The dinner rush was a controlled storm. Unlike what they had initially believed, the guards they had seen on the road knew exactly what had been going on, and they had quickly spread the word among their friends. The news of the incident on the road had spread through the city’s undercurrents faster than any other gossip that day.

  The patrons that night were a mix of regulars and a surprising number of off-duty city guards, their presence a quiet, unofficial statement of support. They didn’t speak of the incident, but their eyes held a new respect, a shared understanding of the city’s predatory politics.

  It was a mark that the restaurant was already gaining a support base, and not just among the civilians, but also the guards. The food and its effects were the main draw, but many of the people also came to watch Leah and Eowin play as their antics never failed to draw a laugh from the others.

  Brock and Aden arrived midway through the evening, taking a table near the back. Brock, in his usual gruff manner, ordered a bowl of chili with an extra side of biscuits. Aden, looking less worn and more vibrant than the day before, ordered the same.

  Draden plated their orders himself, taking a moment to step out of the kitchen’s heat.

  Brock took a bite of a biscuit first, a massive chunk disappearing into his beard. He chewed thoughtfully, his eyes closing for a moment. “Still can’t believe you aren’t charging more for these,” He grunted, though his tone was one of deep appreciation. The biscuit was a marvel of texture and taste. The outside was golden and crisp, shattering into a thousand buttery flakes, while the inside was a cloud of soft, tender layers, each one infused with the rich flavor of butter and the subtle tang of buttermilk.

  Draden shrugged. “I could, but then who would I be helping. Right now, my food is affordable to those who need it. If I raised my prices, the only ones who would be able to afford it would be the nobles or the ones who don’t truly need the help it gives. Sure, I’d make more money, but some things are worth more than that.”

  He had spoken in the heat of the moment, just talking from the heart, momentarily forgetting where he was. It was only when he stopped speaking that he realized the dining area had gone silent at Brock’s question, and that everyone had heard his response.

  “Hear, hear!” One of the guards shouted, raising his mug of juice. It was a cheer that everyone soon took up, to Draden’s embarrassment, forcing him to retreat to the kitchen.

  Brock smirked behind his bushy beard as he turned his attention to the chili. He scooped up a hefty spoonful, the dark, rich stew thick with ground beef, kidney beans, and pinto beans, all suspended in a savory, spiced tomato broth. The aroma alone was enough to make his mouth water, and the flavor was even better. It was deep and robust, a comforting warmth that spread through his chest. The beef was tender, the beans creamy, and the balance of spices was perfect—a slow-building heat that lingered pleasantly without overpowering the other flavors.

  The qi in the meal was a solid, grounding force, sinking into his bones, and easing the deep-seated ache from decades of standing over a hot forge. He felt the tension in his shoulders unwind, the stiffness in his joints loosen. It was more than a meal; it was restoring and helping him grow. Like many people, Brock was also a cultivator; however, his talent at it had been marginal at best, and he had never gotten the hang of cultivating while smithing. He was stronger than a normal person, but the progress he had made along the path was nothing to brag about, especially when you considered his age.

  Each bite of this chili was more effective than one of his rare cultivation sessions.

  Aden ate with a quieter sort of reverence. Each spoonful of chili, each bite of the flaky biscuit, was a step further away from the years of pain that had defined his life. He could feel the focused, healing energy of the biscuits working on his spine, a meticulous, gentle mending that was slowly but surely undoing the damage of the past. It was a miracle; one he was consuming with a simple spoon. He looked up, his eyes finding Draden’s retreating form, and gave a slow, grateful nod.

  Inside the kitchen, Draden found someone already waiting quietly inside for him. It was the head of Macron’s personal guard, the same man Coradine had verbally eviscerated. He wasn’t in his formal armor, but in the simple, off-duty tunic of a regular citizen. His face was grim.

  “Varsk,” He said, his voice low. “I’m not here on official business. Can we talk?”

  Draden nodded slowly. “I suppose so, can this happen while I work, or do I need to find somewhere private?”

  The guard leaned against the edge of the counter, where he was out of the way, but close enough that they could talk. “Here is fine. There are a couple of things that you need to know. I’ve come here tonight at the request of Lady Dahlia,” He stopped upon seeing Draden’s blank look. “Lady Dahlia is the City Lord’s wife, Miss Mirna’s mother.”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  “Oh, I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard her name before now,” Draden muttered. “We were never properly introduced when they arrived at the restaurant’s grand opening.”

  “Yes, that night was, interesting. Anyway, I am here at her request. The City Lord is… displeased with you. Your refusal to come, Coradine’s interference, Marcus invoking the Grove’s charter… It’s pushed him. He’s not thinking clearly and is refusing to punish the nobles who come after you. She wanted me to tell you that it might be better if your daughter didn’t go to school for a few days. Her sister, Miss Dajra, also agrees with this sentiment.”

  Draden’s hands clenched tight around his tasting spoon, bending the stem into a useless mess. “Why can’t he just leave us alone?” He asked furiously. “What did I even do to the man? Have I met him before and forgotten it or something?”

  A simple shake of the head met his angry question. “As far as the mistress has been able to determine, you merely drew his interest at the wrong time and then dared to stand up to him, nothing more. You cared for your daughter, and that was too much for him. From what she has told me…” He paused, his voice, dropping even lower. “The City Lord has suffered a qi deviation some time ago, and it has seriously affected his personality. It shames me that none of us noticed until it was pointed out.”

  Draden put the warped spoon down and turned to him, ignoring the orders for the moment. “No offense, but how can I believe anything you say. It’s not as though you’re a simple city guard either, you’re the captain of his personal guard. You serve the City Lord directly.”

  The man looked him straight in the eye. “That is true, but I am still a man with my own beliefs, and the City Lord now is not the same man that I swore my oath to years ago. That man was honorable, and he cared for the people of his city. This current Macron… doesn’t. He’s a petty man who spends his time looking for pretexts to seize assets for tax violations and detain people for whatever reason he can come up with.”

  Draden was silent, processing the man’s words. It seemed that Dahlia, and perhaps the others, had taken their warning seriously. They had undoubtedly noticed Macron’s increasingly erratic behavior for some time but had ignored it for one reason or another. The meeting Marcus and Coradine had held with Dajra, Mirna, and Dahlia and given a name to something they already knew.

  “Why are you telling me this? Is it just because Miss Dahlia told you to?”

  He shook his head. “Not entirely. My son ate here last week,” The guard said, his voice dropping even lower. “He’s an apprentice stonemason. The boy took a bad fall nearly five months ago and shattered his wrist. The healers did what they could for him, but said it would never be right again. After three meals here, he can hold his tools again without pain for the first time in months. Still can’t make a fist, but I’m sure that’s only a matter of time.” He looked down at his hands. “You’re doing good here. It’d be a shame to see that stomped out by a madman’s pride.” He stood up. “That’s all I had to say. Be careful.”

  He turned and walked out, leaving Draden with the weight of his warning. The foundation of loyalty he was building was starting to show. But it also meant the battle lines were being drawn more clearly than ever.

  The rest of the night passed in a blur of activity. When the last customer had gone and the doors were locked, an exhausted quiet settled over the restaurant. Emilie and Alice were cleaning, their movements slower now, but still efficient. Marcus and Coradine had retreated to the house to continue their work on the wards.

  Draden was in the kitchen, wiping down the counters, when an idea, sparked by the guard’s visit and his own desperate need for a new snack, finally coalesced. It was simple, almost laughably so, but it might just work.

  He pulled out his notebook and a pencil. It was possibly the first recipe he had ever learned, if it could even be called that.

  He was going to make rock candy. The simple version just used sugar, making the flavor somewhat lacking. However, with some fruit syrup, he should be able to change that. It would be an experiment to see how much of the flavor actually transferred over.

  He wrote out the ridiculously easy recipe, wondering how potent it would actually be. It used a lot of sugar, and there was room to possibly add other things like vanilla for more oomph. He made a note to try both experiments.

  With that recipe, if it could even be called that, done, he flipped to another page and started writing out another one he had just remembered. The rock candy might have been the first recipe he learned, but there was another one that he had done with his mother when he was younger. A homemade soft caramel that she had loved.

  It would be interesting to try making it without a candy thermometer, but he would find a way.

  He wished he could summon one; unfortunately, that was not the way his ability worked. There was no point whining about something that couldn’t be; as it was, he was lucky enough to have the ability he did have.

  Regardless, he wrote down everything he could remember about the caramel recipe. The more he thought about it, the more he remembered his mother telling him which parts could be substituted for something else, or how they could make their own homemade version of another ingredient.

  Before his death on Earth, he hadn’t thought of either of his parents in years, and he still rarely thought of his father, thankfully. However, after coming to understand what sort of person he had once been, he had found himself thinking about those days more often. Viewing his past with clearer eyes and more than a little regret.

  There were plenty of happy memories from those days, but for whatever reason, he found it hard to focus on them.

  A short time later, Emilie, Alice, Eowyn, and Marcus left for the night.

  “You really need to get a cart or something to make their trips to and from the city faster,” Coradine said as he finished locking everything up.

  He nodded tiredly. “Yeah, just one more thing to do, and I’ll need to find a place to keep the animal as well. Anyway, good night, Coradine.”

  Thank you to all the people who have taken the time to rate the story and to my latest Patrons! I have other stories up on my Patreon, including my current WIPs. Which are now Created G.H.O.S.T. System(My Cyberpunk story), WetWorks2, plus The Restaurateur and His Daughter and DungeonFall. :)

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