The next day, Archie stayed in bed as long as he could. He held his omnihandle up in the air as he tried to figure it out. Different warped shapes came out of the handle as he struggled. A ball of metal. A Y-shaped wood. A flattened spoon. Or was it a fork with no gaps? The closest he got to something useful was a single point that could be used as a skewer.

Finally, the innkeeper came to kick him out. “—unless you wanna be doing dishes all day!”

Archie gathered his things with the innkeeper in the door, exchanged his last few coppers for another piece of bread, and went back out into the chaos of the city.

Archie looked up at a large clock tower. One hour until the ceremony. Perhaps a long time, but Archie had no sense of scale for such a massive urban maze. He made his way up the Trunk, passing dozens of statues that only grew taller as he ascended the city. While the statues were made of a variety of stones and bronze and ivory, almost all of them depicted the same subject—Ambrosia. It was said that if someone ever forgot what city they were in, they only needed to look at the nearest epigraph.

Archie lugged his bags and groaned at every little set of stairs. He made a paradise of his agony by retreating into his mind, imagining what feats he would achieve that would prompt the citizens of Ambrosia City to make a statue of him. There would be one of him in Sain, of course, awarded to him after he brought prosperity back to his hometown.

Finally, long after he had cursed himself for not saving enough money for the tram, he found his way to a thick set of walls that separated the highest point of Ambrosia City. Beyond the walls, big, blocky buildings and spires of cerulean stone rose up, up, up and blended in with the blue sky.

As he walked through the gate, he wondered which parts of the keep belonged to the Academy.

And then a gloved hand yanked him back and sent him tumbling across the ground. A guard, not a Chef, but with wild eyes that made him just as intimidating, pointed a spear down at Archie.

“I don’t know you,” he growled, more bear than man. Tight black curls spilled out from his helmet. Thick, dark stubble covered his face, stretching from his neck to his eyes. Somehow, Archie felt like it had grown that much since the guard’s morning shave.

“I’m Archie! Archie Kent.”

“And that’s supposed to mean something to me?”

“Uh…Yeah, no. Uh—I’m going to be a Chef. I was invited!”

The guard lifted the spear point away. “Oh, well congratulations.” He faked a smile before sticking the spear point back down at Archie. “But this ain’t the Academy!”

Archie scooted on the ground away from the spear, his butt sore from all the times he had been thrown around by the guards that week. “Alright, well just tell me that, then!”

The guard responded to the insolence with a menacing step forward.

“Alright, alright! Sorry.” Archie tried to reset the conversation. “What’s your name?”

“Guard. Sometimes it’s You There. Sometimes it’s Stop Him. Sometimes it’s Stab Him.”

Archie looked at the point of the spear, then the guard, then did his best to smile. “I’m going to stay optimistic and go with Stop Him. So Stop Him, which way is the Academy?”

“Not telling.”

“What?”

“Not. Telling!” The whiny exclamation made the guard seem less like a soldier and more like a petulant child. Of course, this child had a spear and no reservations in pointing it at Archie.

“Why not?”

“Why should I tell a little brat like you,” he took a step forward, causing Archie to scoot back even more. “Who don’t know where he’s going,” another step, “who don’t show no respect,” another step, this time with a shake of the spear, “who ain’t worth my time,” another step, “where the Academy is?”

“Wait! I’ll cook you something! I was accepted into the Academies, yeah?”

“You was invited. Acceptin’ ain’t happen yet.”

Oddly astute. Archie reconsidered his impression of the man’s intelligence.

“Well, I was invited for a reason. I’ll make you something!”

“Something magical?”

“Something magical!”

The guard’s anger cooled, but his skepticism still burned bright. “When?”

“Uhhh…what’s today, Wednesday? I’ll bring you something on Sunday.”

The guard’s demeanor sharpened. “Sunday’s me day off!”

“Saturday, then!”

“If you don’t…” Stop Him tapped his fingers on his spear. “Well, I know where you’re gonna live. What’ll you bring me?”

“I don’t know yet!”

“Well, nothing too spicy. I love it, but me tummy don’t.”

“Okay, something spicy.”

“Nothing spicy!”

“Nothing spicy!” Archie finally managed to collect himself enough to stand. The two stared at each other for a moment. “So uh…where’s the Academy?”

“It’s there,” the guard said dismissively. He nodded back down the road at a single-story building that looked more like a barn than an academy.

“Behind that building?”

“No, that’s it. See that building there? The Academy of Ambrosia awaits, oh noble Chef-to-be.”

Archie turned to look down the road. The entrance to the building was smeared with horse manure. “No, that can’t be it. Maybe you didn’t understand. I’m looking for THE Academy of Ambrosia. Like…it’ll be big.”

The guard stepped forward again. “Yeah, because I don’t know what the Academy is when I spend all day standing here in the sun just a spear’s throw away from it.”

Archie looked down the road. The building couldn’t be the Academy. But if it was…Archie eyeballed the distance. One hundred, maybe two hundred feet away. “You can throw a spear that far?”

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The guard took a bashful step back. “Well, not my spear’s throw. Never been much of a thrower, really. But someone else’s throw, sure.”

“How’d you become a keep guard if you can’t throw a spear?”

The guard took an aggressive step forward, spearpoint down again. “Because I’m really good at stabbing with ‘em! Now get out of here!”

“But that’s not the—”

Stop Him started laughing and rested his spear at his side. Archie stared at him in confusion.

“Almost gotcha!” the guard roared. He laughed harder than he had any right to. Harder than anyone ever had any right to.

Archie sighed. “So where is it?”

“Follow the wall that way around the bend. There’ll be some little steps that go down into a plaza. Everything there is Academy.”

Archie considered saying thanks, but decided the guard hadn’t earned it.

Archie walked along the wall. As the path got squeezed down to a narrow walkway, he wondered if the guard was having another laugh. But then the stairs appeared behind a curve in the wall, leading down to a well-kept plaza.

The buildings that squared the plaza were small but remarkable. The central building had massive windows that lined the white walls, the gaps between them adorned with statues. A massive portico came out into the plaza, supported by granite columns.

But still. Archie had heard that over fifty students lived in the Academy. This was just a big restaurant.

Maybe it’s bigger from the other side?

Archie stepped through the large open doors to the main building. No gloved hand yanked him back. A good start. His eyes adjusted to the bronze lanterns that lit the interior of the great hall. In a way, it resembled Petrichor—if Petrichor could seat one hundred people and had been made by master craftsmen. Smaller tables and chairs along the walls, massive tables and benches filling the middle of the room. At the end of the room, a set of stone steps led up to a raised stage that hosted the head table, forty feet long and seating a dozen adults that looked down on a sea of nearly one hundred eighteen-year-old hopefuls.

Archie only recognized one person, and just barely. Sitting off-center at the main table, the absurdly large man from the arena studied the students with hungry eyes. Even the Glutton that had visited Petrichor would seem normal next to this behemoth.

Archie walked past the crowded far end of the bench where the nervous kids sat. Up ahead, the most excited and distinguished prospective students filled up the section closest to the main table. Archie made eye contact with the boy from the carriage, who immediately looked away.

That left the middle of the table. The loveable, blend into the crowd, middle. But even finding a space there proved difficult.

“Over here,” a dark-skinned girl said to Archie from one of the benches. “Scoot over,” she grunted as she put her shoulder into the boy next to her. Her coiled hair fell around her face like a willow tree, bouncing as she shoved the boy again.

Archie set his bags down and stepped over the bench.

“I’m Cress,” the girl said with her hand out before Archie could even sit. He shook it.

“I’m Archie Kent.”

“Hi Archie!” She pointed across Archie’s body. “That’s Sutton. Took a minute to get a peep out of him, but—lovely guy.”

Archie turned to Sutton, nodding. The short, brown-haired boy shrunk away, pushing up his glasses as he winced out a smile.

“Aaand over here,” Cress continued, pointing across the table, “we have Oliver…”

A dirty blonde with a mischievous smile.

“Blanche…”

Long, straight brown hair and bangs. Red lips protruding from a pale backdrop. A forgettable face that said, “I’m here,” and nothing more.

“Aaaaand…Uh…”

A girl. Pure black hair. Eyes with monolids near the nose and hooded lids near the edges. A little line beneath her protruding bottom lip. Slightly tan. Pretty. “Nori,” the girl said, finishing Cress’s introduction without a smile.

“Nori!” Cress echoed.

Archie nodded at Nori. Nori turned to look at the stage.

“Lots of names,” Cress continued with a wave of her hand. “But don’t worry, we don’t need to know them all yet.”

“And uh,” Archie settled into his seat and pointed up at the Glutton on the stage. “Who’s that?”

Oliver leaned over the table, his voice hushed and coated with trouble. “Oh, you mean the normal-looking woman dressed in browns? Or the man next to her? He’s wearing a hat indoors, you must mean him.”

Cress giggled.

“No, I mean—”

“Oh, the man taking up five seats? The man that you’re dying to know how he managed to get up those steps?” Blanche joined Cress in laughter. Sutton shushed Oliver. Nori stayed facing away. “The man that could take little Sutton here, roll him up in his palm, and pop him into his mouth like a mint?”

“Enough,” Sutton hissed. “If you really knew who he was, you wouldn’t be making jokes so loudly.”

“Of course I know who he is. I’m from Labrusca and I still know who he is. Only one person he could be. The big. Great. Huge. Massive. Uh…other words for fat...” The girls tried to stifle their laughter. Sutton reached over to pinch Oliver’s arm. “Prince Waldorf!”

Archie looked up at the stage. Prince Waldorf looked back, sending a chill down his spine. There was no way that the Glutton had heard them, but Archie still felt caught.

“That’s Prince Waldorf?” Archie asked.

“Of course it is. No one bigger in Ambrosia. You know how he got that way?”

Archie shook his head.

Oliver leaned to his side, putting his elbow on the table and his back against Sutton. “Archie, either of your parents Chefs?”

“Both,” Archie said. Then he realized his chance to start getting his family name back out there. “I’m a Kent, actually.”

Oliver puffed air into his closed lips, ballooning them. He blew out the air with a pop. “Yeah, I don’t know what that means.”

Archie started to explain the significance of the Kent name, but fortunately for the rest of the group, Oliver powered through with his explanation of Prince Waldorf.

“Anyways…They ever make you stuff your face with enhanced meals? Jam all sorts of magics down your throat?”

“No.”

“Well, some Chefs make their kids do that. Not mine. But others. Make ‘em eat all kinds of stuff. Eating all the time. They think if they put enough magic down your throat, something magic will come out the other end.”

The joke broke through Archie’s nerves, prompting him to snort in laughter with the rest of them.

“They think that the best Chefs are the ones that grew up eating magic. Well, when our lovely grand king married into the royal line, he was worried that his heir wouldn’t be a Chef. So he thought he would cheat the pregnancy a bit. So before he porked the grand queen—”

“Oliver!” Blanche hit him, but he was undeterred.

“—he stuffed her full of pork. Then, when she gave birth to a boy, he didn’t stop. Magic breastmilk, he wanted. Actually, come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind a bit of that myself.”

Oliver leaned back to laugh, catching a slap on the chest from Blanche. Sutton shook his head in disapproval. Cress laughed. Nori continued to look away.

“Anyways,” Oliver continued, “then he started feeding little baby Wally as much magic food as he could get his hands on. This was just after the unification, so he had the authority to call Chefs from all over Ambrosia to come to the capital and make meals for his little boy. Didn’t care if he was hungry or not.”

Archie pictured a child, already grown to the limits of his clothing and bursting at the buttons, waving his hands in protest of another plate being pushed in front of him. A dark shadow of a father hovered over him, only showing affection once all the crumbs were gone.

“And then year after year, the Festival of Ambrosia came and went without a peep of magic from the little prince piggy. The king spent a fortune on the best ingredients, the best cookware, the best tutors. And then, when the prince stepped up to the stove, he could hardly make a piece of toast worth eating. Now nearly 30 years on, Prince Waldorf hasn’t shown a whiff of magic. But he hasn’t stopped trying. Still eats as much in one meal as the rest of us in a week. Oh, Great Glutton.”

“Don’t call him that!” Sutton said. “You can’t call him that!”

“Oh, why not?”

“Because…” Sutton pushed up his glasses, ashamed to even speak the lie that had been pushed across the kingdom by supporters of the Glutton prince. “He could still manifest. He could just be a late bloomer.”

Oliver laughed incredulously. “Yeah, just needs to eat everything in the ocean first. He’s a disgrace.” For the first time, Oliver’s voice hardened and his face turned into a scowl. “Gluttons shouldn’t be allowed to exist. They’re monsters that ruin the magic that Ambrosia gave us.”

“Wow, Oliver,” Cress said. “I didn’t know you were so serious about it all.”

Oliver took a deep breath. “Sorry. I just don’t think there is a worse fate for a Chef than having all your creations devoured by a Glutton. They have no appreciation for any of it. They just consume mindlessly.”

“So what’s he doing here?” Archie asked.

Oliver nodded to Sutton, prompting him to answer.

“You know how we all have to apprentice somewhere?” Sutton said. “Well…he’s here to snatch up any of us that he can.”