The servant’s corridor swallowed her.  The only light came from the smokeless blue flame provided every dozen paces or so by torches of mage’s fire. 

She gave them wide berth, mage’s fire, for the most part, was smokeless and heatless, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t burn if someone was dumb enough to thrust their hand into it. 

And Issi had already proven herself more than capable of that particular flavor of stupidity.

The halls populated the further she moved from her master’s wing.  Servants joined her, first in a smattering, then in a crowd that eventually became so big that when the traffic bottlenecked near the kitchens she was forced to a standstill, broken every few moments by an awkward and desperate shuffling that somehow got her to the door.

Thank Ose’s blue skies.

Issi loved the kitchens for two reasons.  The first being that they were absolutely brimming with magic, and runes.  They reminded her of her master’s wing when things had been going…well, certainly not great, but better.  There’d been fewer beatings, better conversations to eavesdrop on, and more opportunities to sneak away.

But mostly, it had felt of magic.  From morning to night, she could feel the enchantments the students worked on singing through the air.  Spells that wrangled magic into neat little runes to make things light up, or move, or bloom, had surrounded her and set the world right, brightening the color of the skies and sharpening corners.

It made things feel real.

The kitchens were, given a world where the best outcome was denied, a reasonable, if pale, facsimile. 

She was rushed through a crowd of frenzied individuals, shouting orders at the chefs and poor kitchen boys forced to weave in and out of the throng.  This close to the King’s Dinner, the castle was filled with guests and nobody had thought that staggering orders might have been a good idea. 

Issi tried to ignore the press of bodies against her as she scanned the cooking stations for a head of short black curls.

“Where are you looking?”

The voice sounded in her ear.  Issi spun, the world tried and failed to keep up with her, “Don’t do that.”

And here was the second reason she loved going to the kitchens.  A kitchen boy towered over her by nearly a head and a half, his attention flickered to the crowd that had started to split around them, “You’re the one standing in the middle of a whirlwind and looking dour about it,” his smile was pure mischief, even as his brows lowered, “I thought you liked crowds.”

“I like people,” she corrected, the crowd had always been a bit…much.

“Is there a difference?”

“Of course, there’s a difference Ardein,” she muttered darkly.  He waited a moment, and then, sensing she had no intention of elaborating turned and carved a path to one of the corners of the kitchens, blessedly far from the great fire that served to power all the runes in the area.  It was hard to get the smell of it out of her clothes.

Amd Ner got very angry whenever Issi returned from places she shouldn’t have gone, smelling of places she shouldn’t have gone.

Ardein produced a ladle and sunk it into a pot warming on an engraved tablet the size of Issi’s torso.  Or, that was what he’d intended to do. 

The liquid proved too viscous for his attempt to succeed.  He ended up rocking the ladle back and forth, muttering under his breath, until it finally slipped beneath the surface.

With his free hand, he gestured for her to take a seat, “Are you ready?”

“To die?”

The cook frowned, “The thickness is new, but I only left it for a tick so it shouldn’t be anything serious.”

Issi studied the pot’s contents skeptically.  It looked like something an evil mage would force children to drink in fairy stories.  

“Are you sure?”

His eyes, a warm brown, grew warmer still as his smile widened, “I’m never sure about anything, but you haven’t died yet.”

“That’s promising.”

The cook pulled at the ladle with a disturbing amount of effort that did little to speed the process along.  It released with an uncomfortably loud pop.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try it first?” Issi tried.

Ardein shook his head, “I haven’t been able to taste anything for the last few days.”

“Another experiment?”

“Please,” he rolled his eyes and waved the ladle about, Issi could not help but notice that the liquid in the spoon never once seemed interested in sloshing around, “Experimenting is for mages and alchemists…I was just…trying something different.”

“The very definition of experimenting.”

“Shut up, Del, I’m trying to be dramatic,” he snapped at her playfully, “Besides, I have your payment.”

Issi sat up straighter, “Really?”

He held the ladle in front of her face, “You don’t have to act surprised.”

“Oranges aren’t the easiest to come by,” she pointed out, “I haven’t seen a proper vendor ever.”

“Who said I got these from a proper vendor?”

“These?”

He shook the ladle again.  Issi took it into her hand and sent a silent prayer to Naya.

May she not come to retrieve her soul just yet. 

She put her lips to the spoon and very nearly wished the goddess had chosen to kill her instead.  As all of Ardein’s experiments, it was impressively awful.  Sweet and salty, overpowering and bland. 

“So?”

Tears filled her eyes. The texture was some impossibly thick consistency that stuck to the roof of her mouth and teeth. 

“It’s…badly…badding…awfulling,” she struggled a moment, “Ardein…I don’t think Qashan has words to explain how badly this is.”

He arched a brow, “Badly?”

“Bad, how bad, it is.”

“You haven’t spit it out, yet, that’s an improvement.”

Issi’s tongue worked to pry the monstrosity from her back teeth, “I can’t.  I think it’s bonded to my mouth.”

“Oh,” realization lurched across his features, “Oh, you weren’t kidding.  Wait.”

He produced another ladle, this one filled with water.  Issi emptied it in less than a beat, “What was that?”

He looked at her sheepishly as he removed the concoction from the heating plate, “Soup.”

“Soup?” she parroted blankly.

“Del, there’s no need to—"

“Explain to me how,” she stood to get a better look at the liquid, it was so dark it was nearly black.  She’d never seen a plant or anything short of a very exotic edible ink manage quite that shade.  He moved her out of the way.

“It was beef and a few greens.”

“A few greens?” she echoed.  There was nothing green about it, and if she’d tasted anything that could have been identified as meat, she’d walk herself to the gallows.

He set the atrocity on a low rack for cooling and produced an orange seemingly from thin air.  Not magic, but a very clever sleight of hand that made it feel astoundingly close. 

She plucked the orange from his palm, her nails breaking through its skin.  The smell of citrus reached her nose and for the first time in ages she smiled simply because she wanted to.

“There we are,” Ardein muttered, “I knew you were looking a little peaked.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well.”

His eyes lit with curiosity, “Is the Grand Mage working you again?”

Issi’s hands slowed, “…in a fashion.”

“What’s he have you doing this time?”

“Oh…well,” she shifted uncomfortably, she didn’t enjoy lying to Ardein, he was the first friend she’d made who hadn’t been ordered to like her, “keeping up with the reports, writing, experiments.  The usual.”

Ardein pulled another giant pot from beneath the table and stared down at it curiously, likely trying to figure out the next abomination he was going to slap together.  For all the time she’d been in the kitchens, Issi’d never seen him successfully cook anything. How he managed to keep his job was another mystery she intended to figure out, right after putting together where he kept buying the oranges.

“You’re as vague as ever, Del,” he grumbled.

Issi swept the peel pieces into a pile before splitting the fruit between her hands, “You ask too much.”

He let out a sharp laugh.  Issi flinched crushing her second breakfast.  She let out a curse and licked where the juice threatened to spill out of her palm.

“Sorry,” he added quickly.

“It’s nothing, just surprised me,” she forced a laugh and tried to convince her hands to still.  Laughter from Ardein wasn’t a dangerous thing.

Laughter from Ardein wasn’t a dangerous thing.

Ner was right, she was far too tired for this.  She pulled off a piece of the orange and popped it into her mouth. 

                “How is it?” the cook asked.

                “Still not right, it’s not…” she paused searching for the word, “acidic enough?  It’s sweeter than the last one though.”

                He frowned, “I could have sworn that would be the one.”

“It’s fine, I don’t understand what you find so fascinating about this, it tastes alright,” she ate another piece.

“But it’s not what you want,” he continued.  He dumped an entire bundle of greens into the pot without even trimming the roots, “I bet you’ll smile, really smile, if I find it.  Maybe I’ll even get a genuine laugh, imagine that.”

                She glared at him, “Ha.”

                “There you are.”

                Issi knew rude gestures for a multitude of cultures, but none could be achieved with the pulpy remains of an orange in her palms. 

                Issi relaxed, “Do you want some?”  She shook the remnants in his direction.  He made a face.

                “Really, Del?”

                She shrugged, “It’s supposed to be shared.”

                “No.”

                A tired laugh escaped her and Ardein arched his brows, “That was pathetic, I’m not counting it.”

                “Do whatever you want,” she sighed, laying across his table.  The magic from the tablet smelled of winter flowers.

                “Del, that’s all I ever do,” he dropped something black into the pot, as if to prove the point.

                Issi watched him work and felt time slip by.  It was nice in the kitchens in a way it wasn’t anywhere else.