna go find Emily,” Karl said, waving as they ran off. “I think she’s at the weapons expo with Zain.”

They vanished into the crowd, and Char turned toward Fen, who held out a hand for Char to take.

Walking together, hand in hand, was a rare pleasure. Char luxuriated in the uninterrupted time to just be a couple. No soldiers running up with tasks for Fen to complete. No more meals to prep for the rest of the day. They were both free of all responsibilities until tomorrow morning, which was glorious. They left the palace grounds and walked to the largest park where shopkeepers had set up tents, singers and actors had set up stages, and what appeared to be the entire city had descended. Many neighborhoods had their own, smaller festival areas, and bars and restaurants throughout the city were offering specials for the holiday, but this was the best and most exciting place to be.

Outside the kitchen tent, the air was brisk with midwinter chill, although serious snow wouldn’t begin falling until nextmonth. That and the crush of people gave Char an excuse to cuddle close to Fen. They went through the food area first, tasting the samples of cheeses and spreads on offer and checking out the stalls selling pots and pans. Char obtained a number of business cards for places to contact after the festival had ended, including a company offering a nonstick coating on metal saucepans that the company claimed allowed for reduced oil or butter in the cooking process to allow for healthier meals. They shared a massive funnel cake covered in powdered sugar, which ended up being lunch since it was so big. Next, Char happily followed Fen over to where weapons merchants had set up their stalls, and they spent a while perusing swords, knives, and armor.

All in all, it was a lovely afternoon. Only when the sun began to dip, the adjacent buildings casting long shadows over the park, did they return to the palace. Char was getting used to being in Fen’s room, at least. He spent a couple nights a month there with Fen. However, he still felt odd wandering through the rest of the palace. He was allowed full access to pretty much the entire building, but usually stayed with Fen or in Fen’s room. Tonight, though, he was trying to put aside that awkward feeling.

“Are you sure I should be wearing this?” Char asked, plucking at the leg of the vermillion suit Fen had him put on. The jacket was embroidered in a design of feathers in more reds, oranges, and yellows, and Char missed his boring and utilitarian brown pants and white shirt. Fen shrugged into a cobalt blue jacket embroidered with the same feathers, only in blues and purples, before turning to survey Char. His smile was slow and full of heat, a definite promise for later that had Char half wishing they could skip the dance entirely.

“We can’t go to a masque without a costume. We are two stages of the lifespan of the mythical phoenix,” he added as he reached back into the box their outfits had come out of and retrieved two masks. They were identical aside from the color: pointed beaks and dyed feathers to look like a bird’s face. Fen handed Char the blue one, rather than the red. Mentally shrugging, Char slipped it on, wondering whether Fen knew his need to use the mask to mark Char as his was so damned adorable.

“Besides,” Fen continued, grinning cheekily. “You know you want to go to the dance to see how your pumpkin things turned out.”

Char stuck his tongue out at Fen, even though Fen was right about the hand pies. However, what Char really wanted he already had. Fen slid an arm over Char’s shoulder, pulling him into a hug. Char cuddled close.

“I am glad I decided not to kill you,” Fen murmured into Char’s hair, his nose nuzzling along Char’s ear.

Char pushed his mask up out of the way and pressed his lips firmly to Fen’s. “I’m glad too.”