by M K Hutchins
“Osem?”
She held a lidded, glazed bowl. “I brought you a present.”
“How...” I stared at her, then at the trap door. None of the guards moved to throw her out.
Osem crossed the room and pressed the bowl into my hands. “Open it.”
I cleaned my hands on a rag, then cracked the lid. A few freshly-butchered slices of bear heart rested inside. Just what Lady Sulat needed. I spluttered. “How did you know?”
“Oh, I’m thoughtful like that.” She grinned. “Moss asked me to bring it in, actually.”
My heart sank. “I’m sorry you’re tangled up in all of this.”
“All of what?”
I gestured around the room and sighed. “Whoever’s targeting Lady Sulat could come after you, too.”
We’d gotten Violet by following Fir, after all. But Osem shrugged, unconcerned.
I gave Moss a stern look. “I thought you’d buy some, not endanger her.”
“We did buy some. Osem’s less conspicuous than a guard in the market. Besides, it’s no great additional threat to her. Anyone with half a brain in the palace already knows that Osem is Lady Sulat’s person.”
I bit my lip. Apparently I didn’t have half a brain. I glanced at Osem.
She sighed. “Great, Moss. Now you’ve hurt her feelings.”
The way she said it made me feel like a sheltered child. But I didn’t want to sound like one, too, so I busied myself banking coals against a crock of water.
“Lady Sulat took me in.” Osem’s soft tone conjured up her siblings, parents, and husband who’d died in Shoreed’s first strike. “She’s as wise as she is kind. So, yes, she has my loyalty. I’m her eyes and ears in the kitchens.”
“You’re a spy. Like Moss.” My words felt distant, surreal.
Osem laughed. “Ha! Like Moss? I’d say I’m far better at it than him.”
“Arrogant youth,” Moss muttered. “I was her guard, Osem. It’s not as if I had much opportunity for subtlety.”
My mouth tasted like chalk. “On our days off—you always came in so late at night. You were reporting on me. Weren’t you?”
“You and everyone else. Don’t take it personally. Then I took lessons on reading from an officer’s wife in the city. Like I said, Lady Sulat cares for her own.”
I pinned my eyes on Moss. “Did Lady Sulat send Bane, too?”
“What? No. That boy’s perfectly addle-headed on his own.”
Did I trust Moss?
“Dami, don’t be upset. I do enjoy your company,” Osem said. “My report to Lady Sulat is part of the reason she trusted you weren’t the poisoner. She originally wanted me in the kitchens to look into the Hungry Ghost.”
I peered at her. “You always scare it away.”
“I’m no chef. I can’t exorcise it. I merely funneled information to Lady Sulat. Some of Hawak’s research, mostly the ghost’s behavior. Once I tried to follow it into Askan-Wod, but that black lump of fat can run faster than the wind. After the hangings, Lady Sulat told me to stop. Better to have ears in the kitchens than another execution.”
“You knew the exorcism steps,” I said, hurt. “You knew and wouldn’t tell me.” And then I’d foolishly alerted Archivist Linaan to my intent.
“Believe that if you like, but I didn’t know. Before the hangings, Hawak didn’t share that particular tidbit with the kitchens because he didn’t want the apprentices trying anything by themselves. Now he says nothing about ghosts at all.”
A perfectly cooked meal, the ghost’s true regret, and a confession of the ills it had committed. I searched Osem’s familiar face, the face of a spy, and couldn’t decide if I believed those honest brown eyes or not. Across the room, the soldier’s game of stones clinked on.
“Why would I need to know how to exorcise a ghost? I’m no cook. Lady Sulat was arranging to sneak a trusted chef into the palace to deal with it.” Osem tilted her head to the side. “Hmm. If you survive this, she’ll probably use you. You’re already here.”
Moss gave her a sharp look. “That’s enough details.”
“After our duplicity, doesn’t she deserve a show of trust?”
“Lady Sulat hasn’t asked for her loyalty yet,” Moss muttered.
I faced the hearth, turning my back to Moss and Osem. Not to scorn them, but to hide my face. Would Lady Sulat ask for my loyalty?
Lady Sulat had saved me from the Palace Guards already. She had compassion on people like Bane and Osem. But I’d also seen how well she put people to use. Under her protection, I could try to cook an exorcism. Perhaps she’d send me to heal others that served her.
I could be a chef. I could be Plum again.
To the crock of hot water I added slices of heart and a number of herbs. When Lady Sulat woke up, I’d talk to her. I’d ask her what plans she held for me. And if it matched what I imagined, I’d swear my allegiance to her.
For the first time since I tore up Sorrel’s letter, I was excited about my future.
Maybe I shouldn’t be too hard on Osem and Moss. They weren’t entirely insincere with me. Not even Osem could fake that haunted terror in her eyes whenever I placed myself in danger.
“Are you managing in the kitchens without me?” I asked.
Osem blinked, surprised at my shift in tone. She grinned. “Sorrel’s making the apprentices take shifts scrubbing, like they did before you came. The dishes are getting clean.”
“Glad to know I was helpful,” I joked.
“Oh, you’d be plenty of help cooking if we let you back in. Old King Fulsaan has been asking for basket after basket of branches every day. Then he mashes them up, pisses in them, and sends them back to the kitchens all foul. Can’t even use it as fodder for ducks. If he weren’t purple-ranked, I’d scold him for wasting all that beautiful, glossy buckwheat.”
My heart stopped.
“Dami? Are you all right?” Osem jogged to my side and laid a hand on my shoulder.
The basket of branches. The Hungry Ghost had tried to devour them, turned them to foul slime, then pointed at the basket. Every time we met since, he’d pantomimed it.
Now Old King Fulsaan did the same—baskets of branches, desecrated as if by a Hungry Ghost.
The Ghost wasn’t demanding branches to eat. He’d been sending a message, trying to point me to Old King Fulsaan. Had the ghost not noticed my absence from the kitchens, or had it hoped I’d hear about Fulsaan’s strange behavior anyway?
The palace records held no answers for me. But Old King Fulsaan could tell me about this ghost’s past, how it had died, and perhaps even what vices the exorcism needed to target.
“I have to talk to Old King Fulsaan.”
Moss gave me an odd look. “You can’t visit King Former Fulsaan. King Alder barely lets Lady Sulat visit—and that’s once a week, under his personal watchful eye. The King is paranoid about his father’s health.”
The other guards in the room gave us uncomfortable glances, but kept playing their game of stones. Their conversation shifted to someone’s wedding.
I salted the broth. “The King Former has lived in the palace so long, in such a position of power—it makes sense he knows who the Hungry Ghost is. And somehow, he can communicate with it.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why would the King Former converse with ghosts?” Osem asked.
“Maybe he’s lonely.” He had to be, confined in that room. I continued, explaining all about the branches.
Moss leaned back in his chair. With only the hearth light in this room, his face seemed lined, older. “Hmm. I don’t see how we could sneak you in, though.”
“Moss!” Osem snapped.
Either Osem was a brilliant spy, or she did care about me. Her anger cheered me immensely. “I’m the perfect person to go,” I said. “If I’m caught, well, I’m already going to trial. And if I’m sneaking into the King Former’s room, couldn’t you all claim I’m a Shoreed spy? Maybe I could have a military trial after all.”
Osem scowled, face
lined, eyes haunted. “The Palace Guard does its best to never give up prisoners. Hoping we’ll get you is a gamble—one dependent on the Ministry of Justice. He did us no favors setting up your trial. Why would you risk this?”
“She has a point,” Moss said. “If you’re captured, especially with Lady Sulat incapacitated, you’re not likely to come back. And who will care for Lady Sulat?”
“And who arranged for Lady Sulat to be poisoned in the first place?” I demanded. “Who commands Fir and Violet? Our enemies are still out there. Besides, after my trial you’ll need someone else to care for Lady Sulat anyway. I’ll make a few batches of stock beforehand.”
“That’s morbid,” Osem muttered, arms crossed.
Morbid, but true. “Isn’t it odd that that the King Former sees no one? Maybe he’s not as sick as King Alder says. Maybe he’s locked up his father to keep the man silent about some plot between the ghost and the King. His Majesty did, after all, approve of sending Hawak away. And I’ve heard both of you talk about how he fears the military’s growing political power.”
Moss and Osem both frowned deeply; so did the other guards, though they didn’t turn from their game. I wasn’t the first person to suspect the king.
“Treasonous words,” Osem muttered.
“As if the King doesn’t have enough justification to kill me already! Don’t you think Lady Sulat would want me to try?”
“Our Lady’s clever, not idiotic,” Osem said. “She doesn’t throw lives away.”
“My life is a short-lived asset.”
Moss scratched his nose. “It’s a calculated risk. I’d ask Lieutenant-General Behon’s permission to proceed, except there’s no good way to get you in to King Former Fulsaan.”
My insides fluttered. “I have a plan for that, actually.”
Moss left to speak with Lieutenant-General Behon. My bones felt like overcooked noodles, waiting for his return. Perhaps tonight, I’d sneak out of the safe house. Converse with the King Former. Learn how to exorcise the Hungry Ghost and gain its knowledge.
“Do you have a death wish?” Osem demanded. She sat in the corner, legs stretched before her.
I scrubbed parsley root for tonight’s hotpot, utilizing the best light from the hearth. “I do hope to come out of this alive.”
“Then why haven’t you married Bane yet?”
My throat squeezed. Did everyone in the Redwood Palace know about his proposal? “You’re going to tell me it’s a perfect match too, aren’t you? That I should be so pleased.”
“There’s no such a thing as a perfect match.”
I paused, rag dangling from my hand. “You... didn’t get along with your husband?”
“He didn’t live long enough for me to find out.”
My marrow ached for her. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d been married half a year, before...”
“We were. Marriage is an adjustment, Dami.”
I peered at her. Osem shrugged. “At first, we fought constantly. But I learned that he pinched the bridge of his nose when he was tired, not upset at me. He learned I’m easier to talk to after meals, when I’m not hungry.” She gave a self-deprecating smile. “We still fought. A lot. But we were making it work. Maybe even creating something good.”
Had Moss’ marriage started like that? I bit my lip, trying to find the right condolences, but words failed me. I left the parsley root and fetched some hazelnuts from the cellar. I toasted them while I boiled honey, maple sugar, and a splash of ginger tea together. I tested the sugar mixture in a cool cup of water—it solidified like a crack of lightning. Then I tossed in the hazelnuts, a pinch of salt, a few drops of blackberry molasses for a bit of acidity, and then poured the whole thing onto a slab of granite. The candy cooled quickly, leaving each nut glowing like an amber star. I passed them all to Osem.
She peered at them. “What...?”
“I’m sorry. About what happened.” Candied hazelnuts. Endurance-to-the-soul.
Her eyes widened with the first bite. She nibbled slowly, savoring the sweet with those hints of salt, sour, and spice. As she ate, her whole body relaxed, shoulders to toe.
That is, until Moss returned, face lined. No smiles today.
“What happened?” Osem demanded.
“Nothing,” Moss muttered. “Dami, Lieutenant-General Behon approved your plan. He figures that we need all the information we can get. But if you’re caught, we had nothing to do with any of this. Deny everything. Lieutenant-General Behon made it clear he won’t risk men in some ill-conceived rescue attempt just to send you to trial a day later.”
“Of course. But why do you look so horrible?”
He shook his head, then fetched himself a bowl of hotpot. He didn’t seem worried about me; he seemed exhausted.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“Lieutenant-General Behon personally oversaw Violet’s interrogation. As he should have, given her crimes. But his interrogator’s used to dealing with enemy soldiers, not young women.” The words sounded blank, hollow. Moss dumped my carefully-sliced vegetables and fish in his mouth, his arm moving by rote.
My stomach clenched. “She’s badly hurt, isn’t she?”
“She’s dead.”
The words rang through the room, ushering in silence.
I stared. She was supposed to have a trial. Fairness. Justice.
One of the guards asked, “Did we learn who she served first?”
“No, more’s the pity. If Lady Sulat were awake, she’d give Lieutenant-General Behon a tongue lashing to turn his hide blue.”
The guards muttered curses under their breaths. One snorted. “Can’t say I blame the interrogator. Not after what she’d done.”
Whatever she’d done, she deserved a trial. The law decided guilt, not angry soldiers.
“What’s going to happen to the interrogator?” My voice felt no louder than a squeak. I half-feared the soldiers might berate me, but they kept mumbling.
Moss shrugged. “Nothing. These things happen.”
“Often?” I felt ill.
“Now and then.”
Osem glared at Moss. “This is exactly why Dami shouldn’t be chasing ghosts. Prisons aren’t safe. If a guard is bored, or if someone thinks you have information...”
“After this incident, the interrogators will be more careful,” Moss rebutted.
Not exactly a comforting thought.
Should I have told Violet to flee, then accused her? I felt like I’d licked a Hungry Ghost. She was a traitor, a poisoner. She’d defiled her precious birthgift, meant for healing, by attacking a baby and nearly killing Lady Sulat. Violet deserved whatever judgment the courts gave. But she didn’t deserve this. “How... did she die?”
“She cracked her head on the lip of the room’s hearth.”
I didn’t ask why the interrogation chamber had a hearth; I didn’t want to know. “That killed her?”
“Her brain bled out from the inside. They didn’t notice until too late.” Moss said, monotone. He slurped his broth.
The lump near my temple throbbed. Recipes raced through my brain. Fiddlehead ferns—no, those were out of season already. Dried hen-of-the-woods or spinach, then, to target the head. Yarrow or bone marrow to further target the blood in the head. She’d need sour to get past the immediate danger, then sweet acorns to heal any cracks to her skull.
If I’d been there, could I have saved her?
“You’ll stay now, of course.” That old terror lingered in Osem’s eyes. She understood human cruelty better than I did.
I swallowed and turned to Moss. “You said the Palace Guard would be more careful with me? After this incident?”
“I’m sure. They’d never pass up an opportunity to rub something in the military’s face. Keeping you alive would let them do just that.”
Osem glared at him. “Careful! Careful doesn’t mean they won’t burn and break her hands!”
“I’m sorry, Osem.” My innards felt stabbed with a thousand obsidian blade
s. “But I’m still going.”
Moss blindfolded me and led me out of the safehouse. He took the cloth off in the basement of a noodle shop, jammed with crates of dried food, then led me through the cramped, twisted backstreets of Askan-Wod. Osem strolled silently with us, the words of the argument dropped, the pain in her eyes remaining.
We had no issue getting through the palace gate. When we reached the kitchens—now empty and glowing with dimmed hearths—she disappeared into what had been our room, shoulders tight with anger.
I wanted to call out. To apologize again. But it seemed insincere, given that I wasn’t abandoning my plan.
“I’ll be in the spruce trees. Good luck.” Moss nodded and walked away.
I sat in the open doorway, the smells of the day’s dishes washing over me: smoked venison, long-simmered pumpkin, freshly-shredded ramps. A fruity scent beneath it all—cherries? They’d still have plenty of dried cherries stored from last autumn.
I passed the time listing dishes that made good use of cherries. Stewed mixed fruit, tossed into a hotpot or salad for sweetness. I shivered in the darkness. What if a Palace Guard found me first?
I smelled the ghost before I saw it—the mold of vegetables left in the ground to rot, the stench of flies on spoiled meat. I took Moss’ blindfold and tied it around my mouth and nose, but it barely helped.
I stepped outside and closed the door behind me as the Hungry Ghost dropped from the roof onto the lawn. Its face pinched like a starved dog’s as it stared at the door. Its distended, enormous stomach growled.
“I want to help you. The Old King knows your secrets, doesn’t he?”
It tilted its head to the side. The whimpering ceased.
“I can’t walk through the halls to him. But you, you could walk over the roofs and bring me to his window.”
The ghost didn’t move. I frowned. Did it not understand? “I need—”
It laid down flat on the lawn, the layers of fat rolling across the grass, inviting me to mount.
I tried to climb up the ghost, but my foot slipped on the patina of slug-like slime that covered every corpulent roll of its flesh. The stench reached its foul hand down my throat and threatened to squeeze my stomach empty.
