The shackle rubbed the scar on Archie’s leg.

As the guards left, one looked back with a moment of sympathy.

“Come on,” the other guard said as he tossed the keyring back in the drawer of Prince Waldorf’s table.

The sympathetic guard sighed. He spoke softly to Archie. The way you might speak to someone on their deathbed. “Do what he asks. And don’t let him get hungry.”

The door slammed shut.

The sound awakened Archie’s survival instincts. Without Prince Waldorf’s suffocating presence, Archie could think. He could escape. He looked down at the shackle. The chain was bolted into an iron plate in the ground. He gave it a yank, but that one yank was all he needed to know that it would never budge.

He tested the range. He had about ten feet of chain—not enough to reach the door and hardly enough to reach the end of the pantry on the other side. He ripped open the drawers of the kitchen, hoping to find some kind of hammer. The best he could find was a knife that would break before it ever managed to sink its serrated teeth into the iron.

He put his back to a counter and sunk to the ground.

He was well and truly stuck. But at least Nori and the others had gotten away.

Right?

He imagined Nori being stopped by the guards. They’d flip over the cover on the cart and find Teff. In a fit of rage, Prince Waldorf would strike Rowan down. Teff would get beaten half to death by her father. Nori would end up next to Archie. There was another chain for her.

No.

He rubbed his temples.

He heard the gate. They escaped. They had to have escaped.

He covered his face and cried. The previous night’s lack of sleep and the traumatic events of the day caught up to him. Everything started to go dark…

Even in his dreams, he was trapped in the kitchen. The shackle dug into his skin. Hours passed—maybe an entire night. He couldn’t tell without any windows. He heard something outside the door. He waited for the creatures. For the voice.

Prince Waldorf entered. Archie thought he was still dreaming. He couldn’t move. The Glutton stomped over, yanking the chain to bring Archie sliding across the ground. Prince Waldorf bent down and closed his gargantuan hand around one side of Archie’s ribs, picking him up and holding him two feet off the ground. The pain felt so real. Too real to be a dream.

“Get up!” Prince Waldorf yelled, throwing Archie across the kitchen like a ragdoll.

The chain reached its limit, whipping Archie down and causing him to slam his head against the ground. Prince Waldorf continued to yell, but Archie couldn’t hear over the buzzing in his ears. When his head cleared, he realized this wasn’t a dream.

“—this? Nothing! You make NOTHING?!”

Prince Waldorf bent down for the chain again. Archie scrambled to sit up, making the prince pause.

Strangle him.

Archie grabbed the chain, then realized the futility. Prince Waldorf had no neck to speak of, and even wrapping it around the base of his head would require more chain that Archie had.

Prince Waldorf saw the spark of defiance and smiled. He liked the challenge.

He yanked the chain again, causing Archie to slide painfully across the ground. Prince Waldorf’s open palm slammed down on Archie’s chest, forcing the breath out of him.

“That was quite the party, young Kent. Quite the spread. I assume you had help.”

Archie couldn’t form words. Prince Waldorf pressed harder on Archie’s chest, threatening to collapse his ribcage.

“Who helped you?!” Prince Waldorf yelled. His voice reverberated in Archie’s ears.

“N—n—n—no one. It was—it was me. Just me.”

Prince Waldorf picked Archie up by his shoulder and leaned in close to his face. “Tell me now and I’ll make their deaths painless. Don’t, and I’ll let you watch them die slowly.”

“It was just me! I swear!”

Prince Waldorf scoffed and threw Archie on the ground.

“We’ll see. You can sleep when I’m full. First course. Pumpkin soup.”

He pressed the tip of his thumb down on Archie’s pinky finger, threatening to pop it like a tomato. Archie squirmed in pain.

“Cook well with ten fingers, or we’ll see how you do with nine.”

Prince Waldorf pulled away and left the kitchen.

Archie held his chest and cried. The sobbing only made it harder to catch his breath. He wanted to go home. Any home. His room at the Academy. The attic with Nori. The kitchens of Petrichor. He wanted his parents. Would he ever see them again? Would they even get to see his body?

While his thoughts spiraled, one single thread of sanity remained, speaking to him.

Get up. Get up. You can do this…

Archie stood and got his bearings. He started a fire beneath the stovetop and went into the pantry.

Pumpkin soup, pumpkin soup. I’ve never made pumpkin soup…

He scanned the ingredients, trying to figure out a recipe. He grabbed the pumpkin—he knew he’d need that at least.

A giant refrigerator with two sliding glass doors took up an entire wall of the pantry. Archie didn’t know it was possible to enchant such a large vessel to stay cool. He wondered if whoever did it had been chained up and left to die here. He wondered if he’d die here.

He peered through the glass, finding small pitchers of cream and stock. He grabbed an onion and a few cloves of garlic and went back into the kitchen.

He put the vegetables on the cutting board and grabbed a knife.

A knife.

His grip tightened. He tried to imagine his way out.

Prince Waldorf would walk in. Archie would be in the pantry, so the prince would walk into his reach. Archie would charge him, stabbing him in the chest. The knife would sink ten inches into Prince Waldorf’s skin.

Was ten inches enough?

How much fat sat between the man’s skin and his heart? Where was his heart in that great big sail of a torso, anyways?

The knife would stick harmlessly into Prince Waldorf. He’d swing down on Archie’s head, breaking his neck.

And that was if Archie could even manage to land a blow.

Maybe if I throw it? No…I’m not the first one to be trapped here. If a knife could get me out of this, a knife wouldn’t be here.

He started chopping with trembling fingers. His knuckles locked up, sending the blade at an angle and into his forefinger. He yelped and pulled away before he reached bone, splattering blood all over the counter. He gripped his finger tightly with his other hand as he searched for something to bandage his wound. He found a rag and ripped a strip, wrapping it around his finger.

For a moment, he wished Nori were here to do the cutting. Then he realized he was glad that she wasn’t.

He looked at the bloody pieces of pumpkin. He searched in vain for another pumpkin, weighing his options as the white rag around his finger turned red.

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There were no other options.

He dabbed most of the blood from the pumpkin, then gripped the knife gingerly and continued to chop.

How much am I supposed to make?

Archie imagined what Prince Waldorf might do if he felt shorted of a full meal.

Archie put the entire chopped pumpkin and everything else but the cream into the largest pot he could find. While he waited for it to boil, he ripped off another strip of rag and replaced his bandage.

As he looked at his hand, he noticed his pinky was still red from being crushed by Prince Waldorf. The pain served as a reminder to make the dish right—he was already nearly down one finger, he didn’t want to completely lose another.

Archie thought of what might be missing. Ingredients, spices, flavor profiles. Pumpkin. Nutty. He needed something nutty.

He looked to the pantry but then remembered the caraway seeds in his bag. He searched his pocket with his good hand, digging into the bag and coming out with a handful of seeds. He quickly deposited them into the soup and stirred.

He salted and peppered the soup as it cooked. Finally, he put the cream in.

Presentation.

Does he want it in a bowl?

Archie thought back to the stacks of plates he had washed. He grabbed a stack of bowls and ladled the soup into a dozen of them, topping them with chopped parsley. He set the bowls on a tray near the door and pulled a rope that hung from the wall. A bell sounded in the other room.

Monstrous footsteps came from the bedroom. Archie shrunk away toward the pantry, hiding his bloody hand and knife behind his back.

Prince Waldorf entered the kitchen. He took a bowl between two fingers and downed it. He considered the taste.

Archie’s pinky finger throbbed.

“Good.” Prince Waldorf grabbed the tray. “Steak. Rare. Asparagus. Sweet potato. One hour.”

He hung around for an extra second, smiling at Archie, daring him to attack.

Archie couldn’t.

“Oh, and make plenty. I’ll be having a friend by. He’ll tell me who was with you.”

Archie gripped the knife harder. Maybe if he attacked now and died in the attempt, Prince Waldorf’s rage would die with him.

But he couldn’t.

Prince Waldorf left.

Archie fell to the floor and cried again. He looked at the useless knife in his useless hand. As he sobbed, his mind instinctively searched for coping mechanisms.

It found one.

It’s just a cooking challenge. Limited ingredients. Limited time. Temperamental judge.

Archie took a few deep breaths and got up. He planned out his next hour and started with the thing that would take the longest, the sweet potatoes.

As he rubbed olive oil on the sweet potatoes, he noticed a dusty film on his fingertips. He wiped it away and put the potatoes in the oven.

Next, the asparagus. Baked, Archie decided. He took a bundle of asparagus and a handful of lemons. As he zested the lemon into a bowl, he imagined Colby gearing up with a new slew of insults. A scary thought, but much more manageable than reality.

Imaginary Colby yelled at him. “Uninspired!”

Archie thought about ways to enhance the asparagus—he had very little essence remaining and would need to rely on natural cooking. He thought back to his mother in Petrichor.

A deep sadness struck Archie deep in his heart. Would he ever see her again?

But no, this was a cooking competition. No time for emotion. Otherwise Colby might throw a pan at your head.

Archie’s mother always made asparagus with cashews. He looked to the pantry. He didn’t remember seeing any, and he didn’t have time to look. He dipped his hand back into the bag of caraway seeds, sprinkling them on the asparagus.

Next, steak. Rare. It would only take a few minutes of butter basting. He started to gather the garlic and rosemary when he heard a double set of heavy footsteps in the other room. Archie rushed to the stove to appear as busy as possible. Prince Waldorf wouldn’t hit him if it meant stopping Archie’s cooking.

The door swung open, Prince Waldorf taking up the entire doorway as he stepped through. Archie couldn’t see past, but he knew by the thundering footsteps that a second Glutton was behind the prince.

Prince Waldorf cleared his throat and beat his chest with a fist, settling into a perverse grin. “You remember Lord Rathbond, don’t you, Archie?”

Prince Waldorf stepped back and aside—they wouldn’t both fit in the kitchen—to reveal his Gluttonous cousin.

Lord Rathbond’s face scrunched up, the already excessive rolls of fat in his jowls doubling up. He stared at Archie with uncertainty.

“I don’t—” he started.

“Lingun. This young Chef served you kulkida risotto. Who else was with him?”

Archie couldn’t let Nori suffer the same fate as him. He channeled essence into his fist.

I can’t create a strong enough acid. I could try blueberries. I could blind him. No, I’m best with pasta. I’ll loop it around his legs, pull him close, and stab him to death.

Archie’s eyes flickered around the counter to find the knife.

“I don’t remember anyone else,” Lord Rathbond said, his voice lost and confused.

The tension left Archie’s face, leaving his mouth hanging open.

It had worked. It had really worked.

“There was no one else?” Prince Waldorf asked.

Lord Rathbond’s eyes searched for an answer in Archie.

“It was just me,” Archie said before Lord Rathbond could reveal the lapse in his memory. “I catered the event alone.”

“Yes…” Lord Rathbond confirmed with a slow doubt in his voice. “There was no one else.”

They’re safe.

Prince Waldorf growled and pushed Lord Rathbond aside.

“Leave us, Lingon.”

“At once.”

The moment that Lord Rathbond was out of the kitchen, Prince Waldorf was in it, closing the door behind him.

“If it is your sole responsibility, then it shall be your sole punishment.”

He stomped over to the chain post in the floor. Archie was ready, cushioning his head with his arms as he was whipped around by the prince.

Prince Waldorf steadied himself on the counter and lifted one leg. He swung it down with the weight of a tree trunk, striking Archie in the thigh. Archie spun and crashed into the other counter.

“Hurry up!” Prince Waldorf screamed. “And add some seafood!”

He kicked the chain, dragging Archie another couple of feet, then left.

Several pains demanded Archie’s attention. First, he grabbed his thigh. Everything below the knee had gone numb. On the other leg, he checked where the shackle had dug into his skin, producing a thin red line. He touched it and checked his fingers for bleeding. A light streak of red ran across a dusty purple film that covered his fingertips.

I thought I wiped that off.

He rubbed his fingertips into his other palm. The dust clumped up as it washed off his fingers. He smelled it. Floral.

He had questions but no time for answers. The asparagus needed to go in. The steak needed seasoning. And now he needed to add seafood to the mix. He prepared scallops just as Nori had taught him.

Despite the crippling pain in his side and the rapidly forming bruise on his thigh and the shackle that cut into his ankle and the concussion that sent him into a dizzy spell if he turned too quickly, Archie succeeded.

He put nearly five pounds of steak, scallops to match, two handfuls of asparagus, and a half dozen sweet potatoes on the tray and rang the bell. He wedged the chain under the pantry door to prevent being yanked again.

Prince Waldorf entered and took the tray. “Chocolate brittle. With nuts,” he said as he left.

No abuse. Archie breathed a sigh of relief. He might not have survived another round of blows. His condition worsened by the second. His head pounded. One leg could hardly support any weight at all. If only he could sleep…

He closed his eyes for just a moment. That’s all. Just a moment. His head swung down violently, forcing him to catch himself on the counter.

Just a little more…Just keep going…

Archie thought of Nori. What was she doing? Was she asleep? Was it even nighttime? How long had it been? Hours? Days?

The door opened again and Prince Waldorf stuck his torso inside the kitchen, putting a great strain on the walls that held him in his tilted position.

“I just had a thought,” he said. He grinned. Archie hated when he grinned. “The Harper girl. She was with you at Cafe Julienne. You have the same sponsor, right? Yes, yes, I remember, he stole her from me. Perhaps they have some involvement?”

No. No. No.

“Itslijf—” Archie slurred. His head pounded as he spoke, his tongue wagging uncontrollably in his mouth. He gritted his teeth and concentrated so that he could speak. “It’s like Lord Rathbond…Lord Rathbond said. It was just me.”

“Hm.” Prince Waldorf licked his lips. “It bears investigating at least. I’ll have my fun with you first.”

He leaned back out of the kitchen and closed the door.

That single thread of sanity that held Archie together grew thin and frayed. The thought of Nori in his position was too much to bear. He imagined producing a citric splash so acidic that it could eat through the chain. Yarrow could probably already do it. It’d be the first time that Archie would be happy for the boy’s presence.

Archie leaned against the counter, letting his daydreams take him away.

Focus. Focus. Cook his meals. Cook them right. You can’t figure out a way out of this if he keeps beating you.

He straightened back up. Chocolate brittle. With nuts.

He kept the oven going and grabbed a baking tray, lining it with crackers. He melted brown sugar and butter in a pot, pouring it over the crackers. As it poured, Archie’s vision doubled. His head wobbled as he poured a stream of melted sugar over the tray. Every few seconds, he had to reach out and reaffirm his grip on consciousness.

While that baked, Archie broke a large sheet of chocolate into little morsels.

Each moment became fleeting. Archie wasn’t sure how long it had been since he put the crackers in the oven. The order of things jumbled. Crackers? What about the soup? Was it ready? They still needed nuts. Nuts…

Archie took a step toward the pantry and nearly fell. His feet dragged as he walked. His thoughts jumbled. Blood and drool ran together down his chin. But through the fog, he remembered the caraway seeds. That would have to do for the nuts.

He rummaged through his pockets, nearly falling over again. He pulled the bag out and put it on the counter. He took a breath to steady himself and reached in to grab the caraway seeds. Archie looked at his hands.

A purple film covered his fingertips.

A cold splash of consciousness struck Archie. With clarity of mind, he opened the bag as wide as he could and looked inside. Clumps of Rowan’s forgetting dust had formed inside the bag.

Lord Rathbond had forgotten.

Prince Waldorf could forget too.

The magnitude of the possibility overwhelmed Archie’s fragile state, forcing his mind back into a stupor. It was all there. All the pieces of the puzzle. He just needed to put them together. He needed to hold on.

His eyes drooped. He scrambled together any vestige of thought he still had as he tried to scheme his way out. He faded in and out of consciousness, not letting himself sit down for fear of never waking up.

Archie shuffled over near the pantry and leaned against the wall. He was so close. The way out was right there. He had almost figured it out. It was just missing one…last…thing.

He slid down the wall. His eyelids felt heavier and heavier. He let them fall.

In his last moment of consciousness, the last pieces of the puzzle clicked together.

He had a plan.