Chapter 15 Shade
Shade
She would finally be mine.
Finally.
A pretty black rose dangled loosely from my fingertips, begging to be returned to the bouquet I’d snatched it from.
I tucked it into the front of my jacket, right into the pocket.
The first competition was absurd—we had to cook a meal for someone else. I couldn’t believe that cooking was a skill these folk used to determine an adequate leader.
The other folk had an unfair advantage. They could remember recipes.
I had nothing.
Nothing but smoke and mirrors and frustrating, agonizing knots rattling around in my head.
My teeth gnashed together, grinding like a mortar and pestle.
My Ginger was a vision in every form, but this day, she was almost too painful to look at. Her beauty was a gut punch that knocked the air from my lungs.
I feasted on her with my eyes as often as possible.
The ruler, an unimpressive gryphon man named Tommins, droned on.
“The rules for the first trial are simple: you must pull together a dish that is edible and nontoxic before time is up. You may use as many or as few ingredients as necessary. You must return in one hour.” He clapped his hands together.
“If you do not finish your dish within the hour, you will be eliminated. Are the rules clear?”
The rules were abundantly clear. A brainless fool could understand them.
“What if we don’t have the proper ingredients ready?” someone asked.
I rolled my eyes. You would steal them, obviously. Or demand they be given to you.
Tommins shrugged, flashing a bland smile. “That’s part of the competition. Speed will factor in—prepare quickly and use your time wisely.”
Folk nodded.
Idiots.
“And we shall count down in three… two…” He clapped his hands together again. “One! Begin!”
The crowd of spectators cheered in loud, obnoxious voices.
The competitors took off running in every direction.
Air rushed impatiently out of my nose. These folk were so wild and uncivilized.
I folded my hands behind my back and calmly set about selecting my target.
Ipeered through windows and doorways and watched as dishes were haphazardly slapped together.
I wasn’t the only one—all of Moonvale was watching. Everyone had an audience.
The rush was ruining the entire craft. I couldn’t remember a recipe for the life of me, but I was certain that the majority of these were wrong. No better than mud and dish water.
Food not even worthy of the mouths of critters.
Except for my goddess. She strung ingredients together like gems on a chain, elegantly and artfully.
My foot tapped against cobblestone.
I waited for my opportunity.
I drifted from cottage to cottage, occasionally picking up an ingredient or two. I stroked a tomato with my thumb. The tip of my finger was a strange, dark color. Curious, I swiped it across my trousers, but the stain remained.
I couldn’t remember touching anything dark.
The worry rolled off my shoulders. The pigment would soon fade, as it had done before. The color seemed to come and go.
I spotted a mothman in the grocery store, assembling what looked to be a fresh, colorful salad with some sort of grilled meat on top. There were no spectators in the grocery store. No witnesses.
Perfect.
That would do just fine.
“Hello, good sir,” I said as I strolled in. “I require your assistance.”