Griselda's shoulders relaxed.
"Finally done with introductions!" she said. "Now we can at last enjoy dinner."
"Not quite Griselda," Cyne interrupted. "Our guest wanted to talk to you about some sort of 'arrangement?'" the Warlock glanced at her.
"Yes," she said, wrinkling her brow. "But we can discuss this over dinner," she said firmly, about to get up out of her seat.
"I think we should speak of our business now. Don't you agree, Forest?" he threw his ward a knowing look. The boy tensed immediately.
"Y-yes," Forest mumbled. He looked down at his hands, pushing his fingers into he palms. He looked up again, purposefully locking eyes with the Witch. "Madame Griselda, may my Master and I request refuge here?"
Griselda frowned at the boy. She kept their gazes locked for far longer than necessary.
"When did you teach him how to make a formal request, Cyne?" she still hadn't looked away.
"Right after he burned down our home," Cyne answered coolly.
There was a sudden, dangerous chill in the air. Forest and Hensel shrunk into their seats, shivering. Benedictus, on the other side of the room, sat up straight. He wanted to seem as chair-like as possible. He, like the boys, feared what would happen if he fell under her scrutiny.
Griselda turned her frigid gaze to the Warlock.
"You thought it best to mention this now?!" she spat.
"No better time than 'now,'" he responded. "From what you've told me Griselda, you don't have enough magic to make dinner tonight. To make up for Forest's and my own sudden, and quite frankly rude, request, dinners until the repairs on my home are finished will be my responsibility."
Cyne's tranquil gaze met Griselda's. There was a storm right behind her eyes. It flickered for a moment, like a flash of lighting.
"Fine," she finally said, softening her gaze. "Teaching isn't as easy as it seems old friend?" she smiled.
"I hope he received a proper punishment."
"I felt a fortnight's worth of your food would be more than enough…" Cyne joked. "But," he continued, his tone serious, "in order for you to recover fully, you can't use magic. I may have made dinner my responsibility, but you, like most noblewomen, eat throughout the day."
Griselda knew where this was going. She frowned.
"So, what do you suggest Cyne? That we all starve?" They both knew it was a ridiculous query.
Cyne abstained from answering. Instead, the Warlock let the question fill the air. Benedictus saw this as his chance to enter the conversation.
"Excuse me Madame," he began, "I could cover both breakfast and lunch."
The spotlight was on him now. The Witch and Warlock stared, while the boys peeked out at him.
"I am more than capable of preparing meals for everyone. I have everything I need in the newly refurbished Kitchen… I just need ingredients," Benedictus was uttering half-truths.
He had no idea if the Kitchen was even safe enough to walk in to at this point. He also didn't know if the ingredients in this world were similar to his. All the food he had eaten up to this point hadn't agreed with his palette. Stale breads and biscuits, with teas and potions that were filled with sticks and herbs. Unacceptable. If this went on any longer, he wasn't sure he'd survive. Benedictus hadn't experienced an otherworld dinner yet, but his expectations couldn't get any lower.
He needed to do something. He couldn't just wait for whatever this was to be over. At first, back when he was speaking to the Princess, he thought this was some sort of fever dream. The last thing he remembered was taking his Bundt cake out of the oven. This was his 15th cake from scratch that he had made over the last 3 days. He has assumed he'd collapsed from the lack of sleep. That was why Benedictus had gone along with everything so easily. In the back of his mind, this wasn't real.
But he couldn't rely on waking up anymore.
"Really? From what I understand, Alchemy is a dead art, and Alchemists are nothing more than liars and thieves. Do you think I have trust in you just because you're a summoned Hero?" Griselda laid out her grievances. "The only reason you are welcome into my home is because the King willed it. If I had my way…"
"You're being unreasonable!" Benedictus cut in. "I didn't ask to be here! I didn't ask to fall into your lap! All I want to do is make things again. I want to work in a kitchen. I want to cook, and make, and bake again. To do something other than wondering if I'll ever be able to return home!"
Griselda's jaw tightened. She hadn't expected a passionate outburst from such an unremarkable man. She had ignored all the signs with purpose. The King's Official Summoning Note was seen as a mistake by the illiterate farmer who delivered Benedictus. The Blessed level of Healing, a skill that High Healers, dedicated practitioners for most of their lives, didn't even have. The sudden change of his hair color from black to white, a well-documented response to a Hero's first time encountering a magical bath. Even with all the evidence, Griselda's ego would not let her believe that a summoned Hero could be anything more than a tool for war. If a Hero couldn't fight, they were better off somewhere else. This time, it seemed, 'somewhere else' was the Backend.
"I believe him," came Cyne, shattering the silence. "And, so should you, Griselda of Grenade. I think it would be an incredible boon to have a Hero take such a chore out of your hands."
"I agree with Sir Cyne, Mother," Hensel said, speaking up from behind his book. "I think we should try something new. Perhaps he can prepare a dish that my stomach can agree with. Maybe… maybe he could even cure me."
"Hensel…" she whispered, at a loss for words.
Her son never spoke up about anything. And when he was asked his opinion head on, he chose his words carefully. He had never directly challenged his mother's decisions before, it was very much out of character for him. Hensel was a meek boy, and due to his sensitive stomach, did not eat much. He was small for a boy his age, and relied on potions from Cyne for nutrients. Due to the Rules of Magic, their Mother-Son relationship kept her potions from working on him.
Griselda never thought that the Hero was even remotely telling the truth about being a Baker, and even worse, she never though that his skills could somehow ease her son's pain. She had been selfish. More focused on getting back at the warmongering King, than trying to use this opportunity…
"Shemdra's scales," she sighed. "Fine. You have my permission to make the first and second meals of the day…"
Forest burst out of his chair, somehow leaping high enough to touch the floating chandelier above their heads. The candles flickered.
"Did you hear that Ser sum-hero?!" he shouted, gripping Benedictus. "We're gonna eat! Your! Food!"
"Great gizzards Forest!" Cyne shouted. "Manners boy! Please!"
But Forest was too excited. He was babbling, shaking Benedictus like an apple tree.
By someone's great mercy, Hensel was already out of his seat. He took long steps, striding over to his friend.
"Forest please," he said. "He can't make us food if you rattle his brains out."
"Oh!" the assistant let go, embarrassed. "You're right! Ehm, you okay sum-hero?" he asked, patting the man's shoulder.
Benedictus was dizzy, but recovered quickly enough to nod.
"Now that discussions are officially over," Cyne said, sliding his chair away from the table, "it's about time we moved to the Dining Room."
Dinner was uneventful. The dishes appeared out of Cyne's cloak, piling onto the table gracefully. Benedictus had to admit, dinner smelled delicious. Trays full of different kinds well-cooked, edible, meats. But nothing was seasoned. No honeyed glazes, no brown sugar to melt into the meat. No butters, herbs or spices. It was just meat.
Benedictus had taken small portions. A few slices of pork, chunks beef, and a chicken breast filled his plate. They looked appetizing enough, but after a few bites Benedictus found himself bored. No new flavors to keep himself interested.
As he lay in bed that night, he couldn't help but wonder about the strange culture he found himself in. A culture without good food.