But as I contemplated the challenge of eluding searchers, combined with the chance to earn some money, the exercise started to look like an excellent opportunity. By the time I reached the kitchen, I hoped Valek would win. Especially since I would be outside the castle for a day, and any skills I learned from being a fugitive might prove useful in the future.
“Something wrong with lunch?” Rand asked, hurrying toward me, concern pulling the corners of his mouth tight.
“No. Just need some hot tea.”
Relief softened his face. I wondered why he was so worried that lunch had been unsatisfactory. An image of a younger Rand rebelling against the Commander by ruining food as a form of sabotage entered my mind. I dismissed the thought. Rand wouldn’t serve inferior food; his ego centered on his edible creations. There must be something else between him and the Commander. Uncertain that our new relationship would survive asking personal, perhaps sensitive, questions, I held my tongue.
I’d known Rand for almost two weeks now, but I still hadn’t figured him out. His moods ran the gamut and changed without notice. Rand liked to talk. He dominated most conversations and asked only a few personal questions. I doubted he really heard my answers before he rambled on again.
“While you’re here,” Rand said, pulling a white cake from one of the cooling racks that hung on the wall like shelves, “can you try this? Let me know what you think.”
He cut me a slice. Iced with whipped cream, the layers of vanilla cake were separated by a mixture of raspberries and cream.
I tried to mask that my first bite tasted for poison. “Good combination of flavors,” I said.
“It’s not perfect, but I can’t pinpoint the problem.”
“The cream is a little too sweet,” I said, taking another bite. “And the cake is slightly dry.”
“I’ll try again. Will you come back tonight?”
“Why?”
“I need an expert opinion. It’s my entry for the fire festival’s baking contest. Are you going?”
“I’m not sure.” When I had mentioned the festival the other night, Valek hadn’t said that I couldn’t go.
“A bunch of us from the kitchen are going. You can come with us if you want.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know.”
On my way back to the Commander’s office, an unpleasant thought wove its way into my mind. I had been staying close to Valek because Brazell was still in the castle and wasn’t slated to leave until after the festival. If I played fugitive, what would happen if Brazell found out? What if I accidentally encountered him at the festival?
Coming to the conclusion that I was safer within the castle walls until Brazell left, I decided to decline both Valek’s and Rand’s offers. But by the time I delivered the tea to the Commander, Valek had already won his argument. He quoted cash incentives to me before I could say a word.
The sum for remaining “free” for an entire day was a large amount.
“The exercise is scheduled to take place during the fire festival. A busy time for the soldiers. Should we postpone it until after?” Valek asked the Commander.
“No. The added commotion will increase the level of difficulty for our pursuers.”
“Well, Yelena, that gives you only a few days to prepare. Fair enough, since some prisoners plan an escape route, while others see an opportunity and bolt. Are you interested in the challenge?” Valek asked.
“Yes.” The word sprang from my gut before the rational “no” in my mind could escape. “On the condition that Brazell not be informed of my participation.”
“Isn’t having a room in my personal suite an indication that I’m properly concerned with your well-being?” Valek’s voice huffed. I realized that I had insulted him.
When I had offended Rand, I quickly tried to make amends. With Valek, I tried to think of another comment to annoy him further, but I couldn’t produce one that quick.
“Speaking of Brazell,” the Commander interrupted. “He gave me a gift. A new dessert that his chef invented. He thought I might like it.”
Commander Ambrose showed us a wooden box full of thick, brown squares stacked on top of each other like tiles. They were smooth and shiny, but the edges looked as if they had been cut with a dull knife, ragged and shedding brown flakes.
Valek picked up a piece and sniffed it. “I hope you didn’t try any.”
“It’s too blatant, even for Brazell, to be poisoned. But, no. I didn’t.”
Valek handed the container to me. “Yelena, take some pieces out at random and taste them.”
I sorted through the squares and selected four. They were each about the size of my thumbnail and all four fit on the palm of my hand. If I hadn’t been told they were a dessert, I probably would have guessed they were pieces of brown candle wax. My fingernail left an impression on the top, and my fingertips felt slightly greasy after handling them.
I hesitated. These were from Brazell, and I didn’t remember his cook being especially inventive. I shrugged off my trepidation. I had no choice.
Thinking wax, I anticipated tasting wax. I bit into the hard cube expecting it to crumble between my teeth. It must have been the expression on my face that caused the Commander to rise, because I didn’t say a word. The sensations in my mouth had me enraptured.
Instead of crumbling, the dessert melted, coating my tongue with a cascade of flavor. Sweet, bitter, nutty and fruity tastes followed one another. Just when I thought I could say it was one, I would taste them all again. This was unlike anything I had ever encountered. Before I knew it, all four cubes were gone. I longed for more.
“Unbelievable! What is it?”
Valek and the Commander exchanged puzzled looks.
The Commander said, “Brazell called it Criollo. Why? Is there poison in it?”
“No. No poisons. It’s just…” The proper words to describe it failed me. “Try it,” was all I could manage.
I watched the Commander’s face as he bit into one of the squares. His eyes widened and his eyebrows arched in surprise. His tongue dashed along his lips and teeth as he tried to suck all the remaining flavor from them. He grabbed another piece.
“It’s sweet. Different. But I don’t taste anything unbelievable about it,” Valek said, wiping the brown flakes from his hands.
It was my turn to exchange looks with the Commander.
Unlike Valek, he had an appetite for fine cuisine. He recognized excellence when he tasted it.
“I’ll bet that little rat won’t last an hour,” Margg’s muffled voice said through the kitchen door. I had been about to enter when I had heard her.
“I’ll give fifty to one to anyone stupid enough to think the rat’ll last the day. And one hundred to one to the sucker who thinks she won’t be caught.” After Margg called the odds, the room erupted with sounds of betting.
I listened with growing horror. Margg couldn’t be talking about me. Why would Valek tell Margg about the exercise? It’d be all over the castle by tomorrow. Brazell would find out.
“I’ll bet a month’s wages that Yelena stays free all day,” Rand’s voice boomed out. The rest of the kitchen staff grew quiet.
My emotions seesawed from betrayal to pride. They were betting on me, and I couldn’t believe Rand had bet a month’s wages. He had more confidence in me than I did in myself. I tended to agree with Margg on this one.
Margg’s laughter echoed on the tiled walls. “You’ve been in the kitchen too long, Rand. The heat’s cooked