CHAPTER 26
HOT STEAM CLOUDED the air as roaring flames clashed with the cool of the night.
Sizzling oil hissed beneath the mad dash of tending to countless dishes all at once, and the kitchen was a frenzy of unending motion.
The counters were an endless mess—crowded with scattered ingredients and used pots and pans.
Finished dishes impatiently waited to be dressed in their final garnishes.
The Upper Moon Feast was barely an hour away. The Nyvens themselves, Lenore discovered, were only a measly group of five, including her and Charie. Until now, no one had a moment to breathe.
“You doing alright, Lenore?” Arielle, one of the Nyvens, asked as she passed by.
Winter, a small and frail woman, answered for Lenore. “She’s more than fine, I’ve tasted her dishes—looks like city people know a thing or two about food.”
Lenore laughed nervously when underneath she was constantly questioning if the food she was in charge of was even edible. Wiping the sweat off her brow, she kept her eyes on a bubbling pot of stew as she picked up a tasting spoon. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just a little caught up in the mayhem.”
“It’s always been like this every year—give or take the unpredictable things that make me wanna curse everything out,” Winter said. “But it looks like this year it worked out in our favor this time!” She grinned and waved at a nearby figure, his bulky frame hunched over a cutting board.
Ryker.
Sensing their gazes on them, he looked up and shot back a clearly disgruntled face.
Lenore paused when she brought the spoon to her lips. She noticed the jubilant glimmer in both Winter and Arielle’s eyes, further stirring the unease in her. But she smiled when Ryker’s gaze swept over in her direction. The raven feather she found in his apron couldn’t leave her mind.
“So Ryker got assigned here for punishment reasons?” Lenore asked.
She took a sip from the spoon. Just a dash of salt more.
With her other hand, she grabbed a pair of tongs, deftly pulling off seared slices of rabbit meat onto a prepared plate of herbs.
It was the same rabbit that was hunted as a gift for the Caernith.
“Mmmhm! Benefits us, seeing as we don’t have to clean the kitchen after,” Winter answered. “We’ve never had help from a higher-ranked werewolf before…” Her gaze turned sympathetic. “The pack is gonna make fun of him for a good while.”
“It’s a light punishment, anyway. It’s been a long time since someone processed a special creature for the pack without using the moonwrought tools.” Arielle glanced over at Ryker, then shook her head lightly. “I don’t know what he was thinking.”
“Moonwrought? What does that mean?” Lenore reached over to a jar of salt, scraping up just a pinch into her fingers.
“They were forged in moonlit fire, made holy from the Moon’s Sovereign’s blessing that brought the impossible fire to life. No one alive here has ever seen the fire—it was generations ago...”
As the white speckles of salt disappeared into the depths of the stew, Lenore frowned to herself. The tools must have some sort of adverse effect on Lucyns.
“So are ya all gonna keep chitchatting or do ya plan to serve something finished to the wolves up top?!” Ryker’s booming voice turned their attention to him. The large cleaver he held slammed down against the cutting board, effectively slicing an onion in half.
“Don’t boss us around! You screwed up!” Arielle stuck her tongue out, then yelped when Ryker snarled her way. She ran off to another Nyven—Leif, a tall male with ghostly pale skin.
“Don’t look so glum, Ry. Although, it’s funny that you left them in the moon nectar basins, of all places.” Winter snorted. “How could you have forgotten?”
From the corner of Lenore’s eye, she caught wind of Charie freezing up as she chopped away at the garnishes, before resuming once more.
“I didn’t think we’d find a mithrial during the cleansing routine,” Ryker groaned. “I forgot where those damn things were after I left them to soak for a few days.” The onions took the brunt of his annoyance as his cleaver mercilessly sliced into their flesh again and again.
The cold that burned in Lenore’s arm said otherwise.
Lies.
“Oh well.” Winter waved it off with an easy shrug. “But on the bright side, I think you did something Arisa was at least grateful for. The poor girl was so worried about her mate. Getting the mithrial blood in its best state was far more important than traditions—”
Leif clinked the side of a jar. He raised his spindly fingers, quickly weaving soundless words with his hands that his voice couldn’t utter.
“Wrong and debatable—that’s what my mate wants to tell you,” Arielle said.
Winter rolled her eyes. “Your traditions nearly held back something that could’ve healed our Caernith.”
Arielle wrapped her arms around Leif’s backside as she nuzzled her face against him.
“My mate is only saying that you don’t ignore a blessing to try to make it on your own.
” Her smile morphed into a frown when she sniffed the air.
Nose wrinkled, she asked, “What’s that—NO, MY ROAST!
” A hopeless cry spilled from her as she scurried off toward the smell of burning chicken.
Leif sighed and followed closely behind.
By their quick departure, any threats of tension dissipated, and the others went back to finishing the last touches of their dishes.
A short puff of air blew from Lenore’s nose. Stars. Even with the delectable smells of roasted and seared meat wafting in the air, she felt sick to the core.
Her shoulders lowered slightly. Making sure the coast was clear, she glanced over at Charie, catching sight of only her backside. Her usual braid hung limp, its shine gone. More strands of hair had fallen loose than remained. The black leather gloves she always wore were still kept on.
She looks… almost lifeless. Worry pricked at Lenore’s heart, but she quickly jerked her head away before the budding sympathy could swallow her up.
“Just one more thing now,” she whispered. Her hand snuck into her pocket, and she felt Pip pat her fingers, the warmth of the sprite barely noticeable against the kitchen’s heat. A tiny glass vial was moved into her hand, and she carefully pulled it out.
When no one was looking, she quickly pulled open the cork and tilted it downward onto her rabbit dish. Golden sparkles fluttered across the meat before melting into nothing. Though it no longer showed outwardly, the meat had received a light sprite’s blessing—the touch of grace.
She wasn’t sure if it would do anything miraculous for the Caernith, but she silently prayed that it would ease his pain even just a little.
After sliding the emptied vial back into her other pocket, Lenore focused on fetching her last dish, something the other werewolves were puzzled by when she initially proposed it.
The scent of baked apples and warm spices wafted up Lenore’s nose as she pulled a piping hot pie out a stone oven.
She hummed happily, enjoying the beloved smell of one of her favorite desserts.
The golden lattice crust was perfectly shiny and crisp—practically glowing, she’d claim as she placed the pie down in one of the last open spots on the counter.
Apparently desserts weren’t part of the usual werewolf cuisine, but to her, there was simply no way a feast could be a feast without a dessert at the end.
Even if it meant no one would eat it, or if it was seen as bizarre, she’d still eat the entire thing on her own.
“I’m done,” she breathed, freeing her hands from the oven gloves. “Oh stars, I actually got it all done.”
Lenore could feel Pip patting her leg—its own celebratory gesture. Her lips twitched, on the brink of bursting into a bright smile. But she quickly rubbed her palm against the corner of her lips. It wasn’t the time to relax yet.
After casting a final glance at her food, making sure the display was visually pleasing, she first went toward Arielle and Leif. The blackened chicken Arielle pulled out burned Lenore’s nostrils, and she tried not to react.
“Do you need any extra help?” she asked. “We can make this work!”
Arielle looked at her through the bitterness of her ruined food, with a fleeting wariness that Lenore had gotten accustomed to.
She smiled politely. “No, it’s okay. Leif’s got my back already.
” Pointing toward Charie, she said, “Maybe Charie? Ryker’s been working with Winter mostly so... she could probably use a hand.”
“Oh—right. Right.” Lenore nodded. “Good idea.” She turned then, hesitating for a split second before she moved forward.
Am I any better if I treat her coldly? She squeezed her hands together and moved faster. As soon as she reached Charie, she tapped her shoulder gently—jumping back when Charie startled sharply.
“Huh—What—” Charie swung around with wide eyes, clutching her knife tightly. She blinked rapidly.
“Uh... s-sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.” Lenore had pulled her hands tight to her chest, but she slowly lowered them as she asked, “Do you need any help?”
“Oh—” Charie started, then stopped. Her eyes flitted downwards. She turned her back on Lenore. “It’s alright,” she mumbled.
“... Are you sure?” Lenore persisted. “I’ve finished my portion of the dinner prep. Anything else that needs to be done, we can do it together.”
Charie remained quiet. Lenore stood there, fiddling with her fingers. Her brow furrowed as concern seeped in. Something was definitely wrong.
Just as she was about to tell Charie she’d leave her be, the raven-haired woman turned her head toward her.
Uncertain eyes met Lenore’s. “Um…” Charie set the bowl of garnishes down. “Well, if you don’t mind, I still haven’t sliced the cockatrice tongue up. Is that okay with you?”
“Cockatrice tongue…” Lenore repeated slowly. It wasn’t the strangest meat on the menu, she supposed. “I can do that,” she said with a smile. “Consider it done.”