to the chef. “What is this?”
“Phyllo paper. You can make dozens of things with that. Melt some of that butter, and I’ll get you some recipes.”
Kile gave me a face. “See?”
“How do we want to decide who works together?” Burke asked, obviously hoping I’d simply go with him.
“Rock, paper, scissors?” Fox suggested.
“That’s fair,” Kile agreed. He and Fox went up against each other first, and though no one said it one way or the other, they knew the losers would be stuck with each other.
Kile beat both Fox and Burke. Fox took it in stride, but Burke had no talent at masking his emotions. The two of them picked an appetizer to make together—asparagus wrapped with prosciutto and phyllo—while Kile and I were left staring at some chicken, trying to figure out what to do with it.
“So, what’s step one?” I asked.
“I cooked plenty when I was away in Fennley, but I need a recipe at least. I bet those books would help.” We walked over to a cupboard that contained dozens of cookbooks. Most of them had markers hanging in multiple places, and there were piles of note cards next to them with more ideas.
As Kile flipped through the pages, I played with the jars of herbs. The kitchen made me think of what a scientist’s lab would look like, only with food. I opened some, inhaling them or feeling the texture.
“Smell this,” I insisted, holding up a jar to Kile.
“What’s that?”
“Saffron. Doesn’t it smell delicious?”
He smiled at me and went straight to the back of the book he was holding. “Aha!” he said, turning forward to find his page. “Saffron chicken. Want to give that a try?”
“Sure.” I clutched the jar in my hand like it was my big contribution to the night.
“All right. Saffron chicken . . . so, let’s preheat the oven.”
I stood next to him, staring at the buttons and dials. Probably the ovens in normal people’s homes didn’t look like this, but this massive, industrial setup seemed like it might launch a satellite if we touched the wrong thing. We looked at the stove like it might give us some instructions if we waited long enough.
“Should I get more butter?” I asked.
“Shut up, Eadlyn.”
The chef walked past and mumbled, “Dial on the left, three fifty.”
Kile reached over and turned it as if he knew what to do the whole time.
I glanced toward Fox and Burke. Burke was clearly acting as their leader and loudly giving orders. Fox didn’t seem to mind at all, laughing and joking without being obnoxious. They peeked back over at us several times, Burke sneaking in a wink now and then. Past them, Erik and Henri were working quietly, with Erik doing a minimal amount of labor, only assisting when Henri asked for it.
Henri’s sleeves were rolled up and he’d gotten some flour on his pants, and I kind of loved that he didn’t seem to care about it. Erik was a little messy himself, and he didn’t bother wiping any of it off either.
I looked at Kile, who was buried in the cookbook. “I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.” As I walked away, I heard him quietly try to get the chef’s attention.
“Looking good, boys,” I said, pausing by Fox.
“Thanks. This is actually kind of soothing. I never cooked much at home, nothing like this anyway. But I’m looking forward to trying it.” Fox’s hands stuttered for a moment, trying to find his rhythm again.
“This will be the best asparagus you’ve ever had,” Burke promised.
“I can’t wait,” I replied, moving to the far end of the table.
Erik looked up, greeting me with a smile. “Your Highness. How’s our dinner looking?”
“Very bad indeed,” I promised. He chuckled and told Henri the state of our poor supper.
Their hands were covered in dough, and I could see bowls of cinnamon and sugar waiting to be used. “This looks promising though. Do you cook as well, Erik?”
“Oh, not professionally. But I live on my own, so I cook for myself, and I love all the traditional Swendish foods. This is a favorite.”
Erik turned to Henri, and I could tell they were talking about food because Henri was alight with excitement.
“Oh, yeah! Henri was just saying there’s this soup he has when he’s sick. It’s got potatoes and fish, and, oh, I miss my mother just thinking about it.”
I smiled, trying to imagine Erik alone trying to master his mother’s meals and Henri in the back of a restaurant already having conquered every recipe in his