Dinner that night was a quiet affair. Rhoden invited Croftin Meran and Issa Roth to join them, as they had become the companions of himself and Mira and her sister. As they waited in a sitting room for the food to be set, they spoke of the decisions of the Council, and expressed their dismay at the slaughter of Denrost. Mira’s sister watched the conversation with big, silent eyes.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Mira asked, her face pained. “Those poor people.”

“Lord Wallrick and Brother Lamb of the Ennist Church have it in hand,” said Rhoden. “I’m certain they would not begrudge more help, but—” He broke off, feeling awkward. “Perhaps you would not be interested in helping, as you are Thalist.”

“Of course I’m interested,” Mira retorted. “Why would I not be? These people were to have been my subjects, as much as yours or Cael’s.” Her eyes were alight with the dislike he was coming to know was reserved especially for himself.

Rhoden was spared an answer, however, for at that moment a servant came to summon them to the table. Once they were seated, Rhoden leaned slightly toward Mira, who sat on his left.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly. “I did not mean to offend. The matter is in your hands, of course, how you decide to help those in need.”

“Thank you,” she said in a curt voice, looking away.

He paused, then said, “Lord Crasmere gave me your request.”

Her eyes turned back to him, startled. “I thought—he would address it on his own,” she said.

Rhoden nodded his head. “He asked for my approval, and I wanted to tell you in person that I have given it.”

Mira looked to her side at her sister, who was chatting happily with Croftin across the table. Rhoden followed her gaze, and understood the love she felt. It was the same he always felt in Cael’s presence.

Mira’s request had been to allow herself and her sister to ride their horses daily. She suggested that an escort always be present, and that they would remain in the king’s lands—the hills and forests that spread out behind the palace and into the mountains beyond. Crasmere had explained to Rhoden that he was unsure whether the decision to grant Mira’s request was wise, under the circumstances, but Rhoden sensed that there was no ill intent behind it. Seeing Mira’s face soften, he knew he had been correct.

“Thank you,” Mira whispered. She sniffed and then spoke more firmly, looking Rhoden in the eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “We will be grateful for the distraction. Biani, especially. She has always loved horses more than anything in the world.”

Rhoden’s heart swelled, and he gave her a smile. Perhaps he had offended her, in his questioning yesterday, but he had hope that the rift between them could be mended. This had seemed like a step in the right direction, and he was gratified to see it confirmed.

Servants moved forward and laid dinner before the five of them. Tonight was a thick cream soup, which Rhoden eagerly dipped his spoon into. It had been a long day and he was famished. After his first mouthful, however, he stopped, dismayed. There was something very wrong with the soup.

He swallowed his mouthful with difficulty and looked swiftly around the table. No one else seemed to have trouble with their soups, and ate vigorously. Rhoden chanced another spoonful, regretting it immediately, and reached for his glass. As he drank, he realized that his was the only soup to have been altered. His face grew hot.

With careful movements, he replaced his spoon, then stood, causing everyone around the table to rise with him. Biani cast him a curious look for interrupting them in the middle of a meal.

“Forgive me for disturbing you,” Rhoden said. “But I am afraid I must leave. There is an urgent matter to which I must attend.”

They watched him go with hardly a word, and he left quickly. At the door, he gathered his small squadron of the King’s Guard and began to make his way toward the kitchens. His mouth smarted from the bitter taste of the soup, and he swallowed several times, trying to rid himself of it.

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The kitchens were located at the south of the palace, and though Rhoden had not been there since his childhood, he knew the way well. As they grew closer, smells of cream soup and freshly baked bread wafted through the air. Rhoden’s stomach growled.

He left the guards at the door and entered alone. The kitchens had changed little in the years since he had last been. Large tables and counters were covered in flour and the remnants of bread dough. The whitewashed walls were hung with pans and pots and dried herbs. In one corner gaped the ovens: three deep stone mouths that were constantly in use. In another corner were the doors to the pantry, the buttery, and large storerooms that lay beneath the ground. A fire crackled merrily in an open fireplace along the far wall, and a wide door opened to a courtyard and herb garden beyond.

Before the fire was a table, around which several people sat. As Rhoden entered, they all stood, and many eyed him warily. The largest man was Lem, the palace cook. He was broad-shouldered, with graying brown hair, and had the slight paunch of a cook who loves his job. When he saw Rhoden, he let out a booming laugh.

“Well, bless my beard!” he cried, moving forward and bowing. “If it isn’t Prince Rhoden himself!”

The rest of his staff stood well away, but Rhoden ignored them.

“Hello, Lem,” he said with a smile. “It’s been a long time.”

“It certainly has!” Lem agreed. “And you, my boy, have changed a great deal. Stand here! Let me take a look at you.”

He stretched to his full height, which was half a head shorter than Rhoden, and scrutinized him from head to toe. Rhoden let him, smiling. It was certainly nice to be around someone who didn’t treat him as though he would bring the world to an untimely end. Lem had always accepted him, for as long as he could remember. He was slightly ashamed that he had not visited for so long, but he stood tall, letting Lem’s eyes rove up and down.

“Well, you certainly have your father’s height,” he commented wryly. “And your mother’s bearing.” His jolly face fell. “Forgive me for mentioning them. I miss them. Dearly.”

“As do I,” Rhoden said softly.

“But you’re so skinny!” Lem continued, forgetting his grief and poking at Rhoden’s belly. “What did the scholars feed you in Tellegar, sticks?”

Rhoden laughed. “They are not as talented as you, Lem. They do not have your resources, or your staff.”

“And a right bunch of reprobates they are,” Lem said, turning to scowl at them. “I don’t know why I keep them around.” But his eyes twinkled, and a few of the maids grinned back.

Then, the red-cheeked man looked back at Rhoden, his expression suddenly suspicious.

“Why are you here, Rhoden?” he asked. “We just sent dinner away upstairs. You should be eating with the others.” His brow darkened. “Was there something wrong? Did Dell spill soup on the carpet again?”

“Nothing that grievous,” said Rhoden, smiling, but Lem caught the hesitation in his voice.

“Over here,” he said, and ushered Rhoden to the other side of the room, out of earshot of his staff. He looked very seriously into Rhoden’s face. “What is it?” he asked.

Rhoden took a deep breath. “Lem, someone salted my soup. Or, well, over salted it. I could tell right away that mine was the only affected bowl. I was targeted. I don’t think it is due to any fault of yours,” he added quickly, seeing Lem’s face grow redder by the moment. “Someone else is clearly to blame.”

“It could have been any one of my miscreants,” Lem growled, glaring in earnest at the men and women now sitting around the table, eating in relative silence. “It would be easy for them to slip in extra salt. Or for anyone who had access to your food before it was served.” He looked at Rhoden, his normally kind eyes drawn tight with anger. “I will dismiss anyone who does not approve of your rule,” he said fiercely. “If they wish to express their anger by ruining my food, they can do so, but not for you. I will not stand for it.”

“Thank you,” said Rhoden, though internally he knew that the reason was not necessarily that anyone disapproved of him being king. Whoever had ruined his food had specifically used salt, one of the elements used to banish Shadows. It was deliberate and targeted, and he was at a loss as to who could have done it. Any number of servants had access to the food as it went from the kitchens to the dining rooms, and when questioned, they would most likely deny any part in the plot.

“I’ll keep my eyes open,” he said, and Lem promised to do the same. “But I would appreciate if this is kept quiet, Lem. I don’t want news of this to spread.”

Lem harrumphed, but did not argue. “You won’t leave my kitchens hungry,” he said, moving to fill a bowl of soup and a platter of bread. “If it ever happens again, come and tell me. You’ll always have a meal here. But if you’re concerned about keeping this on the low down, you give me a message and I’ll send it to your rooms. Just so you have the privacy you want.”

Rhoden smiled. “Thank you, Lem,” he said, then after making the arrangements, left the kitchens with the hearty promise of good food awaiting him.