❖ QUEENKILLER, KINGMAKER Book 2 ❖
A year has passed since Isla rescued Tam Mai from the dungeons, but her sister's mind is still trapped and broken. There is only one person Isla knows can help her.
Meanwhile across the sea, a prince seeks justice f...
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'Did you see how her body twitched?
'And the stuff that came out of her mouth ...'
'I swear I've lost my appetite for the whole month.'
The entire kitchen was filled with gossip that day. One woman stir-fried ladles of sauce in palm oil while another stirred her pot of boiling crabs. Isla's stomach rumbled at the rich smell of chilli and oyster paste under the fresh crush of bay- and lemon leaf that wafted through the large hall. Her eyes wandered up the platforms boxed up in small sections along both sides the wall; all of them raised by half a floor and fitted with counters and cooking stations that faced out into wide, folding windows.
That one's Prijsti's platform. She smiled, thinking of the first time she met Aldir's mother—though of course at the time Prijsti had not known Isla's connection to her long-lost son. The truth of it all came out much later, once Isla and Tam Mai had made their way to Elingar and reunited with everyone.
The side entrance into the kitchens stretched between Prijsti's platform and another—three sets of floor-length double doors, installed shoulder-to-shoulder and all left folded open to a view of the herbary.
'I still can't believe they've hung an actual rajini!' The pair of scullery maids came in through the entry, whispering above the squeaking of their carts, and Isla was reminded of her present objective. She followed them through the kitchen and into the fruits-and-grains storage at the far end of the hall. This room smelled much more subdued, and once the doors were shut behind her, it was suddenly much quieter, too.
'Tell me about it,' said the other maid. Plates and cups clattered as they mounted them into the sink and began washing. 'I thought they only punished royalborns for high treason against the Rama himself.'
It was not Isla's first visit to the storage room—but it would be the first time she came for other things than to steal sweets. Everything was exactly where they should be: sacks piling in one corner, casks of wines and beers rolled up against one wall, sinks and dirty dishes lining another. A shelf was filled to the brim with large, sealed jars of compotes and other poached fruit beverages, and every inch of space that was not left for walking was occupied by rows of stacked crates.
'Killing his consort is treason.'
'Not against him.'
Isla snatched a deep pink djambu from its crate. It was crisp and sweet in the humid winter air. She dropped onto a nearby stool to savour her forage—a kitchenhand was busy tapping some sugar cane into a pitcher, and another was checking the preservation runes on the shelf, but nobody paid Isla any mind.
'Well it was after the maharaj was through with his case,' continued the scullery maid. 'Did you attend the trial?'
'I told Head Cook I was having my moons so I could get the day off. Gods, he could convince me the rajini was a literal daemon of the epps, the maharaj!'
