“A future empress must be a bit plump.” The head cook, Hestia, grinned as she ladled more lobster soup into Vespir’s bowl. Curls of fragrant steam wafted upward. “Plumpness lets people know she’s got plenty of money for the best foods and lots of time to eat.”

“I really want this job now,” Vespir said.

“Oh, the whole kitchen staff hopes you’ll take the throne.” Hestia’s dark eyes gleamed with approval as she bustled to the stove and stirred a saucepan. “Emperor Erasmus wasn’t fond of Ikrayinan cooking, and I’d love to have excuses to make cheese fritters again. Maybe a sweet yoghurt as well!”

Vespir sipped at her soup, the creamy broth and the bite of tarragon warming her stomach. She grinned as Hestia turned back to slide more mutton dumplings onto her plate. A mint dipping sauce waited in a little golden bowl. Hestia had insisted on bringing out only the best.

Vespir appreciated the fine china, but she cared more about the mutton.

“My mother used to make them the same.” Vespir’s eyes rolled in her head as she took a bite, her teeth breaking the crisp fried skin and sinking into the juicy meat. She groaned and wiped the sauce from her chin, barely remembering her manners.

“Nothing’s more important than food.” Hestia sighed as she cracked an egg into a sizzling skillet. “Whenever I’m lonely or homesick, I make a dish of lamb and noodle stew, just as my mother taught me. A pinch of rosemary and a dash of cinnamon, that’s the secret. I always say you’re never alone so long as you’ve got a family recipe.”

“Mmm. Though even my family didn’t make anything like this.” Vespir surveyed the table. There were the dumplings, the soup, a glass of chocolate with salt and cinnamon crusted around the rim. Thin pancakes wrapped around raspberry jam waited at her elbow for dessert. Finding an eastern Ikrayinan cook in this kitchen, seeing Hestia’s long black hair tied in the traditional side braid, had been the tonic that Vespir needed.

She nearly forgot why she’d come.

Within five minutes of questioning one of the servants, Vespir had been escorted into the imperial kitchens. The room had to be over fifty feet across, the ceilings ten feet high. Vents had been carved to allow smoke and steam an escape. The walls were painted cream, and at the center of the kitchen a large window boasted a view of the river. The place smelled and sounded like the Pentri kitchens.

Plucked fowls hung by their feet overhead, alongside bunches of dried herbs. The copper pots bubbled on the stovetop, while two brawny-armed boys grunted as they lifted a bit of roasted hippo from the oven. Kitchen girls with wrapped hair sang a chanting song as they plucked capons for the evening meal. Vespir ate at the long wooden table, with girls on either side of her chopping herbs and kneading dough. No one stood on ceremony with her here or acted as if she should be gone.

Vespir had asked everyone about the aerie, and every single person had shrugged and said that no one went in there much. The lead dragon handler, a woman named Sylvia, had said the aerie was far grander than most, but still a simple aerie.

Vespir sipped the salted chocolate, enjoying the tug of sleep. After a good meal, she’d love nothing more than a steaming bath and a bed. She shouldn’t be surprised that the servants hadn’t known anything. What did servants know of emperors, besides the way they liked their eggs, or the changing span of their waistline?

Vespir untied the basilisk vial from her belt and set it on the table. She’d showed it to everyone, from the steward to the second and fifth footmen. No one had known a thing about it, which made Vespir feel far less clever than when she’d gone back to Emilia’s room to retrieve the thing. Maybe she wanted to believe that she would find the connection that had escaped the likes of Hyperia and Emilia. The girls who’d spent their lives studying music and philosophy and epic poetry would then be astounded by Vespir’s keen mind.

“Oh, is that your medicine?” Hestia asked while Vespir took another mouthful of soup. The cook grinned, revealing deep dimples in her steam-reddened face.

“Oh no. It’s—”

“Erasmus used it.” The cook sighed, adding some sliced carrots to a boiling pot before wiping her hands on her apron. “Maybe it would have saved him, poor man, if the disease hadn’t been so far along.”

Vespir paused.

“The emperor was taking this…medicine…when he was sick?”

“Yes. Some newfound treatment discovered on one of those sacred islands down south. Her Grace Camilla brought it to me, asked that a drop or two be put in his food with supper. Supposed to be hard for his delicate stomach, so it needed to be introduced gradually. Their Graces took such care of the emperor in the end.” Hestia mopped her face. “I’m sure if anyone could’ve saved him, would’ve been those two.”

“You’re sure that the medicine came in this vial?” Vespir tried to keep herself from shouting. “This exact type?” She dug her nails into the table as Hestia picked up the vial, uncorked it, and sniffed. The cook made a face.

“Ooh, I’d never forget. The smell, especially. Smells like sulfur, doesn’t it? And vinegar. It was strong medicine. They tried, but in the end, he lasted only about a week more. Where did you get this, then?”

Vespir snatched the vial back.

“Thank you for the delicious meal.” Vespir stoppered the flask and ran from the kitchen. Pity there was no time for sweet things.