Chapter 13
Matthias stared at his open notebook. He had solved far harder problems, or so he kept telling himself.
It was just like crafting another recipe. But instead of finding the flavors that combined well, he was looking for the ones that threw off the whole recipe. The single bad bean that spoiled a whole batch of cocoa paste.
The bakehouse was almost cool enough to be comfortable. The rest of the flouriers had finished their daily work hours ago. The oven was banked for the night. And both of the doors to the bakehouse were open, allowing the cooler night air to flow through the room.
He had not seen her since they had talked in the garden three days ago.
It was the longest they had not interacted since he'd arrived at the palace, and he found himself missing her presence. He knew she was avoiding him, but she couldn't avoid him forever.
For one, she probably missed mixing her herbs for tea.
But there were other fires in the palace. Perhaps she had taken to chopping her herbs in the kitchen instead of the bakehouse.
Nonetheless, he had set up three items on her usual counter, just in case she chose to join him tonight.
When he heard the familiar slosh of water from outside the door as she filled a bucket with fresh water from the cistern, he wanted to jump from his seat and throw his fist into the air.
Instead, he remained seated, barely looking up when she entered the room.
"Matthias," she said, her voice the same as it had always been. Distant and a little condescending.
But Matthias felt his stomach twist inside of him. That was the first time she had called him by his name.
"Una," he replied. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she stepped into the room. She carried the water straight to the kettle hanging near the oven as she always did, but he saw when she noticed the items placed on her counter.
He waited quietly as she poured the water, positioned the kettle, returned the bucket to its place, found a cutting board and knife, then finally went to stand in front of her counter.
"What is this?" she asked, setting her cutting board down next to two, small covered bowls, his open notebook, and a freshly trimmed feather pen.
"I had a question that has been keeping me up at night," he said, standing up and walking toward her. "Two, actually."
"This is a question?" she asked, pointing to the bowls and raising an eyebrow at him.
"No, this is the list I've been working on," he said.
He pointed to the open page of the notebook which showed two columns with most of the words on each crossed out.
"Here are the things we know you cannot eat.
" He tapped one of the columns. "And here are the things that are still in question.
The loaf your father made had four ingredients, which narrows down the options quite considerably. "
Una looked from the list to him, standing beside her. "Flour, salt, water, herbs." She said the list out loud without needing to read it from the page.
Matthias nodded. "Water is in your soup," he said. "The soups do not make you ill?"
She shook her head, smirking. "Very rarely. And I think I would have noticed by now if water was the problem."
He smirked back. "Agreed, but I wanted to properly rule it out. Salt. Salt is in most everything you eat. Both the things that harm you, and the things that don't?"
Una shook her head again. "The cooks salt our meats quite generously. Those have never made me itch."
Matthias nodded again. It was the answer he was expecting. He tapped the next item on the list. "And you handle the rue with your bare hands and brew it by the cupful, even though it is something that can—by your own words—irritate others."
Una shook her head again. "It's not the rue. I don't drink too much of it, but it is one of the things that actually helps to calm my stomach, not the other way around."
Matthias tapped the last item on the list while keeping his eyes on her face.
She looked down, biting her lower lip. Reaching forward, she slowly pushed his hand out of the way to reveal the final word even though she had to know what it was. She looked down for several long moments. "Leaving flour," she said, finally.
"Leaving flour," he echoed.
She exhaled, silently. But Matthias could see the weight of it in her shoulders. She swallowed before turning toward him. "You said you have two questions?"
Matthias respected the fact that she did not want to comment on the flour directly. He reached across her, leaning close enough to touch her shoulder as he did so and noting that she did not lean away from his touch. His heart thumped.
Grabbing one of the covered bowls, he dragged it in front of the open notebook and removed the cotton cloth that covered it. Inside lay a small spoonful of roasted cocoa nibs, dark and broken and glinting faintly with their own oil.
"First, would you like to try a cocoa nib?" he asked. Based on the list we just discussed, it should be fine for you. And, honestly, you deserve to try tasting something new."
She lifted the bowl to her nose, inhaling the roasted scent. Her eyes still looked skeptical.
"You said you would never eat anything made by my hand," he said with a smile, hoping that the humor would help her to feel at ease.
"So let me remind you that this is just a bean.
It's been roasted and cracked. But there is no cream or sugar.
No flour. Just a bean, or, a seed really, grown by a tree. "
She set the bowl back down on the counter. "Why are you doing this?" she asked.
"Because I like making lists?" he replied.
She did not look convinced by that and returned her gaze to the notebook. "You said you haven't been sleeping. Is this what has been keeping you awake?"
"Yes," Matthias replied. "Thinking about you has been keeping me awake." The words were out of his mouth before he even realized what he had said.
She looked up at him quickly, her mouth open in shock. But she did not appear displeased. In fact, quite the opposite. She blinked and looked away.
"Cocoa?" she said, her voice high and squeaking.
"It's bitter," he offered. "And crunchy."
She reached out and ran her finger through the nibs. They made a soft shuffling sound as they brushed against each other. "I don't mind bitter," she said.
"I know," he replied with a smile.
She picked up a single nib, examining it between her fingers.
The dark shape was unlike anything else she could place. It was almost like a cracked piece of walnut shell, only roasted to the point of being almost black. And every piece was different.
"They did smell delicious that night you were baking them," she said.
Matthias smiled. He had noticed the way she kept taking long, deep inhales through her nose that night. He had known even then that he could crack her cocoa.
But the victory he was about to experience was a far cry from the one he had imagined back then.
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "It's a bean," she said, more to herself than to him.
Matthias nodded but did not respond, letting her take this moment to decide for herself. He was fairly certain the cocoa would not affect her negatively, but he had no way to guarantee it.
She tilted her chin forward, then placed the tiny nib of cocoa on her tongue.
Matthias watched her with rapt attention. He had roasted the bean, of course, but he had spent far less effort on it than on most of the complicated codex things he had baked. But he was more invested in her enjoyment of this bite than he could ever remember being for anyone, even for his parents.
Her cheeks moved as she swirled the nib through her mouth.
Then her jaw opened slightly and she crunched down.
Nothing else crunched like a cocoa nib. They were so firm, but broke apart so easily.
They had to be made up of a significant amount of oil, perhaps if he could find a way to grind it while lightly heating it .
. . his mind wandered to the small jar of ground paste that was still tucked into the cellar.
That might work. He could potentially break down the solid mass of the nib if he used both pressure and heat.
"That was delicious," Una said, her smiling face breaking into his reverie.
Matthias smiled back. "Isn't it?" he asked. "The flavor is bitter, but there is a touch of sweetness. And the texture is somehow cool but still melts against your tongue."
Una picked up a second nib.
Matthias did the same.
"It tastes like chicory," Una said as she crunched. "But rounder."
He crunched into a bite for himself, imagining how perfect this flavor would be supported by cream and sugar. But he did not say that out loud, that would be cruel.
There might be time to share that with her in the future, though, if his theory proved to be correct. He found himself hoping, desperately, for that to be the case.
He did not mind if she could never taste his choux crowns, or gloire cake, or puff pastry. Those were codex recipes, not his own.
But he had ideas and flavors he wanted to try, and she had the knowledge and palate to share in that excitement with him.
She took a third nib, closing her eyes as she crunched into the cocoa. She smiled for a moment before she opened them. "Delicious," she declared.
"I agree," Matthias replied.
Looking down at her hand, she rolled up the cuff of her sleeve. The red marks from a few days ago were gone. "That was the first question." She nodded toward the bowl of nibs while pointing toward the other bowl that was still covered. "What was the second?"
Matthias grabbed the second bowl and slid it toward himself, pulling it out of her reach. "The first question isn't answered yet. We don't know if the cocoa will affect you. So, for now, we wait."
"Here? Now?" she asked.
Matthias nodded. "I have nowhere else to be," he said. "I would rather not leave you alone if the thing that I offered to you makes you break out into a rash."
She examined her wrist for a moment, turning her hand back and forth, as if considering whether to stay with him or not.
"Don't leave me lonely here for the third night in a row," he said. He did not have to force the pleading into his tone for her to realize that he meant what he was asking.
She looked up at him. "Alright." Reaching under the counter, she pulled out a tall stool and sat down.
Matthias found another stool and sat across from her.
"Tell me more about this process," she said, gesturing to the cocoa nibs. "I saw you do some of it, from afar, but I did not see all of it."
So Matthias told her. He told her about the first time his father had encountered cocoa, back at the bakery in Kanask when Matthias was only twelve.
How both he and his father had loved the flavor and the challenge of working with something new.
But that they had never been able to afford to purchase more of the rare bean.
He told her about the research he had done to learn how cocoa was used in its native land, and how he had tried to imitate that, how he believed he was close to cracking what cocoa was supposed to taste like.
He, in turn, redirected the conversation back to her, asking her about the herbs she grew and the concoctions she created.
She told him how she loved to garden, how she felt safe working with anything that was green in color.
How she loved to mash flavors together and infuse them into water for drinking or oil for dipping vegetables into.
And all the while, he quietly kept glancing down at her wrist.
She was doing it, too.
Her skin remained clear.
The conversation flowed quickly and easily, and it was nearing midnight when she finally held her wrist up between them. The corner of her mouth twisted up in nervous excitement. "I think the cocoa is safe."
Matthias lifted his hand, triumphantly punching the air above his head. "Cocoa is safe."
She smiled at his excitement and hesitantly reached out for another nib.
Matthias grabbed the pen and notebook. In the second column, he wrote the word, 'Cocoa', but did not cross it out.
She pointed again toward the second bowl. "What was the second question?" she asked.
Matthias looked at her face, tempering his excitement. "The first question was the easy one," he said. "Are you tired?"
She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. "Not particularly. If that is what I think it is, I would rather face it now than save it for tomorrow night."
Matthias slid the second bowl across the counter toward her.