Page 16 of The Chef

Terrance nodded. “It’s a great place for an Oba-Musen to work. Easy. Let me show you around.”

He slipped past Char and led the way into the kitchen. “Food preparation is this side of the kitchen,” he explained, heading to the side of the room where the cold boxes were. “Cleaningmeat, washing vegetables, any peeling. Once it’s ready, it goes to the center stations where it’s chopped, stuffed, kneaded, and marinated. On this side is where the cooking happens,” he continued, going over to the ovens and stovetops. Terrance idly picked up a spoon and stirred one of the sauces bubbling there—a thick marinara if the sharp scent of acidic tomatoes and fragrant garlic that met Char’s nose was correct—after which he flipped a tag hanging from the pot’s handle so it showed blue, rather than the red from before. “Our job is simple. They hired me—and you—to ensure no food that ever leaves this kitchen is poisoned. We are required to stir, baste, or knead every single item cooked. I marked that sauce as completed, so it can now be served.” He returned to his office, leaning against a corner of his desk and grinning at Char. “What do you think? Nice, easy work for really good pay. I take care of a lot of the paperwork for ordering and planning, so it’s not like I’m freeloading here.”

“When do you cook?” Char asked. There were so many helpers, with every space out there filled, and Char was starting to get a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Terrance shrugged. “If the king orders something particular, I might take the lead on the preparation, but that’s the beauty of working in this kitchen. We have other people to handle the drudgery. Now with you here, the mundane tasks will be halved!”

Char kept his mouth shut on the thoughts furiously swirling inside. They were chefs, not paper pushers! And their magical gifts weren’t for stirring sauces, of which Terrance hadn’t even tasted before marking ready to serve! Char wanted to cook, not sit around waiting for someone else to do the work. If he stayed here, Char knew he would go crazy. Luckily, he had another option. A very welcoming kitchen that was all his own.

“Terr, I’m sorry. I came to let you know I made it to the city, and to decline your offer of employment. I’ve been asked to become a private chef, running my own kitchen. It’s an opportunity I have to take.”

Terrance looked shocked, his jaw hanging open, as if he couldn’t imagine Char saying no to a lazy job as a chef where he didn’t have to actually do any real work.

“I’m a head chef at twenty-six,” Char continued, grinning. “Even for an Oba-Musen, that’s young.”

Terrance shut his mouth and let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, that’s certainly true. Very prestigious. Well, if you change your mind or this job doesn’t work out, you’ll always have a position here.” He held out his arms, pulling Char into another hug. “I am glad you made it to Etoval safely. Be sure to come visit on occasion.”

“Of course. Thank you, Terrance.”

Char left, wending his way through the bustle of the kitchen and back out into the small courtyard. Once outside, he let out a heavy breath, trying to let the weight of the unhappiness within that kitchen fall away. Fen must have known Char wouldn’t be happy working with Terrance—the timing of his offer of the kitchen in the barracks was a little too pointed—but Char had loved that kitchen. In the end, the decision was easy. Yes, Char would have to figure out his feelings for Fen, and how to suppress them despite continued close proximity, but in the end the draw of that kitchen won.

And, perhaps, the draw of being able to continue cooking for Fen won as well.

Char hurried along the path between the warehouses, returning to the courtyard with the gate. Fen would have to return to the military complex at some point, so Char would waitfor him in the yard to let him know Char was happy to be his chef again.

Interlude

FEN PUSHED OPENthe dining room door and walked inside, knowing this early in the morning everyone would be sitting down to breakfast.

“Uh-oh. He’s got his man-on-a-mission face on.” Braxton sniggered and waved his fork in Fen’s direction in hello.

Mother looked up and patted her lips with her napkin as she studied him. She set the napkin aside and smiled. “That’s the face all my children make when they’ve fallen in love. Tell me who the lucky man is, dear.”

“Ooh. Someone’s fallen in love?” Braxton asked, catcalling and laughing.

“Shut up, Braxton,” Fen snapped, rolling his eyes and wishing his perennial request to have Brax’s lips sewn shut would be approved. He turned to Father, who was buried behind a cup of tea. “I found a chef for the royal forces. Can you release the funds held for the kitchen there?”

“Found how?” Ayer asked, sounding skeptical. “Don’t tell me you kidnapped someone to force them to take that post.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Fen growled, wishing the crown prince would get strangled by his crown. He focused on Father, hoping the rest of his siblings would keep their mouths shut.“You remember we chose to target the Blood Lions mercenary group because they have a habit of pillaging our border towns whenever they run low on funds?” Which was often because their leader, Greath, spent money on ridiculous things all the time. “He hired a private chef for the trip to the lake. I decided not to kill him.”

“How wonderful,” Mother said with a happy sigh. “When do I get to meet him?”

“At least tell us his name,” Shairon added. She was wiping her oldest son’s face, the three-year-old somehow managing to get more food on himself than into his mouth. Ayer’s oldest brat was six and she was copying Mother, primly patting her mouth with her napkin.

“Charmaine Oba-Musen,” Fen replied.

Father put his teacup down. “You’re stealing my new chef?”

“A Musen?” Braxten added, sniggering. “If he’s anything like that fop we’ve currently got in our kitchen, he’s no catch even if he can cook.”

“He’s nothing like his cousin,” Fen snapped. “And yes, I’m stealing him. He’s touring the palace kitchen right now, but knowing him, he’ll be horrified. I offered him the job in my kitchen this morning. He was practically drooling at the prospect, so I’m certain he’ll say no to his cousin and come work for me instead.”

“Darling, sit down and tell us about him,” Mother insisted, waving toward an open seat. Fen sat and waited while a servant poured him tea and set a plate in front of him. Pancakes with macerated strawberries and fresh syrup, and at the first bite Fen knew if Char had made this dish it would be so much better. Something was missing. Fen couldn’t put his finger on what, buthe bet Char would take one bite and be able to list off everything wrong.

The poor guy hadn’t cooked the last four days, Zain’s soldiers taking over the chore. They had moved too quickly to do more than light a fire briefly to heat things, although Fen had seen Char surreptitiously sneaking dashes of salt or giving a skillet a flip. Even last night with the dinner delivered from the main dining hall in the military complex, Fen had watched Char eat and try to keep the grimace from his face. The poor guy could not conceal anything inside; his face revealed exactly what he was thinking every time. That was one of the many things that made him so cute.

“Will you approve the kitchen expenses?” Fen asked.

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