The Redwood Palace

by M K Hutchins

  “I don’t either.”

  She inclined her head. “I noticed. If you had some notion, your reconnaissance would have been more focused.”

  Was she criticizing my spying abilities? It wasn’t like I came from a family that encouraged slipping around corners and eavesdropping.

  “Tell me what you know.”

  I recounted Fir’s theft, the snake, and how Fir arranged for Hawak to be sent away. Oh, and the girl who’d taken her name off the list. Then I paused.

  Lady Sulat stared expectantly at me. “Do go on.”

  My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, like sauce burnt onto a crock. What else did I know? I’d learned so little. “Lady Egal didn’t dismiss me, so I don’t think she’s involved.”

  Lady Sulat nodded. She’d already put that together.

  “Umm. And I didn’t find anything in Blue Lord Torut’s apartments.”

  “My brother’s a useless drunk,” Lady Sulat stated, with the same emotion of someone noting that grass is green.

  What else had I learned? “I think I can exorcise the Hungry Ghost. Maybe. I’ve... employed it as my spy.”

  “Yes. Admittedly the cleverest thing you’ve done,” Lady Sulat said. And still she stared at me.

  My ankle throbbed dully from Captain Gano’s attack. So much work, so much running about, and I’d learned so little. Lady Sulat was right. I had no great skill in reconnaissance. “I... I don’t have anything else.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  I bit my lip. Moss must have noticed something I overlooked.

  “We have you.”

  “M-me?”

  Lady Sulat nodded, one hand on her son’s back. “Yes, you. Fir knows you suspect him. You’ve made him nervous. He won’t neglect to report your conversation to whomever he serves.”

  “I don’t see how that helps us,” I admitted.

  Lady Sulat didn’t ridicule me—she seemed to appreciate plain speech. “Tonight, there will be a wedding for Acting Master Chef Sorrel. I assume you’ve heard about that?”

  She may as well have thrown vinegar in my eyes. I managed a curt nod.

  “Given that he’s holding an honored spot in the palace, the Purple, Blue, and a good portion of the Green rank within the palace will attend. You will also come to the wedding. I’ll keep Moss nearby, of course. Plus a few other guards on the fringes. I want to see how others react to you. Fir’s master may give himself away.”

  Go to the wedding? I might as well disembowel myself and grill the offal. “You think whoever dared to have you poisoned will be careless enough to say something to me?”

  “Ah. Has no one told you? I’m perceptive-of-eye, like my husband. He uses it to survey battlefields. I use it to read people. Tiny twitches. Pulse in the throat. Pupil dilation. You, for example, have no desire to go to the wedding—but a blind man could see that from your tone. You’re coming anyway.”

  I volunteered to take Lady Sulat’s tea tray back to the kitchens. Moss and I hurried through the gardens, but the rain soaked us through anyway. I should have grabbed my mantle before we left.

  The kitchens were hot, muggy, and almost as busy as the night Lady Sulat was poisoned. The apprentices bustled and swore as they burned their fingers or as their crocks boiled over. In the only clean, unhurried corner of the kitchens, three servants I didn’t recognize scrubbed crocks.

  “Where’s Osem?” I asked them. Half of me wanted to see her and the other half dreaded apologizing for doing dangerous things I intended to keep doing.

  “Getting more firewood, but it’s slower work with the rain,” said the oldest girl. “We’re here temporarily—Lady Egal wants the kitchen running smoothly for the wedding.”

  I nodded and turned. Unlike everyone else, Sorrel stood still. He leaned over the menu slate, muttering to himself, that line between his brows. So serious. So focused.

  I wouldn’t see him again before the wedding. I bit my lip. Why couldn’t I have proved my innocence first? Why didn’t I have a week with him in the kitchen, cooking, to convince him to adore me? Fear burned my throat, but today was my only opportunity.

  I strode behind him and read over his shoulder. The wedding menu.

  “Did you come to the kitchens to poison something, or is your ankle acting up?” he asked, turning around.

  “My ankle’s doing much better, thank you.”

  “So you’re here to poison me? Please come back later. I’m busy today.” He rubbed his neck, then stretched it from side to side. Wedding feasts required five courses—turning all that food into a harmonious, balancing meal was no small feat. As the Acting Master Chef, everyone would judge his skill on this dinner. No wonder he looked stressed.

  “If you change the soup course from parsnips to beet greens, that will balance out the sweet problem with the honey-acorn custard in the fourth course.”

  He stared at me, then his chalk board, then back at me. “I... I do believe you’re right. That’s perfect. Thank you.”

  Surprise and—better yet—respect showed in his eyes. “I don’t suppose you have any miraculous suggestions for the main course?”

  “What’s the problem?” The skewered, spiced meat he proposed would be perfect.

  “Rain. If we bring them out on large platters, they’ll cool. If we cover the platters, they’ll lose their crust in the steam. Covers aren’t a problem for anything else, but this...”

  I chewed my lip. Sorrel wanted perfection. He wanted to prove himself. “Skewers cook quickly.”

  “I know.”

  “In the summer, back at home, sometimes we’d dig a long, thin trench and fill it with coals. Everyone could come with their individual skewers, turning them as we talked, eating them hot as they finished. Most of the village turned out.”

  Sorrel shook his head. “It’s still raining. We can’t all sit on the grass.”

  “So you make the trench across the table.” I took his slate and chalk and sketched a narrow brick trough, lined with sand, then coals. “If you do it right, you won’t burn the table. Fire at eye level. It will look spectacular, and you can ensure the skewers all turn out perfect.”

  Sorrel peered at my drawing, looking at it from one side, then the other. He erased it, then redrew it with the bricks arranged slightly differently. “Dami, you’re brilliant. This will work.”

  Tanoak, on his way to the cellar, glanced at it. “Huh. That is clever, Dami.”

  “Clever indeed. Thank you.” Sorrel beamed at me. His eyes glittered when he did that. He smelled of well-oiled maple cutting boards and coriander. Smells I could sink into forever.

  My stomach felt like a white-hot coal. Maybe I couldn’t explain who I was. Maybe I didn’t have time to win him over slowly, cooking together in the kitchens, but I wouldn’t lose this fantastic chef of a man because cowardice tied my tongue.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  He jerked back, all the warmth in his face snuffed into confusion. “This is my wedding menu you helped with, remember?”

  “Which is why I had to tell you now.” My mouth tasted like sand and salt. This was the part where his smile would return. Where he’d take both my hands and everything would be fine again.

  Rage simmered behind his eyes, but he kept his voice down. “Are you trying to gain my affections so you can humiliate me like your sister did? Or is throwing me off-balance part of another poisoning plot of yours?”

  “Sorrel, I’m not playing games with you. I mean it. You’re amazing.”

  He brusquely chalked in beet green soup for the second course. My innards felt like someone was making forcemeat out of them. But I couldn’t convince my feet to move. He could still smile. He could still take my hand. His cold anger could turn into something warm—shouldn’t he know that he loved me, once?

  Sorrel didn’t look up. “Get out of my kitchen.”

  “That went well!” Moss said cheerfully, one step behind me as we returned to Lady Sulat’s rooms. “I’m sure it will give the apprentice
s something to gossip about for a solid week. Maybe two.”

  “Not helping, Moss,” I muttered. We passed under a covered walkway, but I didn’t try to shake out my wet hair. Other servants wore mantles tucked over their heads, but the marrow-numbing spring chill matched my mood. My arms hung limp at my side. If I’d had a little more time. A few days.

  Ancestors, why did his wedding have to be today?

  I felt nothing in response to my silent prayer—just the bitter hollowness in my chest.

  “Didn’t you expect him to reject you? I mean, if Sorrel had called off his wedding, then you couldn’t stand before the guests. And that’d ruin our Lady’s plans, hmm?”

  Moss was chiding me, but I was too empty to respond. I wanted to crawl under the porch and spend the rest of my life with worms.

  The wedding was, for lack of a better word, splendid. The rain dimmed to a mist and the sun, low in the western sky, shone through it—creating a warm haze around each of the five white pavilions. They shone like ethereal pearls in a lighting no mortal hand could orchestrate.

  Lanterns flickered along the walkway. I followed a half-step behind Lady Sulat to the pavilion for the first course. Weddings always had five courses—one focusing on sour, spicy, salty, and sweet, then a final morsel served in a small spoon that harmoniously combined all four flavors. The actual wedding was the fifth course, with the bride and groom feeding each other the final, perfect bite. Usually the oldest person in the family performed the wedding, but King Alder took precedence here, as the father of our nation.

  I sat next to Lady Sulat on a cushion around the low table. She’d left her son with his nurse. Even though I could tell she was still sore from birth, she seated herself gracefully.

  Others filled in around us. Blue Lord Torut listed tipsily to one side. Captain Gano of the Palace Guard towered over everyone in the rear of the tent, his hair and severe mustache immaculately combed and waxed. King Alder sat at the largest table, with Sorrel on his right and Violet on his left. The honored couple.

  I couldn’t bring myself to look at Sorrel, but Violet was radiant, her skirt a mixture of yellow, green, red, and white—each color representing a different taste. She’d tied it tightly to accentuate her curves. Spring flowers trailed through her crowns of braids.

  I stared down at my hands in my lap. Plain hands, calloused from scrubbing pots and nicked by a handful of old knife wounds and burns. If I looked as lovely as Violet, would Sorrel have considered my words this morning, noted my skill, and remembered that he’d first dreamed of marrying a chef?

  Servers brought the first course in tiny bowls—vinegar-marinated mushrooms garnished with green garlic and crushed, candied hazelnuts. I tasted Lady Sulat’s, then ate my own bowl. Sour dominated, as it was supposed to, but notes of salty, sweet, and spicy played in the background. Elegant. Lovely. And it settled like ash in the pit of my stomach.

  Purple Lord Heir Valerian arrived and squeezed in next to Lady Sulat. As a servant scurried off to fetch him a bowl, Valerian explained to his aunt how he’d gotten caught up in the most fascinating manuscript on the proper construction of bathhouses—then regaled her with the details.

  Lady Egal sat, stately as ever, at the table next to ours. Relatives and officials surrounded her, including Fir. He had the gall to wink at me. I clenched my hands in my skirt and refused to look his way after that. Nearby, Lord Torut slurped down his mushrooms without chewing, eyes bloodshot from wine.

  Valerian finished his story and tasted the food. “Mmm. We haven’t eaten like this since Hawak left. Is he due back soon?”

  “Your great-grandmother is very old, Valerian. Hawak will probably return after she passes. Returning to health at her age... it’s unlikely.”

  “Oh.” That dampened his mood considerably. “But... Grandfather. He’ll get better, right?”

  Given the way King Alder fretted over him? Well-treated illnesses that lingered for months like this usually meant a long, slow end. I doubted King Former Fulsaan would escape that fate.

  Lady Sulat rested a hand on Valerian’s shoulder. “I hope so. You should pray in the Royal Shrine for him.”

  Valerian smiled at her, as if her word alone had power to heal.

  We finished the course and moved to the next tent, making way for another wave of guests to enter the first pavilion. Most were lesser officials; servants would come last. As we settled in the second tent, Lady Egal sneered down her nose at me. She addressed Lady Sulat. “I can’t fathom why you’d bring an accused poisoner to feast with you.”

  I wanted to defend myself, but Lady Egal wouldn’t believe my innocence no matter what I said.

  Lady Sulat remained glassy calm as she sat. “Accused, yes. I have also accused her of saving my life and that of my child. Do tell, should we revile or honor her?”

  Lady Egal turned back to her own companions without another word. She loathed me, but I already knew why. I tried to read the other faces. Valerian laughed as the servers placed the beet greens soup before us. Lord Torut recited poetry to the unfortunate woman next to him. King Alder smiled, but his eyes held the same sadness I’d heard in his voice the other night when he talked about his father and this war.

  I tasted Lady Sulat’s dish, then my own. The ribbons of greens floated in a broth well-spiced with hotradish. Once again, Sorrel showed perfect execution.

  At the first and largest table, Violet giggled. “Oh, Sorrel, you’re so talented. This is wonderful!”

  He smiled, flustered by her praise. I resolved to stare at the tablecloth.

  “Have you heard that the Shoreed are nearing Napil?” asked a gray-bearded man of the Blue Rank. I thought I heard someone call him the Minister of the Interior.

  “We can’t let them have the mines,” said the woman next to him. She looked half his age and had his nose—probably his daughter. “What is General Yuin doing about it?”

  King Alder interrupted. “Enough.” That one word rumbled through the tent. “This is a wedding, not a war chamber. We’ll not talk of such sad things tonight. Onto the next course.”

  We left half-finished soup bowls behind. How must it be, to sit as king while your nation warred? Families suffered individual tragedies, but he reigned as Father of our nation. Every death was his own tragedy.

  But if he felt the loss so deeply, how could he hang twelve apprentices? He could have dismissed them instead or investigated the truth.

  Maple charcoal scented the air as soon as Captain Gano stooped and pulled back the tent flap for His Majesty to enter the third pavilion. Guests gasped in delight.

  Per my suggestion, a shallow trench of bricks blazed on each table. Servers handed skewers of quartered rabbits, glittering with salt, to each guest. Some stared at them, confused, but Sorrel explained.

  “This meat cooks quickly, so it seemed a shame to do it anywhere but here. Lay it across the coals.” He demonstrated. “And turn it frequently. When you smell char, it is complete.”

  “I’m impressed,” King Alder said, laying down his own skewer. “How did you come up with such an idea?”

  “My beautiful bride inspired me.”

  No. Chefs didn’t claim other chefs’ inventions. “Liar.”

  The accusation jumped from my mouth before I could catch myself, but I had no desire to take it back. This was a matter of professional integrity now. I stared defiantly at him, face hard.

  “Did you call me a liar?” Sorrel demanded.

  Most of the guests glanced between us. It wasn’t my place to comment. But Lady Sulat gestured for me to speak, her face as unreadable as always.

  “I did. Apprentice Tanoak heard our conversation. I’m surprised your pride has run away with you. I suggested this.”

  Sorrel’s face twisted. “I decided where to lay each brick.”

  “True. But I’m the one who suggested a trench of bricks in the first place. You can’t claim this is your invention, or that Violet sparked it.”

  The line between his eyebrow tight
ened, then relaxed. He smiled. “Are you that jealous? Alas,” Sorrel said to the table at large, “I don’t think Dami’s sound in the head. She professed her feelings for me this morning. And now this? Publicly insulting me on my wedding day?”

  If he didn’t want to credit me in front of the King or his bride, he should have given an off-hand answer: some servant suggested it or I’m just glad it looks so lovely.

  I stood, planning to snatch a skewer and say something devastating like, Then let us fetch Tanoak and prove your hubris!

  Instead, my foot caught on the tablecloth. I knocked into the table, hard. Two of the bricks fell out of place, sending coals rolling across the table, flames licking up the fabric in their wake. I gaped in mute horror.

  Some quick-witted server tossed a pitcher of chilled rosehip tea over the whole thing. Sodden ashes, steam, and blackened cloth remained.

  Everyone stared at me. Some sneered, some laughed, some gaped, some shook their heads in pity. Servers, lords, ladies, and lesser guests alike.

  My throat pinched off. My chest tightened.

  “Not sound in the head, indeed,” Lady Egal muttered, loud enough for all to hear. Fir snickered.

  I ran out of the tent. Up the hill, into the bushes framing the lawn around the pond. I sank onto the rain-soaked ground, buried my head in my knees, and wished I had the strength left to cry.

  I didn’t know how long I’d sat there when a broad, gentle hand touched my shoulder. “Dami?”

  I blinked up. Bane. In his black uniform, he practically melted into the bushes.

  Elegant as always, I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “What are you doing here?”

  “One of the servers told Nisaat, then she ran to tell me.”

  So glad to know rumors about this wouldn’t spread fast. The sun had set completely and the clouds had cleared, leaving the stars and lanterns competing for attention.