King Lisden of Helia sat in the throne room, taking requests as he did every so often. Most of it was the same as always: the System was failing, and the people were scared.

  It was tempting, with Naomi away and her brother with her, to answer the people’s requests with more dignity than he usually allowed himself to show, but the preparations weren’t yet in place. He couldn’t risk showing his hand too early.

  So, he would continue to play the fool, silently begging his people’s forgiveness as he brushed their concerns aside.

  “Who’s next?” he asked, a heavy dose of boredom in his voice.

  A young woman stepped forward, holding a basket full of picklefruit. Lisden frowned. When did people come up with the idea that bringing him gifts would make their requests heard? He had never asked for such things, and as far as he could tell, neither had any of his predecessors.

  Perhaps it was the designs of Lord Myre, but he couldn’t figure out how the man would benefit from such an arrangement. He already ruled the kingdom from the shadows, what more could he possibly want?

  “If it pleases his majesty,” the woman began, her many braids falling forward over her shoulders as she bowed. “I brought a gift from my village.”

  “A gift? What is it?” Lisden asked, pretending to show interest.

  “Picklefruit, your majesty,” the woman said, pulling the cover off the lid.

  Lisden barely managed to keep his nose from wrinkling. Picklefruit was pungent and not in a good way. Anyone in the palace with even the weakest of noses would know what the woman had brought. It was a good thing that picklefruit didn’t taste the way it smelled. It was just about the easiest food to grow and preserve.

  When the Dark Age started, there wouldn’t be much else on the menu.

  “Oh, that is wonderful!” Lisden said, adding a little giggle at the end of the statement. “Tell me, what is your request? Ooh! Is it a recipe? I know a fair few recipes that use picklefruit. There’s picklefruit salad, picklefruit casserole, picklefruit pie…” He listed them off on his fingers, looking up as if trying to remember his recipes. He didn’t actually know any of them, but his Class made it easy to make one up.

  Naomi still thought his Class was useless.

  The woman blinked. “I didn’t come here for a recipe,” she said, before seeming to realize how rude that sounded. She quickly bowed her head. “I mean, I would love to hear Your Majesty’s recipes, but I—”

  “Excellent!” Lisden said, jumping to his feet. “There’s no need to be shy! Come with me to the kitchen and I’ll show you right away.” He turned to his guards. “There’ll be no more requests today, send everyone away with a picklefruit and an apology, I’ll listen to them next time.”

  Guilt gnawed at Lisden’s stomach for sending so many people away with their requests unheard, especially since many of them had been waiting for hours—sometimes more than a day—to see him. He wished he could tell them his plans for the future. If they just waited a few more weeks he would be able to hear their requests for real. No more laughing at their pain, no more dismissing attacks; he could give them the King they deserved and sorely needed.

  But if he rushed into this, he would only end up dead and Myre would put another puppet on the throne. There was too much at stake to let his frustration and guilt cloud his judgement.

  After all this was over, there was the matter of his wife…

  He didn’t know what to do with Naomi. He couldn’t blame her for her part in all this. She was a truly good woman who believed she was caring for a sick and feeble husband. She attended social gatherings and kept the people happy, while making sure Lisden was comfortable and cared for.

  However, all of her knowledge of Lisden was extrapolated from lies—told explicitly by Myre and implicitly through Lisden’s own actions. He had allowed her to think that he was insane, manipulated her into overestimating the issue in her mind and forced her into this one sided marriage through his own powerlessness to act.

  If she didn’t oppose him, she would remain Queen, but her life—and her freedoms—would not be the same when she returned to the capital.

  The petitioner followed Lisden to the kitchens, clutching the picklefruit basket with a mixture of confusion and frustration. She probably thought she had missed her chance to make her complaints known and was now forced to sit back and watch Lisden cook for hours on end. Perhaps she even worried that she might say the wrong thing and be thrown in jail for her trespass.

  Another widely held belief of his people that could not be traced to its origin… someone was sowing rumors and discord in his kingdom and despite his hatred of Myre, it just didn’t seem like his style. Something more was going on here.

  Perhaps Lisden was overthinking things. Rumors spread through the kingdom all the time, many untraceable. He would be able to investigate more openly when he had more control.

  The kitchens were bustling with activity as cooks and servants alike prepared for the evening meal. It smelled delicious—Lisden was fairly sure there was a kinderberry pie cooking—but he wouldn’t be eating any of it.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and bowed as Lisden passed, leading the petitioner to the back. He unlocked the door to his private kitchen and waved her inside, propping the door slightly ajar behind them.

  He would usually close and lock the door when he was cooking, but he didn’t want to give the woman the wrong idea.

  And it seemed his concern was warranted…

  “D-did I do something wrong, Your Majesty?” the woman asked, clutching her basket a little closer to her chest.

  Lisden shook his head. “I just prefer having my own space to cook,” he said with a goofy smile. “No one bothers me in here. It will be much more comfortable.”

  And safer, he added privately.

  He did a quick sweep of the kitchen to check that everything was in its usual place, tapping out a little rhythm on the objects to mask what he was doing. The woman watched him with a mixture of apprehension and exasperation. It was refreshing to see someone who was so inept at hiding their inner feelings.

  The woman finally relented, placing her picklefruit on the table in the center of the room. She looked around, awe replacing her earlier emotions when she let herself truly comprehend what she was looking at.

  Lisden’s private kitchen was well stocked. Baking supplies, fruits, vegetables, meats—all rune preserved and organized by type. Runes coated the underside of all of his dishes, allowing him to fry without fire and bake without an oven.

  Most importantly, it provided a level of safety and peace of mind. No one could tamper with his food in here.

  The door was strategically positioned so Lisden could see it from every corner of the room. There were no blind spots or secret passageways in or out of the room. No one could enter without him noticing, even if the door was propped wide open.

  Naomi hadn’t understood his need for such privacy, but it was amazing what one could dismiss if they believe the requester is mad. She humored him without so much as a second thought. It was one of the reasons he was so conflicted about how to approach their union after all the dust had settled. She was kind and she actually cared.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Lisden dragged his mind back to the present. Now was not the time to get lost in musings and future worries.

  “What’s your name?” he asked the petitioner, pulling out a bag of flour. He stirred the contents with a spoon, confirming that they weren’t tampered with. The tool didn’t vibrate, marking the contents as safe to eat.

  Assuming they hadn’t found a way around his detection runes, that is, but Lisden could only worry about so many things at once before his brain simply refused to register the possibility.

  “Lola,” the woman said with a hasty bow. “Lola Kenolu.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you Lola,” Lisden said, pulling out several more ingredients and similarly testing them. “Why don’t you tell me more about yourself, while I get this started?”

  Lola blinked, taking a bit to process Lisden’s words. He had dropped some of his foolish act, feeling safer to speak clearly in his little haven. Even if Lola attempted to tell someone that the king wasn’t crazy, few would believe her, and vague rumors about the king being more competent than he pretended to be might actually help him when he was finally ready to move.

  He was waiting on a report from one of his allies. Until they knew where the Myres were and what they were doing, he didn’t feel comfortable taking action.

  “Well, I’m from a small village in eastern Helia,” Lola began slowly. “Jusha is the name. We’re right on the border between Lord Henna and Lady Undra’s territories.”

  Lisden nodded to show he was listening as he pulled out a mixing bowl and a pie pan, the recipe shaping in his mind as he went.

  Cook wasn’t a very common Class, but it came with a few perks, like being able to come up with recipes on the spot. It was considered a mage Class related to potion brewing, but it was much more versatile in terms of what could be made.

  Lola’s story unfolded as Lisden mixed ingredients together to form a firm dough. Jusha was unclaimed, meaning that neither of the nobles believed it was within their territory. Lady Undra was usually the one to provide aid in hard times, as Lord Henna was adamant that it was not his responsibility, but an argument between them had put Jusha in an awkward position. Neither noble came to Jusha’s aid when a horde of Robis razed it to the ground.

  “No one was killed, thank the System” Lola said, her voice resigned. “But there’s nothing left to go back to. I petitioned both the lord and lady for aid in rebuilding—or at least some relief funds to help us relocate—but both claim that the responsibility lies with the other. We came to the capital as refugees and were barred entry at the gate because many of us look similar to the new Chosen that arrived last month. I was able to persuade them to let me in because my skin tone isn’t found among the humans.”

  Lisden hadn’t had a chance to meet with the Chosen, but he had reports from some of his more trustworthy retainers. From what he could tell, the human’s natural skin tones ranged from a very light tan—in some cases almost white—to a dark brown, with subtle undertones varying from yellow to red and occasionally blue.

  In contrast, Lola’s vivid blue skin with green undertones would certainly stand out.

  “Why didn’t you just reveal your name tags?” Lisden asked, pressing the dough into several pie pans and pulling out another bowl for the filling.

  Lola shifted uncomfortably. “They’re… not working.”

  Lisden paused with his hand halfway into the basket of picklefruit. A System glitch? For so many people?

  “How many came with you to the capital?” Lisden asked.

  “Fifty,” Lola said. “Only about half of our name tags work. We didn’t want to split the group. It seemed safer to stay together.”

  It was true. Staying together was the best way to fight off monster attacks, and with the capital being overcrowded as it was at the moment, they likely wouldn’t have found help anyway.

  “So, you came here in search of money?” Lisden asked, dicing the picklefruit and placing it into the bowl with sugar and some citrus juice.

  “No! Not money,” Lola said quickly. “Just… help. We need somewhere to stay, or at least we need the soldiers at the gate to let us in. I came to petition you for help with our strange predicament, or in the hopes that you would formally declare us Emberians so people would stop confusing us with the Chosen.”

  Lisden nodded. “I think we can have that arranged. Though, your wording is a little ambiguous.”

  Lola frowned. “Ambiguous?”

  “It means that it isn’t clear,” Lisden said, throwing her a goofy grin.

  “No, I know what the word means,” the woman said, seeming to have completely forgotten who she was talking to. “But what’s ambiguous about my request?”

  Lisden slapped his hands together to remove most of the flour before rubbing the rest off on his apron. “You asked for me to declare you Emberians, but that won’t change your current predicament.”

  Lola’s frown deepened. “Of course it would. It would get us into the capital. We would be able to find a place to stay and—”

  “Ah! So, entry into the capital is what you desire, why didn’t you just ask?” Lisden placed a lid on the pie pan, activating the runes and placing it in a safe location so neither of them would burn themselves.

  “I did ask for that,” Lola said, getting visibly annoyed. “I asked for you to declare us Emberians. That’s all we need.”

  Lisden let the silence stretch for a moment, allowing the woman to think about what she said. Like most people on Ember, she didn’t realize why her statement didn’t make sense, so Lisden decided to speak plainly.

  “The Chosen are Emberians,” he said firmly. “To declare you Emberians would not distinguish you from the Chosen in any way.”

  “No, they’re not Emberians,” Lola said. “They were born on another planet. They came here to aid the System, but they’re not from here.”

  “How many generations has your race resided on Ember?” Lisden asked.

  “Fifteen,” Lola said, her pride showing in the defiant set of her shoulders.

  “Oh my, so your great great great great… many times great grandparents, they came to aid the System and the people of Ember?” Lisden purposefully emphasized the curiosity in his voice, not caring that his words came off as condescending.

  “Yes, they did,” Lola said, crossing her arms.

  “And they were not Emberians?” Lisden asked.

  The confidence in Lola’s voice faltered. “Well… no, I suppose—”

  “So, you are not Emberian!” Lisden said as if he’d come to a sudden realization. “My apologies, I believe I was confused. Are you asking for citizenship?”

  “What? No! I was born here,” Lola said quickly. “I am Emberian—Helian—by birth.”

  “Oh, right,” Lisden said, injecting confusion into his voice. “So, if the Chosen were to have a child, that child would be Emberian?”

  Lola shifted uncomfortably. “Well, no, not really. They would be—”

  “A child of one of the Chosen,” Lisden finished for her in a flat voice. “Do you not see the hypocrisy? The Chosen have nowhere to go back to. They came here to help, and the people of Ember shun them and call them ‘other’. But the very act of coming here makes them Emberian in the first place. That is how it has always been. So, I will repeat my earlier query. Do you wish to be declared Emberian, or do you wish entry into the capital?”

  “The capital,” Lola said quietly, thoroughly cowed by the king’s admonishment.

  Lisden smiled. “Very good. Give me one moment…”

  He opened the lid on the pie pan, breathing in the sweet and sour sent of the picklefruit pie. Nodding to himself, he jotted down the recipe and handed it to Lola, along with the pie he had just made.

  “Ignorance is not something to be ashamed of, unless one is willfully so,” he said. “You have learned, now spread this learning to the people you know and maybe someday the world will be a little less ignorant through our efforts.”

  Lisden accompanied Lola back to the hallway, where he sent a guard to take her back to the gates and escort her people inside. With that done, Lisden turned back to his kitchen, feeling accomplished.

  Lisden froze at the sound of the door creaking shut.

  Had he forgotten to lock it behind them?

  Lisden hurried through the room, throwing open the door to his private kitchen. A servant stood there, busily wiping his workstation.

  “Who said you could be in here?!” he thundered.

  The servant started, her eyes wide. “I-I was just cleaning up and I—”

  “Out!” Lisden snapped. “No one is allowed in here but me. How dare you enter the king’s kitchen without permission?”

  The woman shrank back from his anger, hurrying around him to retreat through the door.

  Lisden slammed it shut, leaning against it with his eyes closed.

  He had been careless; caught up in the feeling of actually helping someone for once.

  Lisden spent the next hour carefully testing each ingredient in the kitchen with his enchanted measuring spoons.

  Flour, sugar, rice, fruit; everything was contaminated.

  He roared in frustration throwing his bag of rice across the room. Its contents spilled across the table and floor, some landing in other ingredients.

  Lisden sank to the ground, leaning his head against the cabinets. He couldn’t even go after the servant. That would prove that he knew what she was truly doing in here. All of his food; ruined in the space of a few minutes because he had let his guard down.

  If Naomi were here, she would see this outburst and take it as a sign of Lisden’s instability. He had used that in the past; allowed himself to take things further than he needed, showing his wife his true feelings as a way to further solidify his deception.

  But there was no one to perform for now. There was no one to lie to. He didn’t need to shout or scream or throw illogical arguments into the air just to prove he was insane.

  Instead, he wept silently, letting his fear and frustration out in the privacy of his defiled haven.

  When he had used up all of his tears, he wiped his cheeks clean. There was work to do. His ingredients needed to be disposed of, and new ones acquired. He needed to thoroughly clean his workspace and his tools.

  And he needed to end this once and for all. He couldn’t live like this anymore.

  He kept telling himself that he wasn’t ready; that he needed to weed out more of Myre’s supporters; more of his spies.

  He’d become so adept at lying to others he had been lying to himself all along. He was afraid. If he failed, this wouldn’t just mean his death, but a complete end to his line and the people of Helia would suffer for it.

  But they had been suffering. Whether that was a direct consequence of his inaction or interference from Myre and his people, Lisden had reached the limit of what he could stomach.

  His people were in place and the Myres were away from the capital.

  One way or another, this battle would end tonight.

  I hope you enjoyed this chapter of The Stubborn Light of a Dying Flame!

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