Sophie POV
I left Alaric standing. His face was full of regret.
I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away. My heart hammered. Three days.
He had given me three days for a battle that needed weeks. I did not have time to cry or argue. I had to build a kitchen that could survive this.
I headed for the royal kitchen. The hallways felt longer than usual. The smell of grease met me at the door.
I called all the chefs. I clapped my hands to get their attention. The kitchen staff stopped their work. They looked at me with a mix of fear and curiosity.
"Assemble, everyone." I commanded.
"The competition themes are set. We have three days to prepare for this competition. Listen carefully to my instructions."
I stood by the wooden prep table.
I looked at their faces. Silas looked skeptical. Martha looked terrified. Damien stood in the back. His eyes were cold.
"For the unknown dish, we will make what I call peppered beef." I announced.
"Our special ingredient will be the pepper."
The room went silent. Silas and Martha exchanged looks of horror.
"Pe... pe..." Silas struggled with the word.
"Pepper? That is poison, Chef. It is a weed from the swamps. No one uses it to cook. It burns the tongue. It makes the eyes bleed. It is used for torture, not to make food." Silas stated.
"It is not poison, Silas." I said.
I kept my voice firm.
"I know this ingredient well. In my time, it is a staple. It provides heat. It provides flavor. If you prepare it correctly, it enhances the meat. It will be our secret weapon because the northern chefs will not know how to counter the heat."
"I will not be part of this." Silas said.
He stepped back.
"You will grind it." I said.
I looked him in the eye.
"I am the Chief Royal Chef. I take the risk. Grind the dried peppers into a fine powder. Do not touch your eyes while you do it."
I turned to Martha.
"For the second dish, we must make the Pek Duckling. It is a meal owned by the Moon Crescent Pack. We must beat them at their own game."
Martha gasped. She leaned against the wall.
"Pek Duckling is one of the hardest meals of the northern clans. Even their best chefs fail at it. The skin must be like glass. The meat must be like silk. If the humidity is wrong, the dish is ruined. We do not have the climate for it here." Martha started her concerns.
"We will make our own climate." I said.
"Prep eight ducks. Clean them thoroughly. Pour papaya stock water over them. The enzymes in the papaya will soften the skin. Then, leave them in the sun to dry. We need the skin to become tight and translucent."
"Papaya water?" Martha asked.
"That is not how the northerners do it."
"Exactly." I said.
"My method is faster. Everything will be fine. Trust my process."
I looked at the third theme. Duck soup. This was the most dangerous round.
A slow broth usually takes six to eight hours to draw out the marrow and the essence of the herbs. I did not have that kind of time on the day of the competition.
"For the third dish, the duck soup, I need something special." I said.
"I need a pressure cooker."
"Pre... ture cooker?" Silas asked. He tilted his head.
"No. A pressure cooker." I replied.
I picked up a piece of charcoal. I drew a diagram on a parchment paper. I showed them a heavy pot with a sealed lid and a small valve on top.
"It is a sealed vessel." I explained.
"It traps steam inside. The pressure rises. This heat forces its way into the food. It can cook something that usually takes three hours within one hour. It will help us cook both the duck and the tough wild herbs at the same time. The meat will be soft. The herbs will release their medicine quickly."
"So how do we get the pre... sture cooker?" Martha asked.
I thought about the history books I had read in the library. I remembered a name. A man who experimented with steam and iron.
"We need a blacksmith." I said.
"Specifically, Blacksmith Kaelen."
Silas let out a short, dry laugh.
"Oh. The one who made the iron pipe that went boom in the military quarters? The elders sent him away. They called his work devilry. Nobody knows where he stays now. Some people say he is dead. Some say he lives in the caves of the Silent Peak."
"Dead?" I whispered.
My stomach twisted. If he was dead, my plan for the soup was gone.
"If he is dead, we cannot build the cooker. The pot needs to be constructed by someone with experience." I said
"So what if we do not get the pres... cooker?" Martha asked.
"Then we use Plan B." I said.
I looked at the old iron pots hanging from the ceiling.
"We use the normal palace pots. But it will not give us the depth of flavor we want. The duck will be tough. The judges will notice. I must talk to the Alpha."
"Thank the Moon Goddess we have a plan B." Silas said.
I left the kitchen. I headed for Alaric's chamber. The palace felt like a ticking clock. Every second I spent walking was a second I was not planning.
I reached his doors. The guards let me through.
I saw Alaric sitting by his fireplace. He was not reading. He was not drinking. He was staring into the flames. His mood suggested he was not happy. He looked like a man carrying the weight of a mountain.
"Sophie." He said.
He stood up.
"Will you be able to prepare in three days?"
The urgency in his voice was sharp. He was looking for hope.
"I already discussed the menu with the cooks." I answered.
"I have a plan for the beef and the duck. I only need to get a few ingredients across the palace border. And I need a pressure cooker."
"Pr... e... ture?" Alaric asked.
He looked surprised.
"Pressure cooker." I repeated.
I explained the science of steam. I explained why it was the only way to win the third round. I told him about the time saved. I told him about the texture of the meat.
"Where can we get this device?" He asked.
"I need the blacksmith." I said.
"Kaelen. The one the military quarters dismissed."
Alaric shook his head.
"I do not know anyone by that name. I was young when the military labs had their accidents."
He called for Cassian. Cassian entered the room quickly.
"Cassian, do we have a blacksmith named Kaelen?" Alaric asked.
"There was someone like that, Sire." Cassian confirmed.
"But since he was pursued from the military quarters, he vanished. No one knows his whereabouts. He was accused of wasting royal iron on toys that exploded."
"We must find him." I said.
"Without that pot, the soup will fail."
"We will ask from where he lived before." Alaric said to me.
"People in the lower town usually keep track of their own. We will find him. That is settled."
He stepped closer to me. He looked at my face. He seemed to be studying the dark circles under my eyes.
"So, who did you pick to assist you in the competition?" He asked.
"Cook Silas and Cook Damien." I responded.
"They are the most experienced in the royal kitchen. They are agile. They know the equipment."
"That is good." Alaric said.
He reached out as if to touch my shoulder, then stopped.
"I know you can do this, Sophie. But even if you fail, I won't blame you."
His words were meant to be kind. But to me, they sounded like a funeral.
He was already preparing for my failure.
