Rylana braced herself for him to fling open the closet door. Instead, he walked past without glancing at it and turned into a room farther down on the opposite side of the hall.
“That pig smells wonderful, Yerin,” he said, his voice drifting back to Rylana. “Will you enter it in the contest?”
The return voice was more muffled, but she made out an indignant, “The Golden Whisk is far more than acontest. And you don’tenteritems that you craft ahead of time. You have to perform on the spot, under pressure, with the audience and judges looking on and the sand in the hourglass running out.”
The men moved too far from the hallway for Rylana to hear the following words.
“It seems Yerin is practicing too.” She opened the door a little wider, wanting to get close enough to eavesdrop, but a servant stepped into the hallway with freshly laden trays.
Rylana scooted back, her hip bumping Sylin, and she almost tripped over a mop bucket on the floor. Fortunately, she didn’t make any noise, and the servant passed without checking the closet.
“You’re going to have to reveal yourself eventually if you want to speak with him,” Sylin pointed out. “Wasn’t that your goal?”
“Yes, but if I could spy, I might learn even more.”
Too bad both men would recognize her. It wasn’t as if she could pull one of the servants into the lavatory, tie her up, and steal her uniform. And Sylin… Even if Yerin was focused on his work, he was bound to notice if one of the servers abruptly had pointed ears and green hair.
Another of the staff returned, walking up the hallway with an empty tray.
“Do you want me to make a diversion that will keep these servers occupied?” Sylin asked.
“Yes. Do you have an idea how?”
“I’m a repository of ideas. Also, I’m eager to escape this cramped closet.” Without explaining further, Sylin squeezed past and headed for the door they’d come through.
Rylana doubted they would be able to remain undiscovered for long, but it wasn’t as if the staff were carrying crossbows and would slay intruders. At the most, she would be escorted out.
After leaving the closet, Rylana crept toward the kitchen. There wasn’t a door, and warmth and appealing scents floated out, along with the murmurs of voices.
She peeked inside, spotting Yerin in a white chef’s coat similar to the one Jildarin sometimes wore. Vormalt stood beside him, hisarms folded over his chest. They faced one of two hearths burning cheerfully in the back of the kitchen, each with pots hanging over the embers. A large woodstove rested near the stone wall between the hearths, and Yerin was stirring something in one of several saucepans on top of it.
Near the entrance to the kitchen, Rylana spotted a half-closed door to a pantry, shelves of glass and ceramic jars visible inside behind hanging pieces of cured meat. She might be able to hide in there to keep from being noticed for longer, but then she could end up trapped. Or someone would look in, and she would have to explain that she was looking for the lavatory among the spices and salamis.
“I’m perfecting my dishes,” Yerin said, apparently answering something Vormalt had asked before Rylana came in, “not worrying about the guest list.”
“Did you eveninviteLord Avandar?” Vormalt asked.
Rylana gaped at their backs. That was her father.
“Yes, I had someone deliver an invitation two days ago.”
“Did he say he would come? Rylana's brother and his family are out of town. If Avandar leaves the premises, that would be an ideal time for me to visit unannounced and take advantage of the fact that they don’t maintain much in the way of staff. There are the magical security wards and such, but I finally found out who put in the system and paid her to draw me a map with instructions on bypassing everything.”
“Your plans for illegal trespass are less fascinating to me than you’d think,” Yerin said as Rylana kept gaping. Did Vormalt want to sneak in andstealsomething from her father’s castle? What and why?
“Your plans to win a stupid cooking contest aren’t that fascinating either,” Vormalt said.
The back door must have opened because the sounds of voicesin the backyard drifted inside. Was one of the staff coming in with another tray?
Rylana hesitated, wanting to hear what else the men said—as much aboutillegal trespassinto her father’s castle as the cooking competition. She ducked low, beneath the level of the butcher block countertop on one of three islands in the kitchen, and hurried to the pantry, barely bumping the door as she slipped inside.
“Hand me that spoon,” Yerin said. “Then go away. Or go loiter with the butler to see if Lord Avandar comes.”
“Your butlerwouldbe better company. Haven’t you already practiced enough dishes to ensure you’ll win?”
“I’ll definitely beat Horts, Dagmire, the elf chef, and that weird lady who, rumors say, is a jaguar shifter from the south. But that dragon… He’s using magic in his dishes. I’m certain of it.”
“Is that allowed?”
