The Vampire & Her Witch

”You’ve actually dined with King Thibert, haven’t you, Micheline?” Maela asked gently, hoping to blunt the intensity of Nyrielle’s attention falling on her niece by providing a starting point for her answer. ”Are you saying that even he doesn’t dine so well?”

”It, it isn’t that King Thibert doesn’t dine well,” Micheline said, feeling like she might have inadvertently said something deeply inappropriate. ”The palace cooks are masters of their trade, and the Lord Master of Kitchens in the Royal Palace supervises several masters beneath him, from the Lord Master of Soups to the Lord Master of Meats...”

”Are they really lords?” Ashlynn said, blinking in surprise. She hadn’t spent much time studying the Royal Capital because it hardly seemed important. She knew full well that she’d never visit Gaalen, or if she did, it would be in chains as a prisoner of the Inquisition. The details of the Royal Palace and its staff were as important to her as the etiquette for greeting the Saint.

”Does the King of Gaal really demand that knights and barons set aside their duties to become his cooks?” Ashlynn asked.

”It’s not like that,” Micheline said. ”Many of the senior servants in the palace receive titles as lords. To be trusted with preparing the king’s food is no less serious a task than to be trusted with guarding his life, so...”

”I see,” Nyrielle said. ”Perhaps we should think of something similar for Georg, my darling. He’s worthy of the recognition.”

”Agreed, if he’ll accept the honor,” Ashlynn said with a nod before she turned back to Micheline. ”But what did you mean about this being how kings should dine?”

”You know how it is at the High Table when you have important guests,” Micheline said. ”The Master of Kitchens has to find out every visiting lord’s favorite dishes and then make sure that there are enough of them on the table for everyone to enjoy as much of it as they want, because if you make someone’s favorite dish but then run out before they’ve eaten their fill, it’s a grave insult...”

”Better not to have made it at all,” Jocelynn agreed.

”But no one thinks about how the dishes go together,” Micheline said. ”Everything on the table is very good and there’s always so much of it that the leftovers can feed the kitchen staff and the serving staff twice over when the feast is done,” she said. ”But this is different.”

”Master Georg is like an artist who treats food the way a sculptor treats stone,” Micheline praised. ”Every bit of it works together, exactly as he intended. The beef is good, but it’s better because of the gratin. Both together are too rich to enjoy, but with the salad, you can eat as much of the beef and the gratin as you want. And the toast, by itself, would be too plain, but with the marrow, it turns into a crisp treat that stops everything else from feeling like mush in your mouth that just blends together...”

”It’s high art, curated to be enjoyed exactly the way it’s presented, assembled by a master,” Micheline said. ”A master who knows their diners’ needs and desires beyond just providing food that tastes good.”

When Ashlynn had referred to the first course as ’a taste of the empire,’ she’d said it as a joke, but she hadn’t been wrong. Beef and radishes taken from different regions of the Verdant Hills, a duck egg from the Vale of Mists, caviar from the mountains beyond the Vale... And all of it prepared with a technique that Micheline had never seen before.

If she looked at it the way her teachers had taught her to study a piece of art, the messages that could be read were many, but all of them were clear. She was being welcomed into a new world and given a glimpse of the different pieces of that world coming together in harmony. The dish couldn’t exist without the cooperation of many regions.

Jocelynn’s reaction to the salad had made it clear that Georg had done far more than provide a contrasting flavor to the rich, decadent beef. It demonstrated a sort of personal care that could generally only be provided by the most loyal of attendants after years of learning their master’s preferences... And he’d done it on Jocelynn’s second visit to the Vale.

”The Kingdom of Gaal hasn’t just greatly underestimated the strength of the Vale of Mists and the Eldritch people,” Micheline said. ”It has vastly underestimated your sophistication as well. May I... May I write to my father about this?” Micheline asked.

”About all of it, really,” she said. ”The duels in Lothian, the city here... How much can I tell him?”

”For now?” Nyrielle said, raising a brow at the young lady. ”Nothing. We need to see that your father has done as Ashlynn asked and carried her letter to your Duke of Keating. It’s good that you’re beginning to understand us, cousin,” she said in a tone that wasn’t quite as warm as Nyrielle might have wanted it to be.

”But make no mistake,” Nyrielle added. ”The person Ashlynn entrusted with speaking about the truth of the Empire is you,” she said. ”Not your father. You aren’t bound by the oaths that bind a vassal to his lord. You can speak freely in ways that your father cannot. And once you put ink to parchment, it can be read by many...”

”We don’t want to stifle you, Micheline,” Ashlynn said when she saw her cousin growing concerned. ”But we still need to be careful while matters are delicate. If you want to write, it’s not a bad idea,” she added. ”Get things down while your impressions are fresh.”

”I actually wrote several letters while I was traveling beyond the Umber Mountains,” Ashlynn said, turning to look at Jocelynn. ”I wrote several to you, even though I couldn’t send them. If you’d like, I can give them to you after dinner tonight,” she offered. ”They were always meant for you after all.”

”I’d like that,” Jocelynn said, nodding her head eagerly. ”I’d like that very much...”