“What do you mean he’s gonna snatch us up?” Archie asked.

“Here’s what is going to happen,” Sutton started, “first, the arbiter is going to judge your magic potential. Essentially, they check to make sure you’re not a fraud. Then, they’ll figure out your affinity. Then, sponsors will be allowed to bid on you.”

“Like an auction?”

“Not exactly. They can’t raise their bid. It stays at a hundred gold for the year.”

Oliver whistled. “Lotta money.”

“If you’re smart, like I happen to be, you already have someone lined up.” Sutton tilted his head toward one of the small tables near the wall. A middle-aged man had his face down in a book, totally oblivious to the ceremony surrounding him.

“Who’s that?” Oliver asked.

“My ticket,” Sutton answered. “Mr. Hodgens. Of the Ambrosial Archive.”

“Wait,” Blanche said. “You’ve arranged sponsorship from…a librarian? Is that even allowed?”

“Technically, Mr. Hodgens is a Chef. He runs a Blue Jacket Cafe in the library, making him eligible to be a sponsor.”

While Archie still had much to learn about Chef society, the ranking of Chefs was something his ambition had driven him to learn at a young age. There were eight main ranks of Chefs, each denoted by a colored jacket. The lowest rank started at an orange jacket then moved along the color wheel, being promoted to yellow, then green, blue, purple, red, black, and finally, white.

Mr. Hodgens being a Blue Jacket put his abilities right in the middle of the Chef population. The ranks of Chefs formed a bell curve with the highest ranks being extraordinarily rare. Of the estimated five thousand Chefs in the world, there were fewer than one hundred Black Jackets. White Jackets were even more rare, their ranks not even reaching ten members.

And yet, as Archie looked around the room full of potential sponsors, he spotted three White Jackets. He imagined what kind of doors would unlock if one of them chose to sponsor Archie. He’d be on the fast track to restoring the family name.

“I happen to have a passion for rare ingredients,” Sutton said. “I’ve already helped Mr. Hodgens with his work. Now I’ll do it in a professional capacity.”

“What’d you help him with?”

Sutton’s smarter-than-thou demeanor transformed into one of boyish excitement. “I helped him decipher one of Ambrosia’s own recipes.”

“What?”

“He found an ancient recipe. I overheard him talking about it while in the library. ‘It asks for gercolla.’ He thought it was some extinct herb. But I figured out that it was an old word from Khala that refers to dragon feces.” He leaned back, proud of himself.

“But like, what does that accomplish?” Blanche asked. “If no one’s seen a dragon for hundreds of years…”

“The recipe didn’t call for dragons, though,” Sutton said. “Petrified dragon feces can still be found all over Ambrosia.”

“What kind of recipe uses dragon turds?” Oliver asked with disgust.

“It was medicinal.” Sutton turned to Archie. “Anyway, Prince Waldorf bids on everyone and employs them as personal Chefs. See how few bidders have come? Rumor has it if someone in Ambrosia City steals away a potential apprentice, the prince has ways of making life difficult for you.”

“Yeah, he’ll eat your restaurant, bricks and all,” Oliver chimed.

Sutton ignored him. “Sponsors from the other kingdoms will take away most of this year’s students. But for the rest…the prince runs things around here. Even Mr. Hodgens was hesitant to enter the ceremony. But after some convincing, he figured his position outside of food and inside the government would shield him.”

Archie looked at Prince Waldorf again. The Glutton had dressed all in black, but Archie didn’t see the signature buttons of a Chef’s jacket.

“Gluttons can’t be Chefs, right? And you have to be a Chef to sponsor a student. So why is he allowed to bid?”

“He bids on behalf of the Chef that runs his restaurant,” Sutton explained.

“Prince Waldorf owns a restaurant?”

“From a strictly legal sense, yes.” Sutton had difficulty hiding his disapproval. “It operates in his own private section of the keep and only exists to serve the prince and his friends.”

A loud, rich voice cut through the crowd.

“If I could have your attention,” the voice boomed.

“Clover!” someone yelled with excitement.

Archie turned to the doors. Clover Albrecht, the announcer from the day before, entered with a confident stride.

“As a proud alumnus of the Academy of Ambrosia, it is my honor to host this year’s Induction Ceremony. If you’ll all have a seat, we’ll get started with the rules…”

Clover cantered up to the stage and reminded everyone of the rules of sponsorship.

“...and with that, I believe we are ready to begin! First, perhaps a word from your Chancellor of Culinary Arts!” Clover swung his arms toward an old bespectacled man seated at the center of the table.

The old man looked around, grumbling. The woman beside him leaned in and whispered something that seemed to wake the geezer up. The old man rose, halfway to standing, and croaked out a half-hearted, “let’s begin.”

Clover pursed his lips. “Oooookay then. You heard the man! Let’s see, who do we have first?” He grabbed a list of names from the presentation table. “Oh! Julienne Allard from The Platter, and if I’m not mistaken, the heir apparent to Cafe Julienne.”

A boy with cascading waves of dark hair stood at the front of the assembly. He waited for no further explanation, striding up to the table.

The woman that had nudged the Chancellor reached to a small table behind her, coming back with a bowl. “Put your finger inside, dear.”

Julienne dipped his finger into the bowl and then pulled it out. The woman, who Archie had figured to be the aforementioned arbiter, spooned some opaque goo from the bowl into her mouth.

“Mmm, yes indeed! Tremendous potential,” she crowed. “Now, if you would place your hands beneath the bowl and apply heat.”

Julienne cupped the bowl. Archie couldn’t see what happened inside the bowl, but the arbiter seemed pleased. “Oh!” she exclaimed as she dipped her hand into the bowl, pulling out a sturdy block of cheese and a dried apricot. “Multiple affinities already at this age. Such promise.”

She put the food back into the bowl and slid it down to the next person who slid it down to the next person who slid it down to Prince Waldorf who slid it down his throat.

“Alright, you heard her,” Clover said. “Who is willing to step forward to sponsor Julienne Allard?”

A White Jacket stood up. He looked like an older version of Julienne—raven-haired, sharp cheekbones. Beautiful. Behind him, a similarly beautiful woman in her sixties shifted around in her seat, adjusting her white jacket. “Cafe Julienne will,” the man declared.

Prince Waldorf raised his hand a few inches off the table in a pessimistic bid.

“I accept Cafe Julienne’s sponsorship,” Julienne said before any other bidders could speak.

“Best restaurant in Ambrosia City,” Sutton explained. “Maybe the world. Run by his uncle, another Julienne.”

“Alright, we have nearly a hundred students to get through, so let’s get to it,” Clover said.

Cafe Julienne took two more. Yarrow, the boy from the carriage, turned the goop into an acid so powerful that it ate through the bowl. Even Prince Waldorf didn’t try to eat it. Another girl, Mindy, the definition of blonde beauty, produced a sour fizz. Prince Waldorf slammed a fist on the table when she was stolen away.

Sutton went to the Ambrosial Archive.

Blanche went to Blue Orchards along with a boy named Benedict that pushed his way to sit next to Blanche when they returned to their seats.

Cress, having already arranged her sponsor, went with a boy named Akando to Kuutsu Kaana, one of the premier Kuutsu Nunan restaurants in Ambrosia City.

Oliver went to Ivory Pasta. When he made his choice, someone with a Labruscan accent cursed in the crowd.

Then…

“Archibald?” Clover asked rather than announced. Going through over fifty students had robbed him of his energy.

Archie jumped up, nearly tripping on the bench as he got up. He couldn’t believe Clover had called him so nonchalantly. Didn’t the host know this was a big moment in the Chef world? The return of the Kents!

Archie strode up to Clover, not the arbiter, and hissed under his breath. “Kent.”

Clover recoiled at the confrontation. “What?”

“Archibald Kent.”

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

Clover raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Alright then.” He resumed his announcing voice. “Archibald Kent, everyone!”

“Kent?” the chancellor echoed, grumbling something to the woman next to him.

Satisfied, Archie walked over to the head table.

“The Kent boy.”

Archie turned to face the voice and his heart dropped. Prince Waldorf pursed his lips into a tight smile, the mounds of his cheeks protruding from his face. His voice had a strange, modulated intonation—it warbled dramatically up and down like a circus ringleader speaking through a broken megaphone.

“I’m so glad that you got my invitation.”

His invitation. Up close, Archie found the Glutton even more repulsive.

“I know all about your family history,” Prince Waldorf said. “All of your family history. I hope we can bring your name back into the good graces of the people. Together.”

They were the words Archie was desperate to hear. Validation of his family’s legacy. A promise—from a prince no less—to restore the name. But as Archie heard the words, alarm bells sounded from within. He knew that Prince Waldorf would lead to his doom with the same certainty of prey watching the approaching predator.

“Finger in,” the arbiter commanded.

Archie looked into the bowl. Opaque, brown goo. Surely not tasty. But that didn’t matter. This was the moment when everyone would see the potential of a Kent. He dipped his finger in as a bead of sweat dripped from his forehead. Nothing seemed to change.

The arbiter spooned some into her mouth.

“Hmmm. Some potential, yes. A decent amount. Now, apply heat.”

Archie lowered his voice to a whisper. “Sorry?”

“Put your hands around the bowl and apply heat.”

“I uh…I don’t know how to do that.”

The arbiter took a deep breath. “You don’t have to. Just do it.”

Archie cupped the bowl and felt it suck an energy out of his hands. The goo started to fold in on itself and transform, cycling through a variety of foods—an apple, a carrot, an onion, a cracker, and finally, a thin noodle with a large spherical lump stuck inside.

The arbiter pinched the noodle with the edges of her fingertips and lifted it, letting it dangle like a snake that had eaten too large of a meal. The ball inside slumped toward the end and a fist-sized mint spilled out in a burst of fizz.

Then it hit the table, and the minty exterior cracked away to reveal an orange that rolled down the table. It split apart of its own accord, revealing six slices of cheese with an orange rind. One of the Head Chefs grabbed a slice and popped it in his mouth.

“Sweet…and spicy,” he said.

“What does that mean?” Archie asked.

“It means,” Prince Waldorf said as he boxed out the other guests and scooped up the remaining slices. “You’ll make for an interesting Chef.”

Archie’s heart dropped to the floor.

“I’ll take him,” the prince said.

Archie’s heart rolled into the street and got run over by a horse.

“Alright, anyone else care to bid?” Clover asked. Prince Waldorf growled at Clover, who stepped away and muttered under his breath, “juuuuust doing my due diligence.”

Please.

“Well, looks like no one.”

Please.

“Alright, Archibald Kent, you are—

Please.

“Excuse me?”

A voice echoed from the opposite corner of the Great Hall, offering to put Archie’s heart back together.

“Who’s that?” Clover asked, searching the crowd.

“Rowan Knapp,” the man replied. He stepped into a space in the crowd. Archie gasped. The man wore a black jacket—Archie could be taught by one of the best. “I’ll bid on the boy.”

“Oh, a surprise! Swooping in at the last second. Well, Archibald, what’ll it be?”

The prince’s breathing grew heavy. Guttural. Ominous. Archie kept his back to him, afraid to acknowledge him.

“I’ll go with uh…him.” Archie pointed at Rowan Knapp.

The prince let out a weighty harrumph.

“Alright…off you go,” Clover said with the fatigue of a man that regretted volunteering to announce so many names.

Archie walked through the crowd to his savior and the next name was called out. “Hello—hi. Thank you for…I’m Archie Kent.”

“Rowan,” he said with a velvety voice that stuck to Archie’s ears like maple syrup. The man looked to be about sixty, tight white curls sitting atop his long, rectangular head. Deep set wrinkles accentuated his large nose, but there was something youthful to him. His age gave him the look of wisdom without robbing him of his natural energy, his charisma shining through in just a single word and a smile. Archie felt like they were already halfway through a conversation.

They shook hands.

“What’s your restaurant called?” Archie asked.

“The Gift.”

Archie’s face scrunched up in thought. With only a dozen or so Black Jacket Restaurants in Ambrosia City, he expected to have heard of them all. But The Gift rang no bells.

Rowan laughed at Archie’s obvious confusion. “I’m guessing you haven’t heard of it.”

“Huh? Oh—I—I mean,” Archie stuttered through the sentence, fearing he had offended one of the highest ranking members of Chef society. “I grew up poor, so I never went to any Black Jacket Restaurants.”

Something in Archie’s response made Rowan twist his oversized mouth and chew the side of his gums. A briefly troubled mind. He moved his lips back into place with a click. “Being poor doesn’t matter to The Gift. I don’t charge anything.”

“What?” Archie recoiled at the thought. A Black Jacket Restaurant could charge a gold for a meal and call it a bargain. “How can you afford anything?”

“I opened The Gift to make food for people that deserved it. Before that, I ran a restaurant that made food for people that could afford it. I…corrected my ways.” Rowan sucked his lips into his mouth as if he debated elaborating. “But that’s a story for another time.”

“So you had a lot of money before?”

Rowan seemed put off by the prolonged focus on money. “Yeah. By now, I’ve given most of it away.” He laughed to himself. “I’m old enough now that I can start planning backwards from the end. I might have to move some things around, but I should be able to sponsor you through four years. If that’s what you want.”

“Of course,” Archie said with no hesitation. He didn’t need any more convincing beyond the man’s rank and smile to sign away four years of his life. During the height of the Kents, half of them were White Jackets, the other half Black Jackets, but that had been over fifty years ago. Now Archie had a Black Jacket ready to teach him. Archie’s dream started to feel a bit more like reality.

“Well, I won’t hold you to that answer just yet,” Rowan said with a laugh. “Now, I’d like to leave the ceremony, but apparently it’s bad decorum. Would you sit with me?”

“Um—” Archie looked back at the rest of the great hall.

“Oh, of course, please, go sit with your friends.”

Archie looked around. Cress had already cozied up to a new group. Oliver was being chewed out by an older man. Blanche was being talked at, not talked to, by Benedict. Sutton and Mr. Hodgens passed a stack of pamphlets back and forth. Nori was…where was Nori?

“It’s fine, I’ll sit with you.”

They sat at a small table off to the side. Rowan pulled a small piece of bread wrapped in cloth, pushing it across the table. “You look hungry. I made this this morning.”

Archie smiled. He took a bite with high expectations—but not high enough. Fluffy bread. Crunchy crust. Fragrant rosemary. The bread looked dry, but tasted as if it had just been dipped in olive oil. It was, without exaggeration, the greatest piece of bread he had ever eaten. He took another bite and another and another, stuffing his mouth.

“Nori Harper,” Clover called.

“Off to Uroko,” Rowan said to himself.

“Mmm?” Archie managed through the bread.

“This year’s class had two headliners. Julienne. Once per generation, that family produces a Julienne, and this one seems to be as good as any. And then we have Miss Nori. Like Julienne, her destiny was written by others long ago. Outside of royalty, the Harper family is the most powerful family east of Ambrosia City. And unlike royalty, they didn’t get that power through lineage, which tells you all you need to know about what they’re capable of. How dangerous they can be.”

Archie wanted to protest—to claim that there were three headliners—the Julienne, the Harper, and the Kent, but he couldn’t get a word out of his bread-stuffed mouth. He just watched as Nori performed the initiation rites with the arbiter.

“A natural at seafood!” Clover announced. “Now, who will be her sponsor?”

Prince Waldorf raised his hand.

“I will,” a White Jacket said as he stood. The similarities to Nori were too great to be coincidence. A father? An uncle?

Nori looked at the man. Then at the prince. Then at the man. What should have been an easy choice had been replaced by five seconds of silence as she bit her bottom lip.

“Enough of this,” the White Jacket scolded. “Come, Nori.”

Nori looked back at the prince. Clover sighed impatiently.

“Nori,” the White Jacket growled through clenched teeth.

A low, guttural chuckle came from deep in Prince Waldorf’s throat.

Nori scanned the room for another bidder. For a moment, she locked eyes with Archie. As he looked at her desperate expression, he knew what he had to do.

But he had too much bread in his mouth to do it.

“Mmm!” Archie muttered to Rowan. Rowan looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Mmm!” Archie pointed at Nori.

“What about her?”

“Mmm!” More pointing. He chewed and chewed and chewed, but couldn’t get the bread down.

“You want me to bid on her?”

“Mmhmm!”

“Are you kidding? After I just explained how dangerous her family is? And I’ve already incurred some level of wrath from Prince Waldorf by taking you.”

“Mmm!”

“How will I pay for her? My money has been accounted for, and I’m not about to start charging for my cooking.”

“Mmm! Mmm!” Archie pointed at himself.

“You’ll pay for her? With what money?”

“Mmm…mmm?” Searching for an answer. Searching. “Mmm!” Archie mimicked cooking, his hand stirring an invisible spoon in an invisible pot.

“Alright, Nori, you have to choose,” Clover announced. This charity job was becoming a nightmare for him.

“I…” Nori croaked.

The White Jacket clenched his fist, an aura of frustration radiating out from him. Even from afar, Archie could sense his anger.

“Mmm!” Archie let out one final plea.

“Fine! Fine. I’ll sponsor her. But if they want to fight for her, you’re going to have to do it.” Rowan stood and raised his hand. “Rowan Knapp!” he declared, entering the auction.

The White Jacket turned and glared at their table, triggering a fight-or-flight response in Archie. Prince Waldorf hit his fist on the table in disappointment.

“I’ll…” Nori looked at the ground. “I’ll go with Rowan Knapp.”

From halfway across the room, Archie could still hear the sharp intake of air through the White Jacket’s nose. Before Nori could take a step, the man was halfway to the exit, a small group of Urokan Chefs following him.

Archie finally managed to swallow. “Thank you,” he told Rowan.

“You realize you just said you’d pay for her, right? That’s a hundred gold. I can front the money, but if you don’t pay me back, she’s gone this time next year. That’s your responsibility.”

Archie’s chin cramped with stress. “Yeah, I know. I’ll figure it out.”

Rowan’s features softened. “Well, I’m glad to see you’ve already been inspired by my spirit of charity.”

Nori walked to the opposite side of the great hall from Rowan and Archie, sitting at an empty table with her face in her hands.

“Should I go get her?” Archie asked.

“No, it’s fine. She’s going through something that neither of us can understand just yet.”