The interior of the black carriage smells of expensive tobacco, aged cedar, and the sharp, ozonic tang of high-level protection runes.
I sit on a bench of quilted crimson velvet, the fabric cool and smooth against my legs. Across from me, Marcus Vale sits with his hands folded over his gold-topped cane. His eyes are dark, predatory, and move with a terrifying intelligence. Dorian is jammed into the corner beside me, his hand white-knuckled on the hilt of his sword, while Finn tries to make himself as small as possible on the floor.
The carriage lurches into motion, the magical wheels turning silently over the cobblestones.
"The Ash-Salt girl," Marcus says, his voice a low, melodic grate. He studies me like I'm a rare vintage of wine he's debating whether to drink or cellar. "Silius is rarely impressed by common street food. He tells me you did something… interesting to the Inquisitor's grain."
"I made it edible," I say, keeping my gaze steady. I can't let him see the tremor in my fingers. "The Bone-Flower grain is a parasite. It leaves the eater empty. My seasoning fixes the void."
"Fixes the void," Marcus repeats. He reaches for a crystal decanter set into the side of the carriage and pours a dark, amber liquid into a glass.
*Food Item 1: Sun-Aged Mead. Scent: Caramel, fermented peaches, and a biting medicinal sting. Appearance: Thick, viscous gold. Property: A faint mist of heat rises from the glass, smelling of desert sands.*
"The Inquisition uses that void to control the masses," Marcus says, taking a slow sip. "In Valdris, hunger is a weapon. If you start handing out shields to the enemy, you make yourself a very loud target, Millie Chen."
"I'm not interested in your politics," I lie, my voice tightening. "I'm a cook. I need a kitchen and ingredients that don't taste like charcoal."
"Is that so?" Marcus leans forward, the ruby on his finger catching the dim mage-light from the carriage ceiling. "Then you won't mind a small test. My estate has a kitchen that makes the Royal Garrison look like a pigsty. Cook me something that proves the void can truly be filled. If you succeed, I'll provide you with a new identity and the papers to move south. If you fail…"
He smiles, and it's the most cold-blooded thing I've seen since leaving Earth.
"Well. I hate wasting quality velvet on corpses."
***
The Vale Estate is a fortress of white marble tucked behind the towering walls of the Silk District.
The air here doesn't smell like the Dregs. It smells of blooming night-jasmine and salt-spray from the private cliffs. The kitchen is a masterpiece: obsidian counters, silver-lined wood ovens, and rows of knives that would make a master smith weep.
"Finn, station check," I command the second the doors close behind us.
"On it, Boss!" Finn scrambles to inspect the pantry. He's in his element here, his nose twitching at the jars of preserved delicacies.
Dorian stays by the door, his eyes fixed on Marcus's guards in the hallway. "Millie," he says, his voice low. "If you do this, you're tethered to him. Marcus Vale doesn't have partners. He has assets."
"Right now, an asset is better than a fugitive," I say.
I look at the ingredients laid out on the center island. A haunch of *Glimmer-Lamb*—a mountain animal whose fat is infused with mica from the rocks it eats. Beside it, a sack of the shimmering silver Bone-Flower grain.
*Food Item 2: Raw Glimmer-Lamb. Scent: Gamey, cold, and metallic. Appearance: Deep red meat marbled with silver veins of fat that sparkle under the light. Tactile: Dense and resilient, pulsing with a faint, residual mana heat.*
I pull my cleaver from its sheath. The familiar weight grounds me.
"I'm making a Savory Bone-Grain Cake with seared Lamb and Earth-Ash Reduction," I mutter to myself.
I start with the grain. I toast it in a dry silver pan until it smells of scorched honey. Then, I add a splash of the sun-aged mead I swiped from Marcus's carriage. The alcohol ignites, a blue flame dancing across the grain.
Then comes the secret. I pull the jar of Earth salt from my backpack. Only five ounces left.
I sprinkle a dusting.
The reaction is a soft, rhythmic *thrum*. The silver grain stops vibrating. It turns a warm, pearlescent cream color, soaking up the mead until it's soft and nutty.
*Food Item 3: Seared Glimmer-Lamb Cake. Process: Forming the grain into a dense disc, topping it with a paper-thin slice of the lamb. Searing it on high heat until the fat mica melts into a shimmering glaze. Seasoning: Earth salt and a crushed black peppercorn found in the back of the pantry.*
The aroma hits the kitchen like a physical wave. It's the smell of a winter fireplace and the most expensive steakhouse in Shanghai.
Marcus walks into the kitchen. He isn't smiling anymore. He stops five feet from the counter, his nostrils flaring.
"The resonance," Marcus whispers. "It's gone. It's just… food."
I plate the dish. I don't use silver; I use a simple, rustic earthenware plate I find on a drying rack. Contrast is everything.
Marcus takes a small silver fork. He cuts a piece, the glimmer-lamb fat glistening like diamonds on the cream-colored grain. He takes the bite.
His eyes shut. His grip on his cane relaxes. For a second, the mask of the merchant kingpin slips, and I see a man who has been spiritually hungry for a very long time.
"It's solid," Marcus says, his voice trembling. "It doesn't fade. Most food in this world leaves you chasing the ghost of the mana. This… this is permanent."
He opens his eyes, and the greed in them is replaced by something much more dangerous: obsession.
"Silius!" Marcus bellows.
Silius appears in the doorway.
"Cancel the shipments to the North," Marcus commands. "We're keeping every ounce of Bone-Flower in the city. And get me a list of every salt-mine on the Western Coast."
"There are no salt mines that produce this, Marcus," I say, cleaning my cleaver with a damp cloth. My heart is racing. I've overplayed my hand. "I told you. It's Ash-Salt. From a place that's gone."
"Then we will find the remnants," Marcus says, turning back to me. "You've done it, Millie Chen. You've created the one thing the Inquisitors cannot control. An exit."
"So, the papers?" I ask. "We leave at dawn?"
Marcus laughs, a rich, dark sound that chills my blood.
"Leave? You're joking. You just showed me the key to the kingdom. You aren't leaving, Millie. You're going to open a restaurant. The *only* restaurant in Valdris allowed to serve the Bone-Flower."
Dorian's sword clears his sheath by two inches. "The deal was passage, Vale."
"The deal changed when I tasted that lamb," Marcus says, his men filing into the kitchen with maces drawn. "You can open the shop in the Dregs. Under my protection. You keep 20 percent of the profits. I handle the 'security' and the grain supply."
"I don't like partners who lie," I say, gripping my cleaver.
"And I don't like losing money," Marcus says. He looks at Finn, then at Dorian. "If you try to run, I'll let the Inquisition know where to find the girl with the hollow mana. If you stay… you'll be the most powerful chef in history."
He leans in close, smelling of tobacco and victory. "Choose. The gallows, or a kitchen of your own?"
I look at Finn's terrified face. I look at Dorian's scars. Then I look at the incredible, gleaming kitchen I was just given.
"I need five crates of ginger and ten jars of white peppercorns," I say.
Dorian lets out a breath of frustration, but Marcus beams.
"Consider them delivered. Welcome to the Guild, Chef."
Marcus turns and walks out, leaving us in the opulent silence of the marble kitchen.
I slump against the obsidian counter. My legs are like jelly. I'm trapped again, just with a better class of chains.
"What now, Boss?" Finn asks, stepping toward the center island to pick at the leftovers.
"Now," I say, looking at my reflection in the silver pan. "We find out where he's hiding the grain. If I'm going to be a puppet, I might as well know who's pulling the strings."
I look at the eastern window. The sun is just starting to bleed through the grey clouds of Valdris.
The *Millie's Delicacies* street stall is gone.
Tomorrow, I open a temple to the god of hunger.
As Millie starts to plan her new menu, a messenger enters the kitchen, trembling. "Sir... the High Inquisitor's spies found the residues in the tannery. They know about the merchant deal. Ravenna Thorne has declared a state of spiritual emergency. The City Guard is coming."