Eden peeked into the kitchen and inhaled deeply. Yes, she could smell the brambellberry now, more clearly than ever. There were four cooks present, bustling around. Eden watched them for a moment, trying to discern which might be the culprit, until she realized that it didn’t really matter.

She pulled back into the dim passage and said, “Dismiss them.”

“What, all of them?” Atlas protested, looking around the corner himself. “That’s a bit harsh.”

“What do you mean? They get to keep their lives.”

“And you believe that to be lenient?”

She gave him a puzzled look. “It is lenient.”

Atlas pressed his lips together and looked out at them again, seeming to struggle with the demand.

Eden touched his arm, drawing him back. “Listen, one of two things is happening here. Either these people are intentionally poisoning you, in which case they’re murderers…or they’re accidentally poisoning you, in which case they don’t know their trade well enough and shouldn’t be working for you. Take your pick.”

He closed his green-grey eyes, seeming to see the corner he was backed into. Before long he turned, and strode into the kitchen with Eden tailing behind.

The three men and one woman all froze seeing him, the surprise evident on their faces, spoons and knives still clutched in their hands.

“I apologize for my abruptness,” Atlas said, “But I need all of you to leave.”

They looked between each other. Eden scanned their faces, searching for something deeper – treachery. She saw nothing.

“For… for how long, Majesty?” One managed to ask.

“Until further notice. Consider it a… break.”

“I—I have children,” the only woman dared say. “A family. Please sire, I cannot afford—”

“One month,” Eden cut in. “Return in one month. Should I detect any more brambellberry in the kitchen after that point… I will kill all of you.”

A spectrum of different expressions painted across their faces. Fear. Shock. Confusion. Fear again.

“W-What is brambellberry?” The woman managed to ask. “We—I—have never heard of it.”

Eden looked at her evenly and said, “Then I suggest you educate yourself.”

The robust woman straightened, seeming worried but determined. Eden took note of her curiosity – a sure sign of intelligence despite the pressure she was suddenly under. A good sign for her future.

They filed out, and Eden went to work inspecting the kitchen. There were so many jars though, so she reordered her priorities, figuring Atlas’s worsening condition to be the most prominent concern. With the way he heaved himself onto a stool bordering the counter and rested himself heavily on his forearms, Eden wasn’t sure how much longer he would be awake.

“Is there a grill here somewhere?” she asked.

Atlas furrowed his brows and reached forward, using the edge of his arm to slide a few jars and other various items aside. Something at the other end of the counter was ejected from its place and shattered on the floor. Neither of them paid it any mind.

“Here,” he said, waving a hand briefly at the circular, iron grill that was imbedded into the stone.

She came to his side of the counter, clearing some jars away from around where they would be eating. It was almost irritating – the clutter. She was used to Crane’s organizational skills. No wonder they were poisoning him. It was impossible that the cooks would know what was in every one of these containers.

Eden leaned forward and lifted the iron disk from the counter, peering underneath it. Good. There was still plenty of oil there. The cooks obviously abandoned the grill in favour of the oven to cook.

“Do you know where to find a match?”

Atlas gave her an indecipherable look, head tilting only the slightest amount. In was her inability to interpret this look that told her exactly what he was thinking.

“No,” she warned. “Don’t do it. Don’t—”

His eyes slanted almost teasingly to the oil, but before she could figure out how to stop him, he’d already twisted his hand and snapped his fingers.

The oil burst into flames.

Eden managed not to jump but cursed under her breath all the same, hastily lowering the iron cooking disk down over the fire.

She leaned back onto her stool and said, “Are you trying to impress me, or do you really just have a death wish?”

“It was just a spark,” Atlas replied, but the toll it took on him was immediate and obvious to Eden. He blinked slowly, the way someone would to clear a foggy brain.

“Stop,” she hissed. “I get it: you feel terrible and you want to die, but your magic is too important for that to happen.” She wiggled her fingers at the grill, unable to explain it. “So just cool it with the mystical madness.”

Atlas let out a surprisingly bitter laugh. “My magic is important.” He narrowed his eyes at the grill. “Right,” he said quietly.

For some reason, the words he repeated back to her kicked her square in the chest. Dare she think it – dare she feel it – she felt bad. It was suddenly all too clear that he resented the magic he harnessed, that he believed it was all anyone cared about.

Words of Thetan’s slipped back to her. ‘Rest assured, every woman you see at that party is after the power—not the man, and certainly not love.’

Atlas was more aware of this than anyone. What a sad and contemptuous existence.

Not knowing how to handle the sudden tension, Eden rubbed awkwardly at her forehead and said, “So, uh, do you like fish?”

He looked at her, his scorn seeming to soften. “I do. Actually, I often feel a considerable amount of pity for those who don’t.”

“Their options are pretty limited,” she agreed. “I mean I could have fried you some pineapple but that gets old real quick.”

Atlas propped his elbow on the table a rested his cheek against his knuckle. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

“Nor will I.”

“Then what should I call you?”

“Call me whatever you want,” she said, hopping down off the stool and wandering over to the icebox. “It’s not like it matters. I won’t be around long enough for you to need something permanent.”

“Let’s say I want something permanent.”

Eden’s heart tripped a bit in surprise, but she managed to keep her tone neutral. “What, like a full time taste tester? How much does that pay?” She cracked open the lid to the icebox and began digging through the layers.

“Not like a taste tester… like my queen consort.”

Well if that wasn’t irony in its purest form, Eden didn’t know what was. The king was offering her the deal? What would Thetan say to that?

She shook her head subtly, not bothering to brainstorm. His future anger was already leaving a bad taste in her mouth. There was a reason he chose Rose for this, and she was in no position to defy him.

“No,” was all she could think to say.

“Why?” he asked. Eden tried not to panic at the suspicion lacing the question. “Are you married? Promised?”

“No,” she said sharply, but then bit down hard on her lip. She shouldn’t be answering at all.

“Should I throw you in prison? You obviously have a lot to hide.”

Eden dug her hands into the ice and pulled out two squishy fillets of fish. Holding them up by their ends she said, “Can you tell which of these is poisoned?”

Atlas looked blankly between them.

“No?” Eden chided. “I thought not. Guess prison will have to wait.”

“At least tell me what you do,” he pressed as Eden came back around and tossed the fish onto the grill. They roared into a sizzle immediately. “You’re not a thief. You haven’t been trained to seduce. You’re not an assassin despite knocking out three and killing one of those intruders—”

“What did you do with them, anyway?” Eden interrupted, she went about noisily opening all the drawers, looking for bamboo sticks to eat with. Brontide, how did they find anything in here?

“You didn’t notice the case of mangradora?” Atlas asked, pointing back to the icebox.

“I’m not touching that box.”

“Well there is nothing left to touch. They’re all gone. I used the remaining few to blot out their memory of what happened last night. Then I had them dumped back at the shipyard where they came from.”

Having found what she was looking for, she jammed the drawer shut loudly in surprise. “You know where they came from? Who they are?”

“Of course I do. This has been happening to me for years.”

“Well… who are they? What do they want?”

Atlas leaned back on his seat and gave her a look that said ‘really’?

“Ugh,” Eden groaned, dropping her hands to her sides and letting her head fall back in defeat. “Fine. I am a scholar scout. I collect information.”

“So, you’re a spy.”

On her way back to the grill, she spotted a few bread rolls that looked unglazed. She picked up the basket and brought it over. Sitting down heavily on her chair, she offered him a pair of bamboo eating sticks, which he took with a nod.

“I observe things the way a spy does, yes,” Eden allowed reluctantly, “but I am also required to step in should things not go as planned. Though usually,” She broke her sticks apart, “I don’t have to step in quite as far as this.”

She looked over at him. “Is that good enough for you? Can you tell me about these men now?”

“Why don’t I just show you,” Atlas suggested, casually reaching over to flip the fish.

“You’re in no condition to go anywhere today. You couldn’t fight off a twelve year old girl in your state.”

He laughed, but his eyes fell tiredly closed for a moment. “Tomorrow then – and the gardens as well. I will show you what I’m keeping there.”

“Fine,” Eden said. She'd be a fool to refuse such generosity.

Atlas nodded, and she supposed that sealed the deal.

“Didn’t you say one of these was poisoned?” he asked, lifting a now golden fillet by the end and inspecting it critically.

“No, I asked if you knew.”

“I have no idea,” he admitted, leaning forward to look at the other specimen.

Eden couldn’t help but smile a bit. “Neither,” she said gently. “Neither is poisoned.”

He sent her a shrewd, amused look over his arm.

She reached for the other fish with her sticks, trying her best not to smirk. “I’d still like to see the prison though.”