I twined my fingers with his, and narrowed the space between us—as much as I dared.
I wished we’d never have to let go.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Eager to work again, I returned to the kitchen, ignoring Rai’s and Kenton’s shrimp-eyed stares. By noon, they’d forgotten Zairena’s rumors and I was kneading dough for noodles, with a soup already simmering on the stove.
All was well until Hasege barged inside, brandishing his sword.
Unlike Zairena, he had never made an appearance in the kitchen before, and I braced myself, certain she had sent him to make my life miserable. More rumors that I was a sorceress, a public shaming for the bowl on my head—whatever it was, I was ready.
Except Hasege was not here for me. Scorn flickered in his eyes when he took in my presence, but his hard gaze swept past me to the cooks. To Chiruan.
“Your time is up, old man. Come with me.”
Confusion twisted the chef’s broad face. “My lord, I know that dinner is running behind tonight, and that the chicken last night was overcooked, but—”
Steel sliced the air, and Hasege’s sword landed at the edge of Chiruan’s throat.
“I said, come with me.”
Chiruan set aside his cleaver. “At least give me the dignity of telling me what I’ve done wrong.”
“What you’ve done wrong?” Hasege repeated with a laugh. “All right, for the sake of everyone here. You, Chiruan, are guilty of murdering Oriyu, honored sentinel of Castle Bushian.”
My hand jumped to my mouth. Chiruan, the assassin? That was impossible.
“S-s-sir, Chiruan has been Castle Bushian’s chef for over thirty years,” said Rai, as shocked as I was. “He—”
“He is A’landan,” Hasege reminded us all.
“Half-A’landan,” Chiruan spluttered. “This is nonsense. Oriyu died of Four Breaths. I have no—”
“This was found in your room.” Hasege held up a tiny bottle shaped like a long gourd and splashed its contents into one of the pots simmering over the fire. Within moments, a sickeningly sweet smell pervaded the kitchen, and the pot’s contents blackened as if someone had thrown soot inside.
Four Breaths.
“You were saying, old man?”
Chiruan coughed and turned his cheek. “That isn’t mine.” He faltered. “It isn’t.”
“It was found within a pouch of gold,” Hasege said as one of the sentinels drew forth a sack of gold makans. “Far too much money for an honest, hardworking cook like you.”
“I’ve never seen that before—”
“Another word, and your tongue will be forfeit. The same goes for anyone else who speaks in this man’s defense.” Hasege moved his blade from cook to cook before returning it to Chiruan’s throat.
Everyone shrank back, curling up like millipedes as Hasege and his sentinels rummaged through the pantry. I cringed as glass bottles and jars shattered, Chiruan’s carefully curated sauces and cooking wines carelessly tossed to the ground.
They found Chiruan’s box.
“Open this,” Hasege demanded of Rai and Kenton, pointing at the lock.
“Only Chiruan has the key.”
“It’s nothing,” Chiruan said, pleading. “Just spices and recipes. It’s been in my family for years—”
“Bring it to Lord Takkan for inspection,” ordered Hasege, cutting the key off the chef’s neck. “And take Chiruan to the dungeon.”
