Chapter 10
Una leaned over the mortar and pestle on the counter in front of her, pressing her bodyweight onto the stone as she tried to extract every possible drop of flavor from the long costmary leaves she had picked that afternoon.
Few things could stand up to the overpowering flavor of mint, and she was hoping that the fragrant costmary might do the trick. It had a touch of mint on its own, but it also had a deeper note of thick, dark vinegar and a high note similar to pine.
She relished every inhale as she ground it with a few drops of water to create a green mush.
She had brewed the whole leaves with mint in water several times and the flavor was good. But she wanted to try something stronger.
She had always enjoyed the quiet of the bakehouse late at night. It was the rare place she got to spend time with her father as he perfected his craft. Something he still did often, though he was not present this evening.
Someone else, however, was.
Across the room, just past the cooling oven, Matthias leaned over a mortar and pestle of his own. He had been in the room since she had arrived and had been grinding for twice as long as she had.
Her own arms were aching, so she could only imagine that his own were exhausted.
She could make out the dark paste, even across the room.
They had spent several days together, reviewing the fundamentals of pastry dough and breads. And they had moved into the rich bases built around eggs, butter, and cream. Matthias’ techniques already far surpassed any apprentice her father had previously taken on, which irked her.
But that did mean she could judge his work with as few words as possible.
The fact that they did spend so much time together during the day had slowly made it easier to accept the frequency with which he shared the bakehouse with her after hours.
Una had quietly watched, intrigued—though she would not admit it even to herself—as he had spent the last several nights slowly roasting the beans, breaking the shells, and then started to grind the crispy remaining nibs.
The entire process was completely foreign to her, and the roasting beans had smelled divine. The scent had reminded her of roasted chicory root, one of her favorite flavors to brew during the cold winter months.
As Matthias had first popped a roasted bean into his mouth, crunching it loudly in the quiet room, it had taken all of her will to avoid asking him to let her try it.
And he had not offered.
It was, after all, a bean. And beans were like peas. They came from a plant. They were a far cry from the rich butter, cream, honey, and sugar that the physicians had told her to avoid.
But she had kept her mouth shut, out of fear as much as pride.
This was the third night he had spent grinding the same small amount of cocoa bean paste. And even from a distance she could see how dark it appeared, dense and rich. It didn't look like a pea. Or a carrot.
Her wrist itched. She quickly looked, relieved to see that her skin was not red or puffy. She had unbuttoned the sleeves to her dress—even at night, the cooling bakehouse oven emitted a lot of heat—but the rash had not been present for days.
And she was not about to risk that for a nibble of roasted bean, no matter how bitterly delicious it smelled.
A familiar heavy tread sounded behind her, and Una looked over her shoulder to smile at her father.
He had been especially busy preparing the menu and sourcing the ingredients for the upcoming Golden Harvest Feast and he had not joined her in the bakehouse for weeks.
The annual feast was still two months away, but dignitaries from several kingdoms would be arriving in Lamera to trade for this year’s harvest.
But tonight, he carried his notebook.
Una smiled.
That meant he was here to bake.
His eyes crinkled at the sight of her, then glanced to the opposite corner before he lifted an eyebrow. "I see our new apprentice keeps late hours," he said, approval in his voice.
Matthias had looked up from his work and nodded at the Royal Flourier.
Renaud walked past Una to examine Matthias’ work. "Cocoa?" he said, the approval waning. "An odd choice. One would think that the hours might be better spent perfecting a croissant." He looked at Matthias.
Una nodded in agreement, though she was not part of the conversation. A smart apprentice would be practicing his codex skills if he wanted to become a master. But she stopped herself mid-nod. He had made her a croissant three days ago. Even without tasting it she knew it was perfect.
"You are correct, sir," Matthias replied to her father. "But I have found a need to try new flavors occasionally so that I might better focus on perfecting the old ones."
Renaud gave a simple nod, then looked over at Una. "Speaking of new flavors . . ."
Una watched, confused, as he went to the sideboard of the oven where several loaves of bread sat cooling for the night.
He selected one from the end of the row and brought it back to her counter. "I used the mixture you made, the one with the rue."
Una blinked quickly, dropping her eyes to the beautiful, crusty loaf he placed in front of her. They rarely spoke of her condition. She hated that she could participate in so little of his daily work. But, occasionally, he would make something just for her. Plain and simple.
"There is no egg or butter. Just flour, water, salt, and the herbs you like," he said.
He tapped the notebook under his arm. "Hopefully the flavor is right.
I boiled the water with the herbs before I used it, and included fresh, chopped herbs in the dough itself.
Rue is a strange one to add to bread though, so it might be too bitter. "
Una picked up the loaf, feeling the crunch of the crust under her fingers. "I'm sure it will be perfect," she said. No matter how bitter the bread was, she would cherish every bite.
Renaud turned to Matthias. "My daughter tells me that you have exceeded her expectations these last few weeks," he said.
Una pursed her lips, keeping her eyes on the bread in her hands and not looking at Matthias.
She did not need him to know that she had given her father a glowing review of his technique.
She dug her fingers into the deep score her father had made across the top of the round loaf and slowly pulled the bread apart.
"She said you are ready for your apprenticeship to truly begin," her father continued. "Tomorrow, you will work under Master Cabot, preparing the dinner loaves."
Una held the warm bread up to her nose and inhaled. The rue mixed perfectly with the natural tang of the sourdough loaf. She could see the chopped green herbs flecked throughout the yellow interior.
"Thank you, sir," Matthias replied.
As her father stepped toward his apprentice, continuing their conversation, Una bit into the soft center of the bread.
She closed her eyes to enjoy the mild mix of flavors.
Her father had, of course, baked it perfectly.
The rue and sourdough wrapped around her tongue, bringing the slightest pucker to her lips.
But the bitterness was balanced by the earthy sage.
And the light lemon balm, tart and minty, danced across the top.
She enjoyed several more bites before placing it down to resume her herbal concoction. She would bottle this new mix of costmary and mint with oil to preserve its freshness. The flavorful oil would make a lovely drizzle to pour atop a bowl of peas.
"If you are ready in two months, you can prepare a special presentation for the Golden Harvest Feast," Renaud was saying to Matthias.
Una ground her pestle around in small circles.
Matthias was indeed ready. It was customary for an apprentice to study for a minimum of two years—often much longer—before presenting their work to gain the title of Master.
Matthias still had plenty to learn from her father, but his success was practically guaranteed.
Una looked up at the two men. Matthias continued to grind his cocoa while her father was pontificating on the complicated process of preparing an entire feast for hundreds of guests. Una had heard it all before, but these were precisely the skills that Matthias still needed to learn.
She noted the way that Matthias listened intently to her father, nodding at the appropriate moments and interjecting with an occasional question. Somehow, the sight of it angered her. His life was laid out in front of him, his career already a success.
And here she was, mashing herbs to make an oil.
The one thing she knew the most about, the thing she had grown up learning and loving was inaccessible to her.
She had tried, many times, to bake the delicious things she could not eat.
But, to the physicians’ confusion, even the simple act of kneading the dough for a loaf of bread left its mark up her arms.
Would her father still grant Matthias the title of Master if Una refused to eat his final presentation? Probably. Ultimately, Renaud was the one who made the final decision, and her father was never partial.
Una absently wondered if her sway over the kingdom had grown to such a point that her refusal to eat his goods might damage his reputation beyond what even the title could do for him.
As if sensing her thoughts, Matthias looked up at her from across the room. He was still listening to Renaud, but his eyes caught hers, surprised to find her staring at him.
Una immediately looked away. She absently reached over to scratch her wrist, then looked down, alarmed.
It was as if the act of scratching it had caused the reaction she dreaded the most. But it was too late. Angry red marks climbed from her wrist, up to her elbow and disappeared into her rolled up sleeve. On both arms.
She hastily grabbed at the sleeve, shoving down to cover her arm. Surely Matthias could not have seen it in the low light from so far away.
But why was it there? She had eaten nothing but the mildest of vegetables and a few bites of waterfowl for days. She had not touched butter, milk, eggs, or sugar.
Her hands hovered over the button of her cuff when her eyes landed on the loaf of bread lying in front of her.
For the second time that night, she blinked back an unexpected flood of tears. Surely that was not the reason. It could not be. Her father had made it specifically for her.
But it was the last thing she had eaten. And the rash had appeared with the same quickness that it did after a presentation bite.
No. No. No.
Not wanting her father to know, she dumped her herbal mixture in the wastebin, placed the tools she had been using into the scullery basin, and picked up the loaf her father had made. "I am quite tired," she said loudly. "Goodnight."
Renaud looked over at her, surprised at her sudden announcement. "Goodnight, daughter," he said.
Matthias merely nodded his head in acknowledgement, his eyes narrowed in that judgmental way of his. He had been quietly watching her frantically clean up.
Una had no spare thoughts to even wonder what he was thinking as she fled the bakehouse for the safety of her room.