Chapter 7 #2
Alana shrugs. “You’ve got to let off steam somehow in this place. I guess they decided it was worth the risk.”
Someone slams a metal pan of scrambled sea falcon eggs down on the table.
I wrench my head to the right in time to see a short girl wearing a chef’s coat staring at us with her arms crossed.
“You know this is a buffet, right? I’m not going to serve you.
” Her pink-toned skin flushes in the heat of her pan.
She seems oblivious to the scene at the back of the room, or maybe she’s used to it.
Her long, curly blond hair is tied back with a ribbon, but it’s threatening to break free.
She raps her nails on the wooden table and narrows bright green eyes at us.
“But I’ve got about five minutes to talk, so spill. Who’s the new girl?”
With this declaration, a few others sit down. I figure she knows these staff members well. The blond-haired chef takes a seat, pushing the eggs to the end of the table. Alana reddens when the chef sits but distracts herself by picking at her nails. “Don’t overwhelm her. Introduce yourselves first.”
The blond girl flicks her thick ponytail over her shoulder and extends her hand to me. Her grip’s firm and strong. “Isla Langston. One of the head chefs on board. I’m an enhancer and—”
“And she’s never going to get a retrial because she’s mean. Doesn’t take crap from the guests.” A boy with beige skin and midnight hair swept over his forehead cuts her off. “I’m Niko Harada. Also an enhancer, but better at it than Isla.”
Isla smacks him from across the table with her egg spoon. “He’s a head chef too. The only competent one I work with,” she mutters.
Not surprising that they’re both chefs. Enhancers manipulate experiences with food and drinks.
When I was a guest on the Celestial, I had ice cream that transported me to a favorite childhood memory of chasing puppy dog spirits through the gardens with Eliza, before she detested Morphia magic.
As Isla and Niko bicker, I can’t help but smile.
Maybe this place won’t be as bad as I first thought.
With threads of light beaming through the porthole, it doesn’t seem as scary in the daylight.
A girl sits on the stool across from Isla and grabs the chef’s hand.
She has dark brown eyes and gold paint dusted over her umber cheekbones.
Her long braids are arranged in a half updo, and she wears a sparkling red costume and red rhinestone stockings.
She squeezes Isla’s hand. “You are a volcano when you’re stressed.
” She leans over the tabletop and plants a light kiss on Isla’s lips. “But I’ll put up with it.”
Alana looks away from the two of them. “I’ll get us some food. Guests will be waking up soon, and we don’t want to be late.”
When Alana leaves the table, the girl in the scarlet dance costume extends her hand to me. “Zora Blase. I’m a crafter. I create costumes and set pieces, but I also perform.” She taps a finger against the sparkling bodice of her red costume. “This will burst into flames when I’m in the air.”
“In the air?” I ask.
Zora laughs. “I perform with the aerial ring, but it gets tricky when I craft. I don’t know how much you know about crafters, but we lose our sense of touch when we use our gifts.” She pats the bodice once more. “These little flames are going to cost me.”
Isla lets out a low whistle. “I wish I had time to watch one of your performances today.”
Niko shakes his head with a pointed look at me. “Isla and I won’t have much time for socializing. Food preparation is stressful the first days of a new charter.”
This group doesn’t remind me at all of the scary staff members Mother told me to avoid when I was eight. They also don’t seem as annoyed by my presence as Ivander was.
Alana slides a heaping plate over to me as she sits back on the stool. “Here. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a lot.”
“Thank you.” My mouth waters. While the chefs may save the art of presentation for the guests, there’s no denying this is the same elite food the ship is known for.
The plate’s brimming with buttery sea falcon eggs, oat porridge drizzled with spiced honey from Sarryndar, which my mother saves for special occasions, plump sausages, toast slathered in gortha spread made from a rare nut native to the province of Gorthe, breakfast cakes with candied berries and cinnamon cream, and sizzling strips of bacon with a maple glaze.
Before I can shovel the first bite in my mouth, Isla taps her spoon against the side of the metal pan. “Are you just going to assume all of us already know who you are?”
My cheeks flush. “Sorry. I’m Roe Damarcus.” I half whisper Damarcus, for some reason devoid of the pride I normally feel when saying my name. “Resurrector.”
“Damn,” Zora whispers. “What’d you do to get yourself here? I’d think a Damarcus could skip their trial.” Zora drops her spoon as she raises a bite of porridge to her mouth. Isla has to grab it as the lack of feeling in Zora’s fingers causes her to miss several more times.
Bitterness makes my first bite of eggs taste sour. “I couldn’t skip it. I failed like the rest of you.”
Alana clears her throat. “She’s still adjusting. You all know how hard the first days are.”
Niko nods, dark brown eyes warm as he gives me a reassuring smile and takes a sip of juice. He wipes his brow with a towel over the shoulder of his chef’s coat. “I’m still adjusting too. This is only my second month. Let me know if you need help.”
“Actually,” I blurt, sensing Isla and Niko are about to go back to the galley. “I was wondering if you knew anything about the bosses. I saw what happened at the back table.” I keep my voice low. “I met Boss Stellan last night, and he seemed … odd.”
The four staff members exchange looks. Isla leans forward so that her head’s bent over mine. In a low, gravelly voice she whispers, “Odd is the understatement of the year. The thing you have to understand is this is not your average job. This is a punishment. We got what we deserved.”
Niko’s dark eyes fall to the table. “I was nervous during my first week, and I burned a guest’s dinner. I never do stuff like that at home.”
I take a deep breath before asking, “What happened?”
“Boss Charmaine cut off three of my fingers.” Niko massages his right hand and shudders. He glances to one of the bosses standing along the wall and lowers his voice to scarcely above a whisper. “She grew them back with Morphia, but it was awful. My fingers didn’t feel the same for weeks.”
Alana sets down her fork and touches Niko’s arm. “It wasn’t your fault.” She turns to me. “The bosses use the donated Morphia for their own ends sometimes. But non-Morphics using Morphia that way comes at a price. You’ve seen the way it affects them physically to be Morphicbound.”
My hands curl into fists and fall to my lap. My food lies forgotten. “If the bosses punish people like this, why…” It feels treasonous to say aloud, but I force the words out. “Why not bring this to the council?”
Niko nods. “I’ve been saying for a month that we should revolt.”
“Keep your voice down.” Isla elbows him in the ribs.
“I’ll tell you the truth, Roe, though you won’t like it.
The council won’t do anything because we’re criminals.
We’re being rehabilitated before we’re deemed fit to return to society.
Simple as that. We deserve punishments. Second, any small rebellions aboard are put down.
The bosses have raw Morphia and are more than a match for us.
Not to mention, rebelling is what almost caused a war centuries ago.
Look how that worked out. We all keep the peace, so we have a chance of going home to our families one day. ”
I’m too stunned to speak. She’s right. We deserve to be here in their eyes, and the council doesn’t care about what the bosses are doing to those who failed. Rebellions often end in disaster.
Isla clicks her tongue and squeezes Zora’s arm before jumping to her feet. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I’ve got to go. Time to start cooking for the people who matter.”
Niko pushes his stool out, too, but his fingers worry at the buttons on his coat. “Which restaurant are you at today?”
“Where do you think?” Isla grumbles. “The Harlequin.” Her gaze cuts to me and she explains. “Serves upscale dining all day. Wealthier families. Higher expectations. I’ll probably see you and Alana there.”
She and Niko leave together, discussing the pros and cons of serving well-done cuts of winder meat versus telling the guests to eat their shoes instead.
My stomach plummets into my toes at the mention of my job.
Up until this sickening moment, I’d managed to shove the idea of serving guests out of my mind.
Alana pushes her plate of food away and glances back toward the door. “I guess Ivander went in early to practice.”
Zora takes a sip of the juice Niko left behind.
“Crafters can do nails too. I could fix them up for you. Not as good as Ivander can, though.” She chuckles.
Again, I’m struck by the affection in her tone.
I realize Ivander has reserved his bitterness for me, and the feeling is worse than the sour sting from the potion last night.
Alana bows her head. “No, it’s okay. Roe and I need to get our jars, anyway.”
Zora shrugs and leans over to touch her toes in a folded-over stretching position. As I watch her, a question bubbles to the surface before I can stop it. “Do you work with Ivander? He mentioned being a performer.”
Sunbeams from the porthole illuminate the gold dust on her cheekbones. “Yeah, he’s a performer, but he could have any job he wants. He’s annoyingly good with the guests. Wait until you see him on the silks.” She sighs. “Breathtaking.”
“If he’s so good with the guests, why hasn’t he gotten a retrial?” I don’t mean for it to come out accusatory, but it does.
She brushes stray crumbs off her costume and stands. “Because every time he gets close, he takes himself out of the running. He’s been here a year and a half—since he was seventeen.”
“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Alana explains, “but he was sent here before his official trial. Like what happened to me.”
Zora nods. “He forfeits his chance at a retrial so he can help other Morphics before his final year. I know how it sounds. Trust me, no one wants to be here. But Ivander … Ivander’s trying to help.”
I push my own plate away. A part of me marvels at his desire to help his friends and the other part of me can’t believe he’d be stupid enough to risk his own Morphia.
There has to be another reason he’s still here.
Zora’s holding something back. But it only reminds me I’m going to have to carve my own way in this place.
Ivander may be dedicated to his group of friends, but he made it clear he thinks I already have an edge.
And if I get a retrial because of my last name, one of his friends doesn’t.
But no one searched for an excuse to leave my table today. No one stopped talking to me when they heard I was a resurrector. Sure, some people stared, but these four treated me like one of them. Although my head’s about to burst with new information, I think they’ve accepted me.
Alana touches my shoulder, and I startle at her kind touch. “We need to go. We can’t be late.”
But the warm mood fades as I realize I’ll still have to watch my own back.
Just like I had to fend for myself back in boarding school.
Even my friends didn’t like to be alone with me because resurrection scared them.
And others pretended to like me because of my father but talked behind my back because of my magic.
Witch, they’d whisper. Stay away from the Death Witch.
Zora walks ahead of us, and I follow right on Alana’s heels, not wanting to fall behind on my first day. “So how do we make sure to get votes from the guests?”
Alana chuckles and throws open the door to the hallway. “It’s our first day of a new charter. We’re just trying to survive.”