Young Julius June continues to bad mouth Squire Raelyn until his spit turns dry, so Eleanor invites him to lunch with her.

“No … I mean … I shouldn’t dine with a prisoner—I mean a guest! I mean …”

“If you’re that adamant about it, then I won’t force you.” Eleanor smiles.

Together, they return to the main hall, where a table full of expensive cuisine is waiting. A palatine guard helps pull the chair for Eleanor. She thanks her and settles in with the grace of a princess.

Julius looks at the food with shimmering eyes. He swallows hard.

Eleanor grins and hovers her silver fork above the various dishes before picking a single head of broccoli. She slices it into tiny chunks and slowly nibbles it.

Julius looks at her and eyes the rest of the food in confusion.

After she’s done with the broccoli, she picks a tiny baby carrot and nibbles it also with the speed of a sloth.

The image is both elegant and frustrating to the surrounding staff—particularly the young page.

Eleanor mischievously casts her eyes around and says, “Please don’t stand in ceremony, you’re all welcome to join me, otherwise the food will go to waste.” She gestures to every knight, page, and servant around.

Julius gulps and looks if anyone would take the offer.

A knight steps up. “We apologize, Your Holiness, but it would be improper for our lowly selves to dine at your table.”

“Don’t spare my feelings, lady knight. I understand if you find the idea of eating with me repulsive.”

“I didn’t mean to offend, your holiness!”

“It is not I, you have offended, lady knight, it is these foods which laid before you. At a time not so long ago, our beloved country was gripped by the accursed blue plague. I believe you still remember it well.”

Eleanor casts her eyes around the room, and the people look downcast. Her words have reminded them of a chapter in their lives they’d rather forget.

She continues, “Years ago, the Devil spread a curse throughout our land—a curse of black blood and agonizing death. Throughout the countryside, people lay dead on the street in the pool of their waste. Mothers could only moan in agony as their children lay unburied, and fathers could only watch in horror as their world crumbled around them with naught they could do. Fish lay belly up. Crops turned to ashes. Rivers turned to poison and food—food was worth more than gold, more than land—it was worth fighting, worth dying for, worth sacrificing everything they had for, so the children of their children may live and the mother of their mothers could pass the night without crying herself to sleep. Food was, and still is, a blessing, not a commodity!”

The room is silent. All anyone can hear is the sound of their breathing.

Eleanor gestures to the table full of food. “This table could’ve fed an entire village for a month, and you know, heart of heart, that I am not exaggerating. You’ve lived it! You’ve suffered through it! Yet you’re all too eager to forget the lessons learned and the faces of those who died so you may live. Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, daughters, sons—what would they say if they saw you now? What would you say to them when you meet them once more in the garden of Ceram? Will you say to them: I wasted food because it wasn’t proper? I wasted food because it wasn’t prepared to my liking. I wasted food because I did not enjoy the company of my host. Will you look into their eyes and say these things to them, or will you stand there silently, listening to the voice of your guilt like you are doing now? Only you can answer these questions.”

Eleanor gestures once more.

“Come, sit at my table. If you do not enjoy my company, then take the plate to where you’d rather be, and if you are not hungry, then take this food to those who are. Do not waste a crumb of it, because if you so callously throw away your blessings, then you deserve naught from this world besides that which the Devil has in store for you.”

The people—knights, squires, pages, and servants—one by one, take their seats near Eleanor. And when they run out of chairs, they pick food onto their plates and sit on the sofa, on the table, and even on the carpet floor.

A servant nervously asks Eleanor if they can bring their friends over, and she graciously agrees. And when more and more come and fill out the room, Eleanor stands up and recommends they all move to the main hall. So each person, regardless of whether they’re a knight, squire, page, or servant, helps move the plates to the main hall where they are seated together as equals.

The commotion brings over the priests, nuns, and other knights, squires, pages, and servants, and eventually, the table full of food doesn’t look to be enough anymore. So Eleanor heads down to the kitchen to help prepare more food for the feast. The cook doesn’t want her there at first, but then they see how she expertly handles a knife and sends rice twirling above blazing flame so beautifully, and they have to surrender the kitchen to her.

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In the main hall, people from all walks of life sit side by side, diligently eating, sharing stories, laughing, and crying, together with no regard for rank or lineage. Their talks center on the Blue Plague and their shared painful experiences.

When Eleanor returns carrying a pot of stew alongside the other kitchen staff, people greet her with friendly faces and she smiles back in kind.

Of course, not all are pleased with what Eleanor is doing. Most of the priests, nuns, and the church’s faithful watch her mingle with the crowd with hateful eyes. But as their leader, Majestate Lorenzo is still in recovery, there isn’t much else they can do.

Eleanor searches the crowd until she spots young Julius sitting alone a distance away. The boy sits on the floor with a bowl of stew resting on his small thighs. When Eleanor approaches him, she sees that he is silently whimpering while shoving food into his mouth.

She sits next to him and remains silent.

After a long while, he finally says, “Why are you here?”

“You look like you can use some company.”

“I don’t need anybody! I’m doing fine by myself!”

“If you say so.”

She sits there.

Julius continues to eat while sobbing, and then he says, “I never needed anybody. Not here. Not before. Not even during the plague! I was doing perfectly fine! Just me … and Mama … and our little house in White Creek … As long as I have my Mama, I’m doing fine …”

Eleanor gently brushes the hair away from his teary eyes.

“I never have to worry about anything as long as Mama is there … My mama can do anything. She can cook, clean, tell stories, build stuff, nurse wounds, and do all sorts of things. My mama is the best in the world. There’s nothing she can’t do!”

“She sounds like a wonderful person.”

“No … Mama was a meanie. She … she always made fun of me because I’m small and weak. She’s even worse than Raelyn … She didn’t even give me a name for the first few years of my life …”

“… I see. She sounds awful.”

“No! My mama was awesome! She could be mean sometimes … and cruel … and loved to make fun of me … and called me names … and she wasn’t very pretty … and she liked to tell weird stories and say weird stuff sometimes … and she treated the other kids better than she treated me but … but she always took care of me … she gave me everything I wanted … everything I could ever ask for … and her touch was gentle when she treated my wounds, and her tone was gentle even if her words were mean, and I knew she loved me very much even if she didn’t show it! And her food was delicious … even during the blue plague, I never went hungry … She would cook me a big pot of stew, and watch me eat, without taking a bite herself … In the long, cold winters, I never saw her take a single bite … not one … Without her … I’m nobody … I’m nothing … just a useless brat who’s too weak and tiny and clumsy to become a squire, let alone a knight …”

“I see.”

“This stew … tastes just like hers …”

Tears and snot flow down the boy’s small face as he takes small bites of the stew, hoping to savor it for as long as possible.

Eleanor takes out a handkerchief to wipe his face.

“The only thing you’re tasting is your own snot,” she says. “You’re a big man now. You should learn to cry more handsomely or the girls won’t want to kiss you.”

Julius brows his nose. “That’s what Mama said …”

“I like her already.” She pats his head. “Now, if you like it, then eat up, boyo. That way, you’ll grow up big and strong. I can always make more if you want.”

“You made this?”

“Us fraudsters gotta make do somehow.” Eleanor winks.

Julius’s face flushes red, and he looks down. “I’m sorry for what I said about you before. I mean … about being manaless and all that.”

“Don’t be.” Eleanor leans close to his ear. “Truth is, I am a waste. At least, I was born as one.”

“Then how did …”

“My past doesn’t define who I am now or who I can become, and neither should yours. So if you have a dream—even if it’s out of reach, even if it seems impossible—you should go for it. I know you can do whatever you set your heart to, and I’m sure your mama thinks the same.”

“No, she won’t.” Julius smiles and rubs his red eyes. “But thank you.”

“Aww. You’re such a good boy.”

Eleanor ruffles his hair, and Julius pulls back.

“Hey, I told you I’m not a dog!”

“Aww.”

“Don’t ‘aww’ me, woman! Stop it. I said stop!”

As Eleanor messes with Julius, at a distance away, Squire Raelyn Reed observes them with a mysterious light in her eyes.

Eleanor glances back and lifts the corner of her lips.

The party drags on to the night, where Julius can be seen dancing and laughing with the other page boys.

When Eleanor returns to her room, she looks out the window at the starlit sky.

The large room atop the noble tower feels lonely, but the Devil isn’t alone. Not anymore.

“Change of plans, Freckles. We’re going to turn that snotty brat into a knight.”

“I expected you to say something like that, Ms. Amelia. So what’s your brilliant scheme this time? I warn you, if you say something ridiculous again, I won’t hesitate to spank you.”

“Would you quit it with the spanking, woman?! Geezus H. Christ, what is your trauma?”

“My trauma is you, Ms. Amelia.”

“Touché. Now enough monkeying around. Here’s how we’re going to do it. I call it Operation: What Doesn’t Kill You Make You Stronger. Here’s how we’re going to whip that shorty into shape …”

Eleanor relays the first idea that comes to mind to Donna, and suffice to say …

… she receives yet another spanking that night.