“Okay, day two!” Aubergine yelled as he jogged in place with excitement. Next to him, Tarragon tilted his head back and waited for the Headmaster to finish. “Now while I’ve been told that the kitchens and greenhouses are too crowded for me to join the fun, our wonderful Head Chef Tarragon couldn’t tell me that there wasn’t enough room out in the field. So I’ll be helping to administer the conjuration exam. And I’m excited!”

Most of the students matched Aubergine’s excitement. But not Archie. He rubbed at his tired eyes, hoping he’d have an opportunity to nap between the day’s two exams. He had hardly slept the previous night. He had dreamt of the forest glade again, but instead of feeding himself to the licertes, he fed little Teff to them piece by piece.

“Now, I think conjuration is a wonderful thing. It reminds me of…”

Archie sighed as Aubergine started rambling. Even after Archie’s overconfidence had been exposed with lower-than-expected scores, he still had no doubt he’d get a perfect score for conjuration. The most difficult part about the exam would be getting the day over with while Aubergine seemed to want to live in it forever.

“...and the weather! A beautiful, sunny day. You know, they say it’s going to rain later this week. They. Who’s the they everyone refers to? The omniscient, omnipotent they. Masters of rumors and weather, they. You know—”

Tarragon clapped Aubergine on the back. “I think the thing they should know is how the exam works.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, yes,” Aubergine said, clearing his voice of its rambling tone and redoubling it with authority. “Two portions of the exam today. First, can you conjure? You’re still Orange Jackets, so the grading for that one is pretty much yes-no. Just a little bit of wiggle room, but not much.

“As for the second part, as you can see, we’ve set up some targets. We got them at five yards, ten, twenty, and—honestly this one isn’t even getting graded—just for fun, I set up one at fifty. We’ll judge your ability to project essence based on your ability to change the color of the reactive flour on each target. Now, it’s gotta be raw essence. No conjuring an apple and throwing it.”

The fifty yard target managed to get Archie’s mind back into the exam. He hadn’t practiced on anything nearly that far away. Anything within twenty five yards was a guaranteed result, but the fifty yarder provided a nice challenge.

“Alright, Tarragon, would you like to get them started?”

Tarragon shrugged. “Go ahead, Headmaster.”

Aubergine clapped his hands. He didn’t need to be told twice. “Alright! Let’s get started! We’ll do a little show and tell. Who wants to go first?”

Archie, Nori, Julienne, and Oliver—the four everyone thought could get a perfect score—all raised their hands at the same time.

“Ohoho!” Aubergine roared, clapping as he laughed. “That’s the enthusiasm I like to see! Julienne! Come on down! Show us a little con-juuuuuur-ation!”

Everyone cheered and clapped—no one louder than Yarrow—as Julienne walked into position.

“Alright,” Aubergine said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Julienne clapped his hands once, conjuring a square noodle in his palm.

“And there it is!” Aubergine said.

But Julienne could never pass up a chance to show off. The noodle lengthened into a rectangle until it draped off his hand. He wrapped his hand around it and swung his arm around, pouring essence into the noodle to make it extend ten feet as it circled in the air.

“Oh!” Aubergine raised his arms in delight. “Alright, alright, save some of that essence for the targets!”

Julienne made the noodle dissipate into thin air and looked down the range at the targets. “Does the order matter?”

“Let’s start at five and work our way up. Now this is a special blend of flour provided by our Head Chef Anise. The flour will naturally return to a white color, so if you don’t get it to red on your first try, just try again before it fades.”

Julienne stepped up to the mark, took a deep breath, and lifted his hand, palm forward. He high-fived the air, sending an invisible force to turn the flour red on the five-yard target.

“Hey hey!” Aubergine exclaimed, clapping high in the air to prompt the other students to clap along. “Can he do ten?!”

Julienne shifted his feet and settled into his spot. He pushed his palm toward the next target. Pure red.

“Let’s see twenty!”

Julienne repeated the motion. The flour on the target turned yellow.

“Keep going before it fades!” Aubergine said, pointing to the target as the flour on the edge started to revert back to white.

Julienne grunted as he threw his entire arm forward in a thrust. The target turned orange but faded even faster, going back to yellow in a second. Using the same hand, Julienne thrust three times. Orange. Blood orange. Red.

“He got it!” Aubergine cheered and threw his hands in the air. “That’s a perfect score!”

Julienne put his hands on his knees and groaned with fatigue.

“Give the fifty a shot. Come on, who wants to see him take on the fifty?!”

The students cheered—Archie matching Yarrow’s intensity this time. He figured him and Julienne would both get perfect scores, but the final target would be a good measure of who was best. Julienne heard Archie’s increased volume and locked eyes, a single nod marking the start of their competition.

Julienne flexed his hand open and closed as he gathered his breath. He stepped into a thrust, sending his essence fifty yards through the air—or at least trying to. A small blip of yellow appeared on the target. Julienne sent another wave before the color could fade, but only managed to widen the yellow to a third of the total target.

“Okay, okay,” Aubergine said, grabbing Julienne’s arm before another wave could be sent. “Let’s save some for the cooking challenge later, yeah?”

Julienne took an exhausted breath and nodded.

“Let’s hear it for Julienne! Scoring some yellow on the fifty!”

The students clapped as Julienne returned to their masses. Before Aubergine had the chance to pick the next volunteer, Archie stepped up. “I’ll go.”

Aubergine laughed through an open-mouthed grin. “Alright! I love the passion! Let’s see what Archie can conjure!”

Not to be outdone, Archie conjured three noodles just as long as Julienne’s, demonstrating better scale as well as better technique as he made the noodles wrap around his forearm for extra grip.

“Oh, another pastamancer!” Aubergine cheered.

But Archie didn’t want to be put into one group. With his spare hand, he tossed a conjured blueberry high into the air, exploding it in a mist of juice that dissipated before it reached the students.

“Ah! I love it! The showmanship!” Aubergine looked ready to burst with happiness. “Okay, okay, okay, targets!”

In the greenhouse and in the kitchen and in the classroom, Archie knew that he wasn’t the best. But in the field? Archie was ready to put any debate to rest. In two quick thrusts of the palm, he turned the five-yard and ten-yard targets red.

“Waaaa-ow!” Aubergine held his head in disbelief.

Archie took a moment to gather himself—he needed to nail the next target in one go to really put himself in a different class than Julienne. He put his left hand around the other’s wrist, pouring essence into his right hand. He kept his channels of energy open as he pushed toward the target, sending a constant stream of essence that instantly turned the target orange and then gradually changed it to red over the next two seconds.

“Well that’s twenty five points if I’ve ever given out twenty five points! Wow!” Aubergine ran behind Archie and rubbed his shoulders like a proud father. “Let’s see what you got for the fifty target!”

Archie took a moment to let his essence return to an equilibrium, assessing its quantity to see how hard he could go. He gathered essence in his hand and repeated the motion, sending a continuous wave of essence at the distant target. It faded from white to yellow to orange and back to yellow again before Archie finally gave up.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“I saw orange! Let’s hear it for Archie!” Everyone cheered—none louder than Nori. “Let’s keep it going! I’ll pick…Blanche!”

Blanche stopped clapping and turned white as a sheet. “No. I mean—I can’t. Not after that. I’ll go later!”

Benedict saw his opportunity to be the hero, volunteering himself to cool the crowd off from Archie and Julienne’s prodigious performance. “I’ll go!”

He failed to conjure anything, but managed to put a spot of yellow on the twenty-yard target, earning him a respectable sixteen points. The performances continued like that for a while, but even the sub-fifteen scores from Mindy and Blanche had Aubergine hollering with excitement. Even the lowest score of the day, Sutton’s nine points, got a “yeah!” from Aubergine when the first target turned red after great effort.

The fifty-yard target remained unchanged until Nori went. She started her assessment by launching conjured lemon juice twenty feet through the air. She turned the five-yarder and ten-yarder red with single splashes of essence, but had to resort to her own special technique for the twenty-yarder.

A master of precision, Nori stuck out her four fingers and moved them from the top of the target to the bottom, painting it red as her fingers moved.

“Not a speck of orange! Straight red!” Aubergine yelled, his voice cracking with hoarseness.

For the fifty-yarder, Nori reduced her focus to a single finger, scrunching it up and then extending it toward the target. A spot appeared—small enough to require squinting, but big enough to be clearly red.

For a brief moment in that morning sun, Archie and Nori forgot about all of their troubles and argued over whether turning the entire target orange was better than turning a small part of it red.

For the second afternoon in a row, the first-years gathered in the main kitchen to be judged by Colby and Pomona. But this time, instead of having the freedom to cook something of their choosing, all of the students had to make the same meal.

All week, students tried to figure out what the dish would be. They tried feeding Colby’s ego. They tried being buddy-buddy with Pomona. But nothing worked. So when the students arrived to see big bowls of uncooked rice and a small assortment of herbs and mushrooms, they speculated on what other ingredients would be introduced.

“I hope it’s not a vegetarian dish.”

“Maybe they have beef in the fridge.”

“Wait, they’re not going to make us make sushi, right?”

“I need at least fifteen points, it better be something I know.”

Colby projected his voice from the front of the kitchen, silencing the students. “Quieeeeet!”

Once the class settled down, Pomona started with her usual chipper tone. “Okay! I hope you’re all excited. I know I am. Yesterday was a big day, and we tasted so much great food from you all. Today, you’ll all be making the same dish.”

Colby picked up where Pomona left off. “First-year Chefs come from many backgrounds. Some of you have been cooking since you could speak. Others picked it up recently. However, you’ve all been studying the art of cooking with essence for the same amount of time.”

Pomona’s sweet voice rang out in contrast to Colby’s authoritative one. “We wanted to select a challenge that required mastery of the kitchen, but placed more emphasis on cooking with essence. Dishes that require more frequent tending and stirring are great for assessing the use of essence. So, we decided on chicken with risotto.”

Archie reflexively looked at Nori. She tried to contain her excitement, not wanting to give away the fact that she had an edge on the competition.

“We have chicken in the fridge and recipes up here. You do have a little bit of freedom with the measurements, but if you do not capture the correct flavor profile as prescribed by this recipe, you will be docked points. You may begin. You have one hour.”

Archie felt a pit in his stomach as he walked up to grab a recipe. The thought of risotto made him think of the kulkida risotto, and that made him think of Teff and Mr. Ackers, and that made him think of Gluttons, and that made him think of his grandfather, and that made him think about his episodes in Cafe Julienne and Pomona’s kitchen. His head swayed and his vision blurred as he tried to read off the ingredients. Arborio rice. White wine. Garlic. Chicken broth. Butter. Parmesan cheese. Sun-dried tomatoes. Seasoning.

Twenty one points. That was the magic number. Twenty one points and he would become a Yellow Jacket. No longer a lowly Orange Jacket. No longer a failure like his—

He shook his head violently to dispel the thought.

He had made risotto before and had enough intuition to know that the chicken was meant only to provide meat, not take over the flavor of the dish. He looked at the rice with dread and decided to start on the chicken first. It could always be reheated.

He seasoned the chicken with smoked paprika, chili powder, cayenne pepper, and garlic powder, searing it in a pan full of butter. He used some of his essence to bring out the flavor, but saved most of his reserves for the risotto.

He sliced the chicken in half to make sure it had cooked properly, then set it aside to start the risotto. He started by sauteing shallots and garlic, then added the rice. He roasted it for a minute just as he had roasted the kulkida risotto before Nori did the hard work.

He dipped a ladle into his warm chicken broth and stared at the rice. In their late nights in the attic, this had always been when Nori took over. When Nori had to give up her time. Her essence. Her health. All because Archie was scared. He hadn’t even really tried to cook the kulkida risotto. He was a coward. Afraid of failing. Failing like he did in Cafe Julienne. On the biggest stage, he embarrassed himself. Embarrassed his family—if they even had any pride left to be turned into shame.

He scooped the broth into the rice with a splash of wine and started stirring.

His mind went back to Cafe Julienne. Everything had been going so well. The practice run went fine. The real thing was going well enough. But then Prince Waldorf had shown up. Why had Archie fainted in the Glutton’s presence? He imagined Prince Waldorf standing at the door of the kitchen, watching the students all make risotto. Archie’s heart raced as he remembered something from that day. When Prince Waldorf had entered, so too had the disembodied voice that had tormented him all year. He couldn’t remember what it had said, but he remembered what it had invoked. Anger. Envy. Hunger.

Something stank.

Had the voice been there when Mr. Ackers turned into a Glutton? Had it compelled him with those same foul emotions? Archie couldn’t remember. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked away. He could see Teff, clear as day, her body collapsed, blood dripping down her face. Soon, it would be Archie there. They would get caught trying to rescue the girl. Everyone would know about the kulkida risotto. Archie would rot away in prison. Rot, rot, rot.

Rot, rot, rot.

Archie looked back at the risotto and dropped his wooden spoon.

“No, no…” he muttered. “Not again. Please, no…”

A black, putrid bubble rose to the surface of the risotto. It popped, releasing a rotten waft of air. He snatched up the spoon and started stirring again. He could reverse the process, he just had to focus. He just had to be positive. He could do it, he could. He wasn’t going to fail, he could—

His hands seized up, the spoon falling from his hands. His hands shook, then his arms, then his whole body, his composure unraveling faster than his thoughts. No one had noticed yet. No one but Nori.

Collaboration was strictly forbidden, but Nori’s concern for Archie vastly outweighed the threat of disqualification. She ran over, put a lid on the pot, moved it off the fire, and grabbed Archie, pulling him away.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Colby and Pomona recognized the rule breaking, but also recognized that something more important was going on. “Go,” Colby said to Pomona, his face flashing a rare worry.

Pomona and Nori led Archie outside.

“Are you hurt?” Pomona asked.

“It—it—it happened. It happened again. I—I—I tried to stop it.”

“You’re okay, Archie,” Nori said. “You’re okay.”

But Archie couldn’t hold it in. “I’m so scared,” he sobbed.

Nori threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight. Her lips brushed against his ear and whispered. “We’ll be okay. As long as we have each other, we’ll be okay.”

She pulled away and exaggerated her breaths, her hand mirroring the rise and fall of her chest. “Just breathe. Like this. Okay?”

Archie looked into her eyes and followed the rhythm of her breathing. Slowly, slowly, slowly, he returned to normal.

“I’m okay,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as them. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“That’s right,” Nori said.

“Go,” Archie told Nori. “Your risotto will burn.”

“I don’t care.”

“Go.”

Nori pursed her lips and exhaled through her nose. Archie nodded, trying to appear as composed as possible so that Nori wouldn’t sacrifice her score on account of him.

“Are you okay?” she asked forcefully.

“Yes. I’m fine,” Archie said, hoping his heavy breathing wouldn’t betray him.

Pomona looked between the two, understanding that she didn’t know the full story. Finally, Nori left, running back into the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” Pomona asked, repeating Nori.

“Yeah, I…” Archie took a deep breath. “I’m fine. I’m guessing I just failed.”

“Well…” Pomona laughed through her nose and smiled that beautiful smile of hers. “We’ll grade your chicken at least. That’ll be worth a few points.”

Archie took another deep breath and smiled. He wasn’t disappointed. He was relieved. There were larger things at stake, and these exams only served as a distraction. Now that they were over, he could face his fate. Grades didn’t matter. Jackets didn’t matter. Somewhere in Caviar Court, a little girl lived in fear, waiting for someone to rescue her from a cabal of Gluttons.

“That’s fine. I actually have somewhere to be.”

Archie got up and started to jog off.

“Oh. Wait, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine!” Archie yelled back as he ran away. He ran to his room and stuffed some coins into his pocket. He ran out of the Academy. He ran past the gate of the royal keep. He ran past Chrysanth as the guard asked what was wrong. He ran through the Children’s Square with its towering statues. He ran up the stairs to the tram, shoved the coins in the guard’s hands, and rode it all the way down to the Roots. And then he ran some more, going over the bridges and past the little, compact homes until finally arriving at The Gift.

Rowan had closed the restaurant for the week as he prepared for the ultimate exam. Archie found him on the rooftop looking over a bed of purple flowers.

“Is it ready?”

Rowan looked up from the flowers. He had aged years in just a matter of weeks, his skin sallow and drooping, his eyes heavy with fatigue.

He nodded.