Olem’s soft voice came from the doorway. “I told him.”
Mihali gave Tamas a critical look-over. “Warm milk.”
“That’s never worked for me,” Tamas said. “Do you ever sleep? It’s three in the morning.”
“Three forty-five,” Mihali said, though there were no clocks in the kitchen. “I’ve needed little sleep since I was a boy. Papa told me it was because of the god’s touch in me.”
“Your father believed you?” Tamas asked. “I don’t mean to be rude. You’d said before that he told you to keep quiet about being Adom reborn.”
“No offense taken.” Mihali edged over to an empty table and began to produce a number of small, clay spice bottles from his apron pockets. There were no labels, but he set them down in a very specific order on the table. “He believed me. He just knew of the problems I’d face if it became public knowledge.”
“And now?” Tamas said. “You’ve told me, and I think word is spreading about your claims.” He glanced at the two women. Which was it? Religious adoration, or love? Or both? They still watched Mihali, until one of them noticed that the omelet was smoking and turned around with a cry of dismay.
A smile played upon Mihali’s lips. He produced a mortar and pestle and began to grind herbs together. “My claims?” Mihali said. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“I… don’t know,” Tamas said. “It’s a lot to swallow. I’ve seen what you do with food—how you can make it appear. I’ve never heard of any sorcery like that. And I’ve seen the glow of the Knack around you.”
Mihali seemed startled by this. “You noticed?”
“Yes, well, you did it right in front of Olem and me.”
“Oh. No one is supposed to notice that. I usually pay better attention. Papa told me to hide it when I was a boy. Said the royal cabals or the Church would come for me if they found out.”
Tamas examined Mihali’s face for any sign of a lie. Mihali was concentrating on his work, combining herbs until he was satisfied with the result. He produced a dark powder and added it to the mixture. “Tasha,” he said. “Warm some goat’s milk, please.”
“I thought you were doing it on purpose,” Tamas said slowly. “Perhaps to convince us of your… godhood.”
Mihali gave him a shy smile. “I’ve never been a flashy god,” he said. “I leave that to Kresimir.”
“You’ve also been serving dishes very foreign to Adro,” Tamas said. “We don’t have eels in the Adsea, for instance. You use expensive spices like they were simply flour or water. I served in Gurla for a time. I know what these things can cost, and I know Ondraus doesn’t approve this kind of money for food. Is that your Knack? Producing food from thin air?”
Mihali scratched his thin mustache. “Yes, I’ve been kind of obvious, haven’t I? Should I… hide myself?”
“Maybe,” Tamas said. Mihali had the Knack, no doubt. Tamas might need his powers someday. Did he humor the madman chef? “Remain quiet, I think. As a precaution.”
“May I ask you what your dreams were about?”
“I remembered them when I first awoke,” Tamas said. “But now they’re fleeting. I think everyone I knew—no, not everyone, but most of the people I knew stood on the rim of South Pike and jumped into the mountain. My son was there too, though I don’t know what happened to him and…” He stopped, a memory coming back to him. “Someone stood on the rim with us. Someone I’d never seen before. His eyes were like fire, his hair like gold tinsel. He was urging everyone to jump in, and he held a knife to Taniel’s throat.”
“Can I tell you something?” Mihali said softly.
Tamas took a step closer to hear him better. “Certainly.”
Mihali took a cup from one of the women. “Thank you, Tasha,” he said. “I’ve been listening to the city.” Mihali added his mixture of herbs to the warm milk and stirred it with one thick finger. He handed it to Tamas. Almost absently, Tamas took a sip. His eyes widened. He’d had Fatrastan chocolate once or twice. It was too bitter. This had a similar taste, but sweeter, and with a hot, peppery bite. Spice burned his tongue and herbs soothed it, and it rushed warmly down his throat like the finest of brandy. He tilted the cup back, draining the last drop.