Chapter 16 Ginger
Ginger
The mixture came together beautifully.
Tomato, beef, rice, in a salty, savory broth with a hint of spice—it was exactly what I hoped for.
I scrubbed a loose curl away from my face with the back of my hand, careful to keep any mess from reaching my blouse.
The stew was perfect. One of the best I’d ever made, I was sure of it.
There was no way I wouldn’t win this competition.
And the best part—I had time to spare.
I sealed the lid onto the pot, trapping any wayward steam and sealing in the flavors.
“Tandor!” I shouted. “Can you bring me a cider? I deserve it!”
“One second, boss,” his voice called out. “I’ve got lavender blueberry. Will that work?”
One of the best flavors. Of course it would work. “That’ll do!”
I struggled to contain my excitement as I waited for the orc to pour me a goblet. I usually wouldn’t consider myself the most competitive folk. But something about the Miss and Mister Moonvale Ball brought out my inner competitive beast.
And I was not in the mood to lose.
“Save any for me?” Tandor asked hopefully as he thrust a goblet into my sweaty palms.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s for the competition.”
“What if I’m a judge?” He grinned, his small lower tusks on full display.
“Are you?”
“...No.”
“Didn’t think so.” I flicked my head to the side. “I left some in the pot over there.”
He laughed, reaching over to pat me on top of the head before thinking better of it last minute, mindful of my careful hairstyle. He settled for thumping my shoulder instead. “You’re the best.”
My cheek lifted into a wry smile as I brought the goblet to my mouth. “And don’t I know it.”
He lifted the ladle in the pot, blowing on the mixture for just a moment before hastily slipping it between his teeth. He exhaled in a few frazzled puffs, fighting off the burn that threatened to scorch his tongue.
“Idiot,” I mumbled under my breath, but I couldn’t help but smile. He never learned.
After fanning his face a few times with flaps of his hand, he was able to swallow. He bounced on the balls of his feet. “Holy shit.”
“Good?”
“Incredible.” He took another bite, not even bothering to blow on it this time, settling instead for the “breathe out the steam like a dragon” method. “You’re definitely going to win.”
“You think so? I feel pretty good about it.”
He spared me a disbelieving glance. “Of course. You know your stew can’t be topped, no matter what’s in it.”
My stomach warmed. I couldn’t tell if it was the flattery or the cider.
Brambleby let out a loud yawn in the corner, reminding me of his presence. The small dragon was such an easy companion. It was miraculous, really. I tried not to get too used to it—he was just as capable of mass destruction as the other two, even if his power hadn’t manifested yet.
But he sure was sleepy.
“You can go home, you know,” I called to the dragon. “Much more comfortable to sleep there.”
He huffed out an exhale before settling his head down with a thunk. Was that… attitude? I choked on disbelief.
“I think he just sassed you,” Tandor said between spoonfuls of stew.
“He totally did. Unbelievable.”
“It’s nuts, right? Raine is like a gods damned teenager.”
“So, you’re telling me it doesn’t get better?”
He shrugged. “In the next few days? Absolutely not. Maybe in ten years or so.”
I took a long swallow of cider. “Excellent.”
“Ten minutes remaining!” Linc screamed from the square, his voice magically amplified.
“That’s your cue, boss.” Tandor’s voice held an edge, almost like he was nervous.
I pushed to my feet and discarded my now empty goblet. I’d wash that later. “Are you going to carry this pot for me?”
“What are friends for?” he asked.
I stopped him with a hand on the chest before he could grasp the boiling pot with his bare hands. “Mitts! You need mitts to protect your hands. You’re not fireproof. You should have learned this by now,” I chastised.
His pointed ears drooped slightly, and his shoulders slumped. “I forget.”
I grabbed two cloth mitts, tossing them in his direction. “It happens to the best of us. Let’s get going.”
Iwas totally going to win this thing.
The cooking portion, at least. The other two trials… only time would tell. But I had a good feeling.
I examined the competition.
Tables were set up in neat rows in the center of the park for the dishes to be displayed on. The dishes were impressively varied. Soups, grilled veggies, meats, cakes, horrendous-looking concoctions I couldn’t even name. Even a sandwich or two.
None would compare to my stew. I was sure of it.
I bounced, unable to contain my excitement. Velline stood next to me, but she wasn’t nearly as lively. If anything, she looked extremely nervous, and a little pale—like she could pass out any moment.
I let my eyes drift over the remaining competitors. A handful of folk couldn’t finish their dishes in time. The mothman from the grocery store, Daine, was empty-handed. A few shifters were, too, as well as a human woman.
The eliminated group gathered grumpily off to the side.
Mayor Tommins and a few volunteers slowly drifted along the tables, sampling every dish and noting their thoughts onto a slip of paper, quietly murmuring amongst themselves. I watched Tommins’ face closely.
For the most part, he didn’t seem wowed. He even gagged once or twice.
Until he got to me. He visibly relaxed, his shoulders loosening. His face lifted in a hesitant smile. “Ginger. Good to see you.” He lifted a spoon. “Best of luck.”
I held my breath.
The gryphon scooped some stew onto his spoon, sniffing it subtly before slipping it into his mouth. He chewed once. Twice. And then his eyebrows rose.
He grinned. “Excellent. Just marvelous.”
I smiled right back. “Thank you.”
He jotted a note down before nodding his head, and then he proceeded to Velline. He exclaimed dramatically about her dish. Unexpected—I didn’t realize she was a good cook. I patted her shoulder in congratulation, and she flashed me a tight smile before returning to her previous rigid posture.
I tuned out the noise, after that. My task was done. I had succeeded.
Now I could relax for a moment.
A chill worked down my spine, forcing my shoulders back and my chin up. My teeth ground together in my mouth. I shook myself, trying to flick off the sudden discomfort.
I glanced around to see if anyone else was feeling the same.
My gaze collided with a pair of intense gold eyes. Unending and all-encompassing.
The gods damned stranger.
He was staring at me intensely, almost impolitely. His eyes burned my skin where they drifted.
I glared back.
He was standing behind a fresh, colorful salad, topped with a slab of what looked like grilled chicken. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I hated to admit that it looked pretty good. It was not what I would have expected him to prepare, but effective, nonetheless.
Of course he took the easy route. A salad was so simple. So quick. Hardly any cooking required, mainly just chopping and assembling.
To my chagrin, he was still in the competition.
And he looked so, so smug about it.
He lifted a brow, as if to ask, “Do you like what you see?”
I tore my gaze away. My face was suddenly warm, my pulse pumping a little too quickly. I fought the urge to fidget.
As Tommins finished sampling every dish and eliminated the folk belonging to the few he deemed unacceptable, he made his way back to the center of the park and raised his voice.
“Alright, folk of Moonvale!” he shouted, clutching an amplifying crystal to make his booming voice even louder.
“That marks the end of the first trial.” He gestured to the cluster of folk who were eliminated.
“I send my condolences to those of you who did not make it through. But to the rest of you—nice work! Go home, get some rest, and come back tomorrow for trial number two!”