“When do we get to learn combat?” Archie asked, interrupting class.

Colby’s mouth twisted into an impatient scowl. He would be their teacher for the next month, and they hadn’t made it ten minutes into the first class without things going off the rails.

“That’s not—” Colby started.

“We need to be able to defend ourselves,” Nori said, adding strength to Archie’s voice.

“It’d be cool,” Oliver added with no gravity.

“Look, I understand where this is coming from,” Colby said. “But you’re not ready. You’re still developing a connection to your essence. You’ll start conjuration first thing next semester.”

The students groaned.

“Hey, listen!” Colby barked. Whatever control he had lost, he regained double with his stern voice. “This is not a military academy. Your first priority as a student of the Academy of Ambrosia is to learn how to cook. And judging from what I’ve seen, you all have a lot to learn.”

Of the four kitchens in the lower building of the Academy, the students feared the one known as Colby’s Kitchen. The first-years stayed away from it at all costs, choosing to double up on equipment in a neighboring kitchen rather than risk Colby’s judgment. Instead, only older students and masochists frequented this place of horror.

Twenty stoves, divided into rows of four, filled the kitchen. Dried meats, spices, pots, pans, and anything a young Chef could want lined the walls, herbs hanging from the rafters all over the kitchen. A pantry supplied the kitchen with other ingredients both rare and common, but no one dared to step into it without Colby’s blessing.

The students scrambled to claim the setups furthest in the back of the room, desperate to put distance between themselves and their drill instructor. Archie made a limping dash for the back row, but received no sympathy from his fellow students who rushed past him. He ended up in the front row between Julienne, who was bound to ace whatever test Colby threw at them, and Sutton, who had taken a peculiar interest in Archie’s wound.

“You’re here to learn how to be Chefs, but I’d hesitate to call some of you cooks. Now I’m not much of a farmer and I can’t hold my own in a fight, but if you put me in the kitchen against any of the other Head Chefs, I’m coming out on top.”

Archie believed him. Of all the Head Chefs, Colby and Tarragon were the only Black Jackets. Tarragon’s achievements came from his military service, his role in the Unification War only overshadowed by Grand King Flambé himself. But Colby? Colby had earned his jacket in the kitchen and the kitchen alone. He paced as he spoke, riled up by his declaration of skill. Then, he seemed to remember something.

“Don’t tell Head Chef Pomona I said that,” he added as an aside before returning to his previous intensity.

“Now I’ve seen some of you around the kitchens, and there is definitely some talent. But none of you have the discipline. If you worked at my restaurant, you wouldn’t make it past washing dishes.”

The thought of dishwashing made Archie shudder. At least his near-death experience had earned him a weekend away from endless dishes and pruney fingers.

“I’m not going to coddle you. I’m not going to play nice. I’m going to tell you how to become a good cook and you better listen because I don’t repeat myself.”

Archie had heard of Chefs like this. They chew you up and spit you out, and if you came out with meat left on your bones, you might just make it. The thought of the challenge excited Archie.

The reality of the challenge made him sweat.

“When you take your assessments at the end of the school year, you’ll be graded on five categories. Cultivation—Head Chef Quince is currently setting up the first-year greenhouse so that you can get to work on that. Then there’s conjuration. That’s next semester with Tarragon. Innovation. You’ll be judged on your original thinking and creations. And finally, the last two are both cooking challenges.”

Colby caught Oliver looking out of the window. The Head Chef slammed a pan down, making the whole class jump.

“That means that this is the most important class you’ll take. Now, we’re going to be making a consommé. If any of you manage to make one that doesn’t disgust me, you’ll get the afternoon off.”

Julienne laughed. No one but him realized that they had been given a nearly impossible task.

“What’s consommé?” Oliver asked.

“If you make it right, it’s a clear soup made from meat, tomato, egg whites, and stock.”

“But none of those things are clear?”

Colby smiled that same awful smile he had when he gave Oliver his second dose of moondrop wine. “Good luck.”

No one—not even Julienne—got the afternoon off.

“Head Chef Anise!” Archie called out in the hallway.

Anise turned, her eyes widening as she entered crisis mode.

“Are you okay?” she blurted out. “Do you need a new bandage?”

“Oh, no.” Archie looked down and shook his bandaged leg. “Still good. I was actually wondering if you could teach me how to do healing like this.”

Anise raised her eyebrows. “This…is going to be a bit beyond you. If you tried to turn one of my noodles into a bandage, you’re more likely to make an explosion.”

“Something weaker, then.”

Anise nodded and stared into space. Sometimes Archie wondered if she was all there. “Okay. Does Head Chef Quince have you in the greenhouse yet?”

Archie shook his head. “He said we’ll be able to use it this weekend.”

“Good. If you’re serious about learning this, you’ll have to commit to it. Plant durum wheat. You’ll have an easier time performing magic on something you’ve grown yourself.”

Day two started with a dash of hope. Colby announced that they would go back—way back—to the basics and make grilled cheeses. The students breathed a sigh of relief, certain that they couldn’t disappoint their strict Head Chef with such a simple task.

Such naivety.

They filed into the rows of cooking setups, the back rows filling up before Archie could get there. He set up between Blanche, who was already fighting back tears, and Benedict, who seemed more concerned with Blanche than with his own burning bread.

Colby judged their sandwiches.

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First up, Oliver. Colby lowered his face to examine the grilled cheese. He grabbed the plate and slid the grilled cheese into the trash, careful to never touch the food.

“So soggy that if I had touched it, my fingers would prune.”

Next up, Blanche. She had been trembling the entire time she cooked and had started to cry when she flipped her sandwich to reveal black bread. A vein popped out of Colby’s forehead and his face strained as he fought a pending meltdown. He shook his head and in a rare act of mercy, dismissed Blanche without a word, only a sour look.

Archie’s submission made it through two chews before being spat back out on the plate. “Uninspired.”

Colby actually swallowed a bite of Nori’s. But he didn’t go for a second. “Terrible.”

Julienne got the best reaction of the day—three bites and a quiet, simple, stoic, zero-fanfare “good enough.” Julienne was equally unsatisfied.

On day three, after an hour of torment levied over failed bearnaise sauces, a guardian angel visited the class.

Head Chef Pomona’s smile lit up Colby’s Kitchen, its brightness burning away the cobwebs and bad spirits that had grown over the week. Archie imagined a halo above her beautiful face and oversized head.

As the students cooked, Pomona flirted with Colby, preventing him from hovering over the students like a vulture. Colby pushed awkward compliments onto her. For all of his mastery of cooking, he had no idea what ingredients made up charm. But Pomona just laughed and played along.

“Oh, Colby, you’re sweet,” she laughed as she slapped his shoulder. Then she saw her opportunity to save the students from the challenge of making a bearnaise sauce. “Sweet! Let’s make sweets!”

Colby struggled to find a way to say no to her, and she gave him no chance. She clapped her hands to get the class’s attention.

“We’re making sweets! Forget all this fancy stuff, let’s get some sugar, some water, and a little something for flavor. I want candy!”

Instead of hovering over them as Colby usually did, Pomona floated around like a cloud, hopping up to sit on counters and chatting with the students as they pulled and folded their taffy on hooks. Archie noticed her paying special attention to Blanche, who seemed more relieved than anyone else.

“Ya know,” Pomona said while smacking on a sample candy. “I’ve seen some people who really specialize in candy. They can caramelize their skin. Makes it hard as a rock.”

“Will we learn how to do that?” Archie asked.

She popped another candy in her mouth, making Blanche giggle. “Eventually, yeah. I take it you’re looking forward to learning how to fight.”

Archie looked down at his bandaged leg. He had moved on from Anise’s super noodles, but still needed a big patch of regular-grade healing lasagna to keep the wound from festering. “Can you blame me?”

Pomona almost let her permanent smile disappear. “I guess not. You have me next month. More kitchen work. Still need to get you guys familiar with using essence in the small stuff before the big stuff.”

Colby coughed in the background. “Cooking is the big stuff,” he muttered under his breath.

Pomona continued, “and then you’ll have Head Chef Tarragon next semester. He’ll teach you all sorts of conjuration.”

“I’m excited for your class,” Oliver said. A chorus of students agreed, all avoiding eye contact with Colby.

That day’s taste testing, with Pomona hovering over Colby with a half-flirtatious, half-threatening smile, played out the opposite of the days before.

Colby gave muted, single-word feedback, the worst of which was “good.” Pomona also chimed in.

“Oh! Delicious. I love it, Blanche.”

“Nori! You’ve really brought out the lemon!”

“Archie. Archie! This is special. You have a knack for candy!”

“Oliver, this…is there alcohol in this?”

“No ma’am.”

“Weird…”

On day four, without Pomona there to protect the students, Colby came to class on a mission. The students rode high on praise for a day, and Colby vowed to bring them back down.

“I’ve come to a conclusion about you lot,” he said as he paced back and forth like a predator stalking its prey. “I think the problem is that you can’t handle the complexities of solid foods. So today, we’re making drinks.”

“Where’s Blanche?” Benedict whispered, careful to not let Colby hear.

Archie didn’t have the emotional capacity to worry about Blanche. He was already frustrated enough with the day’s assignment. As the week progressed, his resolve doubled around a simple tenet—anything he made now should ladder up to combat training later. He already had a plan—candied skin to block the next scratch, pasta bandage if needed.

But he couldn’t serve Colby pasta water or something with crushed up candy poured in it. In order to survive Colby’s drink test, Archie would have to rely on his previous experience with blueberries—despite their limited combat applications. Nori set up beside him with a bowl of lemons.

“I figured you’d do a blueberry drink, too,” Archie said.

“Can’t melt licertes with blueberry acid,” she responded.

Archie smiled, glad that Nori had the same priorities as him.

Some students used juicers. Archie figured that he could manipulate the essence within the blueberries easier with his bare hands.

The same way someone new to working out discovers new muscles, Archie discovered pathways and streams of essence that left his body as he worked. He could focus his mind and understand some measure of the essence’s quantity—making it clear that time and time again, he used far too much essence, wasting it. It was like Aubergine said. He needed to learn efficiency.

But at least the effects were obvious. Each blueberry produced an impossible amount of juice. In two blueberries, he managed to fill half a glass. When he opened his hand after squeezing the third blueberry, nothing remained but an empty palm.

His wound tingled as he squeezed his fifth blueberry. An emptiness carved its way up through his body. The feeling made him think of the creatures and the voice. Of the hunger that had filled the air that day. He started to feel that same hunger in the air of Colby’s kitchen. It grew thick, choking him. Squeezing his chest.

“You okay?” Nori asked, her voice piercing through Archie’s fogged panic.

Looking at her calmed him. She brushed the loose hair from her face with lemon-soaked fingers. Archie thought of a summer when he was a kid and his mother had squeezed lemon juice in his hair so that it would turn blonde in the sun. He wondered if Nori’s hair could turn blonde. He’d never seen a Urokan with blonde hair. He thought she’d look good with it. But he thought she looked good with black hair, too.

He didn’t think about the licertes or the voice.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay.”

Archie finished off the drink by mixing the blueberry juice with chilled water and honey. He took a sip and smiled at the taste, confident that he could avoid Colby’s wrath.

But as Colby assessed Cress’s drink, Archie’s confidence washed away.

“Camomille tea?” the teacher asked. “You’ve done nothing to bring out the flavor. The effect is still there, though. I’m getting sleepy just from how boring this is.”

Yarrow went next. Colby looked at the drink with fear.

“You…the lemon juice is so acidic that it’s eaten through the cup. I’m not even trying this. Next. Oliver, come up here.”

Oliver held the cup away from his body as he walked up—maybe to keep the sweat pouring off of him from spilling into the drink.

“What is it?” Colby asked.

“Honey wheat tea.”

“Honey what?” Colby smelled the drink.

“I need to get good with pasta, so I’m looking for ways to use wheat.”

Archie raised his eyebrows and nodded. When he was thinking of pasta, he hadn’t thought of that.

“Honey…wheat...tea. I’ll give you points for creativity if nothing else.”

Colby sipped from the cup and licked his lips. Something about the drink confused him. He looked at it thoughtfully before arriving at a conclusion. He winced with repulsion.

“It’s sweet and then it burns,” he said. He took a longer drink. “Awful,” he said as he lifted the cup up to drink again. “It’s bad in a way that I can’t even explain.” He drank again and set the cup down with a hollow thonk!

The next two students earned simple, negative remarks. But then something in Colby’s demeanor started to change. With each passing student, his feedback softened.

“This one is alright,” Colby said flatly.

“Pretty good,” Colby said with a respectful nod.

“Mmm. Mmm!” Colby raved, a big grin on his face.

“Oh, this makes me want cheese. Does anyone have any cheese?”

“I don’t—I don’t get why you guys keep giggling. What’s so—burp—funny?”

By the tenth student, one of Colby’s eyes stayed three-quarters shut, his mouth stayed pressed into a little grin, and his head swung around with each movement.

“Oliver,” Cress whispered between giggles. “You got him drunk!”

“I didn’t mean to! Honestly! I just used regular wheat and honey…” He looked into his remaining mixture.

“Wait, you have more?” Cress asked.

Oliver nodded and handed the drink to Cress’s outstretched hand. She took a long drink, pursing her lips and shaking her head as she set it down.

“That’s abysmal,” she said. She straightened up, putting a hand onto the table to stabilize her, and blinked. ”But effective.”

The students laughed. Colby believed the laughter to be a celebration of his performance, causing him to ham it up even more as he judged drinks and munched on whatever snacks he could find.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” Colby moaned after taking a sip of Archie’s drink. “You did a good job…with the…good with the blue. Does anyone have anything fried?”