Marked by the Four Beast Lords After Transmigration

The preserved berry would need warmth before it tasted right.

Nia kept the spoon in her hand while the taste settled on her tongue, sharp at first and then darker beneath the honey Mari had pushed toward her. It clung to the back of her mouth long enough for her instincts to start sorting the flavor before she had names for everything on the table.

Mari watched her face.

Sera watched her hands.

Nia lowered her eyes to the spoon, warmed by both kinds of care.

Mari wanted to know what the berry could do. Sera wanted to know whether Nia had eaten enough before deciding.

Nia set the spoon down and reached for the honey packet. “It will work better hot. If we warm it too fast, it will stay sharp. If we let it loosen near the hearth first and then add honey, it should round out.”

Mari nodded and moved the berry jar closer to the side of the table where the light reached. “That is useful.”

Sera’s hand rested at Nia’s back. “Useful after another sip of broth.”

Nia looked down and found the cup back in her hand.

Darius had moved it there. He was already across the room again, debating with Selvan over whether a bundle of drying herbs belonged near the door or nearer the hearth. Rhaegar sat with one arm along the back of Sera’s chair, his fingers brushing her shoulder whenever she leaned too far forward.

Nia drank the broth.

Sera looked satisfied and turned back to the samples as if she had done nothing.

Mari unwrapped the winter roots one at a time. “These are only from the lower kitchen stores. The better count will come after Tarek’s hunters return. Kael opened the east path, but the carts will not move until the ash settles.”

A dark red root rolled slightly against the cloth. Nia caught it before it reached the table edge. Its skin was rough, almost stone-colored beneath patches of deep purple-red, and when Mari cut a thin shaving from the end, the inside bled color onto the knife.

“Red stone-root,” Mari said. “Good in broth. Stains everything.”

Nia touched the cut end and watched the color mark her fingertip.

The smell was sharper and colder than the color promised, more mineral than sweet. It would need fat and time before it stopped tasting like raw ground.

“Roasted first, maybe,” Nia said. “The color will deepen.”

Mari’s brows lifted. “We boil it.”

Darius glanced over from the herbs. “Boiling is what the kitchens know.”

Sera looked toward him, and he lowered his attention back to the bundle in his hands.

Nia examined the next root. Pale, long, and tapered, with a scent that turned sweeter when she scratched the skin before the raw bite reached her nose. Beside it lay a round snow turnip, a few ridge carrots gone darker from cold storage, and a squat amber tuber with dense orange-gold flesh.

The amber one was dense and dry beneath her thumbnail, but the scent promised sweetness if it met heat, honey, and a little salt.

The cloth filled quickly, each root marking another piece of what winter had left them.

Mari pointed at the amber tuber. “Those are harder to get in quantity. Sweet, but they spoil if the cellar gets damp.”

“Good for festival then,” Sera said. “No one should save sweet things until they rot.”

Rhaegar’s hand moved once over her shoulder.

A knock came at the door before Mari could answer.

Rovan opened it only far enough to fit his head through. Snow clung to his whiskers. “Tarek is coming up with the first hunting tally.”

Mari straightened. “Already?”

“He said not to stop long. The tally is already moving.”

Sera rose and crossed to the shelf. “Come inside.”

“I have to go back.”

“Take this first.”

Rovan stepped in long enough for Sera to press a folded piece of root bread into his hand. He accepted it quickly, with the solemn obedience of someone who knew better than to refuse Sera’s food.

Nia stood when the colder air reached farther into the room.

Sera looked back at once. “Wrap.”

Nia reached for her scarf, but Sera was already there, pulling the edge higher around her throat and smoothing it beneath her chin.

Mari gathered the sample cloth. “We should go down if Tarek is bringing the tally to the kitchens.”

Sera tied the scarf once more than Nia thought necessary. “Then we go together.”

No one argued.

Rhaegar stood first. He crossed to Sera and adjusted the edge of her shawl before taking his own cloak from the hook. Darius took the sample bundle from Mari without asking. Selvan collected the cups, stacking them near the basin before he followed.

Nia moved with them, surrounded by people who already knew how to prepare for cold corridors.

By the time they reached the lower kitchen passage, the mountain was louder.

The air smelled of ash, wet stone, smoke, and meat. Workers moved in and out of the broad kitchen entrance with baskets, cloth-wrapped bundles, and wooden tallies darkened by damp hands. The lower kitchens were not as intimate as Kael’s cave. Work filled every part of them: women calling for space near the hearths, men carrying wood, younger beastfolk scraping mud from boots before stepping inside, older workers seated near the wall trimming root ends into a communal bowl.

Nia slowed at the entrance.

Sera’s hand touched her elbow, steady.

Mari looked back. “Too crowded?”

Nia shook her head. “Just bigger than I pictured.”

“It gets worse before festival,” Mari said, with affection under the complaint.

A shout came from deeper in the room.

“Tarek’s here.”

The crowd shifted without scattering. Space opened near the long sorting table as Tarek entered with two patrol hunters behind him and three more workers carrying covered baskets. Cold hung on his shoulders. His hair was damp where snow had melted, and one cheek had a red scrape from wind or branch.

He saw Nia, Sera, and Mari together and came straight toward them.

“Mother.” Tarek dipped his head to Sera first, and the severity eased from his face before he greeted the others. “Nia. Mari.”

Mari held out her hand for the tally.

Tarek gave it to her, then looked at Nia’s scarf, the gathered braids, and Sera’s hand at her elbow. Something in his expression eased.

“Kael said you would be here.”

Nia looked toward the entrance behind him. “Is he coming?”

“Briefly. He is settling an argument on the ridge first.”

Sera made a sound under her breath.

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed faintly. “Which ridge?”

“East cart path. Two crews disagree over whether the ice above the turn will hold.”

Darius set the sample bundle on the table. “If they are disagreeing, it is not stable.”

Tarek nodded once. “Kael agreed. The crews are waiting for his final order.”

Mari opened the tally.

Nia stepped closer, careful not to crowd. The first marks were simple count strokes beside names she did not know. Tarek began giving the report while Mari read through the first lines.

“Eight frost hares. Twelve snow burrow-hens. Three thick-feather mountain birds. Two root-field boars, one young, one full. One large antlered ridge deer. No Level Five taken this morning. Tracks crossed near the upper ravine, but Kael told the hunters not to chase until the ledge is cleared.”

Mari’s finger moved down the tally. “Good. The boars?”

“Already cleaned. Fat kept separate.”

A kitchen worker lifted a covered basket, and the smell of fresh game rose beneath the cloth, metallic and clean from the cold.

The frost hares looked lean enough to dry out if handled plainly. They would need broth, fat, and something sweet at the edge if she wanted them to taste generous instead of thin.

The burrow-hens had small bodies, darker skin, and a gamey scent beneath the cold. They would be good for broth, good shredded, and good with grain if there would not be enough meat for everyone to taste it clearly.

The root-field boar needed fat, smoke, salt, and time.

Nia stayed where she was and watched Mari’s face change from listener to organizer.

“Small hares go to stew pots. Burrow-hens for broth and shredded filling. Thick-feather birds stay whole until I see size. Boar fat to rendering. Bones saved.” Mari tapped the tally. “Ridge deer?”

Tarek looked toward one of the hunters. “Hanging in the cold room. Kael wants part of it set aside for patrol stores.”

Mari’s mouth tightened, but she did not argue.

“He said the patrol stores are filled first. Festival comes after that.”

Mari nodded. “He is right.”

Sera’s thumb moved once against Nia’s elbow.

Nia looked at the baskets, then the roots already waiting on the table. In Sera’s room, festival food had sounded warm and simple. Here, it looked like labor: blood cooling in baskets, ash on the floor, roots with dirt still clinging to them, people counting what could be spared and what had to keep someone alive through the next storm.

A worker brought over another sack and opened it near Mari. Pale roots spilled into the shallow tray, followed by long ridge carrots, folded winter leaves tied in bundles, and two small hard-shelled gold gourds.

“These came from the east storage ravine,” Tarek said. “One shelf spoiled. Two were dry.”

Mari picked up a folded winter leaf and bent it in her hands. It creaked but did not break. “Good enough for wrapping if steamed first.”

Nia touched the edge of one leaf.

The leaf was thick, folded, and stubborn near the rib. The green scent rose stronger when she imagined it over steam. It would hold if softened gently. It would tear if someone tried to force it raw.

“Bird filling,” she said, then stopped because Mari had not asked.

Mari looked at her. “Say it.”

Nia glanced at Sera.

Sera only squeezed her elbow and let go.

Nia touched the leaf again. “If the burrow-hens are shredded with grain, sharp bulb, and a little rendered fat, these could wrap around the filling. Steam them in broth so they soften. They would stretch the meat without feeling like scraps.”

Mari’s gaze sharpened in interest.

Tarek looked at the leaf as if reevaluating it.

Darius leaned closer from behind Nia. “Can they be eaten by hand?”

“If wrapped tight enough,” Nia said. “Maybe not while walking, but at a table.”

Mari nodded slowly. “Good for elders. Good for children if we make smaller ones.”

One of the kitchen workers nearby repeated, “Folded leaf bundles,” as if testing the idea aloud.

Nia looked down at the roots to steady herself.

Sera’s hand moved to her back again.

The kitchen moved around them. Meat baskets went one direction and roots another. Someone shouted for more hooks in the cold room. Someone else asked whether boar bones went to Mari or the smoke pit. Tarek answered before Mari had to turn.

A draft entered with the next opening of the door.

Nia knew Kael had arrived before she saw him.

The kitchen adjusted around him without stopping. Workers shifted their shoulders, lowered their voices where needed, and kept working. Tarek turned. Rhaegar straightened from the table.

Kael came in with snow on his cloak and cold at his shoulders, his hair tied back unevenly, as if he had done it while walking. His eyes found her first.

He crossed the room.

No speech came before his hand touched the side of her head, thumb brushing one of the gathered braids. His gaze lowered to her scarf, then to Sera’s hand at her back, then to the samples on the table.

“You ate?” he asked.

Sera answered before Nia could. “Bread and broth.”

Kael nodded.

Nia lifted her face, and he bent to kiss her. Briefly. Warm enough that the kitchen noise thinned for a breath.

When he straightened, he looked at Mari. “East path opens tomorrow if ice holds. No carts before ash.”

“Rovan told me.”

Kael accepted that and turned to Tarek. “No Level Five until upper ravine is cleared.”

Tarek nodded. “Already told them.”

“Tell them again.”

“I will.”

Kael’s hand remained at Nia’s back while he looked over the table. “What is this?”

“The first pieces of the menu,” Mari said.

Nia touched the folded winter leaf. “Maybe bird and grain wrapped in these. Roasted roots if there is enough fat. Warm berry-honey for sweets, but it needs low heat first.”

Kael looked at the red stone-root, then the honey, then the meat tally. His hand shifted once at her back.

“Good,” he said.

Mari looked satisfied.

Nia looked at him. “You have not tasted anything.”

Kael’s gaze moved to her mouth. “You will.”

Nia lowered her eyes to the table before the warmth in her face showed too much.

Sera’s shoulder bumped Nia’s lightly, gentle enough to let the moment pass.

A worker called for Tarek from the cold room. Another voice asked Kael about the ridge deer allocation. Kael’s hand left Nia’s back, but his fingers brushed her braid once before he turned away.

Work claimed him again within three steps.

Nia watched him move through the kitchen, answering one question with a nod, another with two words, another by pointing toward Tarek before the person finished speaking. The mountain needed him, and still his hand had found her first.

Mari placed a knife beside the pale frost-root. “If we are testing, we test small.”

Nia looked back at the table.

Sera guided her toward the stool near the end. “And seated.”

Nia sat.

Mari did not argue with Sera.

The first trial was only roots.

Pale frost-root sliced thin. Ridge carrot cut thicker so it would not burn. Red stone-root kept separate because its color bled over everything. The kitchen worker beside Nia showed her where the rendered boar fat had been placed in a covered pot, still soft from the hearth.

Nia rubbed a little fat between her fingers and smelled it. It was rich and heavy, strong enough to carry salt and herbs without disappearing. She did not look toward Shen, who was not there yet. She did not look toward Kael, busy across the room. She kept her attention on the food in front of her and what heat could do to it.

“Small tray,” Mari said.

“Small tray,” Nia agreed.

They worked in pieces. Mari handled the knife faster than Nia. Sera sat close enough to pass cloths, cups, and one more piece of root bread when Nia’s hands were occupied. Darius brought ash-warmed stones for the test tray. Selvan fetched sharp bulbs from a side shelf and placed them near Nia before she asked. Rhaegar stood behind Sera, one hand occasionally settling on her shoulder whenever someone passed too close with a heavy basket.

The roots went onto the warmed tray with fat, salt, and crushed winter herb.

The smell changed slowly.

Boiled roots filled the stomach. Roasting pulled out edges, color, and a little sweetness that made the same food feel more generous.

Mari leaned over the tray after a while. “They darken quickly.”

“That is good if they do not burn.” Nia turned one ridge carrot with the tip of a wooden spoon. “Let the edges catch.”

Sera broke the extra root bread in half and placed part beside Nia’s elbow.

Nia ate it without being told.

Mari noticed and pretended not to.

When the first tray was ready, Nia touched the smallest piece to make sure it had cooled, then tasted. The frost-root had gone sweet at the edge, the ridge carrot deeper than it looked raw. The red stone-root was earthier, stronger, better with something sharp.

She reached for the preserved berry.

Mari watched.

Nia spooned a tiny amount of berry syrup onto the edge of the tray, letting it hiss against the hot fat. The scent rose immediately, bright enough to cut through boar, root, and smoke.

Sera leaned in. “That changed the smell.”

Nia smiled. “It cuts through the fat. Too much would make it sour.”

Mari tasted next.

Her eyes narrowed first, then her mouth curved.

“Festival roots,” she said.

The kitchen worker beside her repeated the phrase under her breath.

Tarek appeared at the table again, took the piece Mari handed him, and ate it in one bite.

Mari frowned. “Taste properly. I need to know whether it holds up after the first bite.”

Tarek accepted the second piece and ate it more slowly. “Hunters will eat this.”

Mari’s mouth curved at the answer.

Kael returned long enough to take the piece Nia held out. His fingers touched hers around the root. He ate, looked at the tray, then at Mari.

“Make more.”

Mari folded her arms. “With what fat?”

“Boar.”

“After rendering.”

Kael nodded. “Tarek.”

Tarek, already turning, answered, “I heard.”

Kael leaned down and kissed the top of Nia’s head before the next question pulled him away.

The kiss did not stop the work around them, but Nia felt it after he had turned away.

By the time the second tray started, Shen arrived with his treatment case empty and a small packet tucked under one arm. His hair was wind-tossed from the lower corridors, and his hands smelled faintly of warming bark when he came to Nia’s side.

He touched her shoulder first, then bent and kissed her temple.

Sera looked at his empty case. “You gave them all the salve?”

“Most of it. The rest is in the lower room.” Shen set the packet near Mari. “Long hollow stalks from Bran’s storage. He said they are better in broth than raw.”

Mari opened the packet and smiled. “Good. I needed these.”

Nia touched one of the green stalks.

The stalk held a mountain-cold green note, mild at first and sharper at the cut end. She knew what it wanted. Broth. Bird. Fat. A late handful, not a long boil.

“For the bird bundles?” Nia asked.

“And broth,” Shen said.

His tail curled briefly around Nia’s ankle beneath the table before he stepped aside to wash his hands.

The brief touch steadied her more than the stool had.

The lower kitchens kept moving around them, louder than Kael’s cave, warmer than the corridor, crowded enough that every person had to make room for someone else’s hands. Kael moved in and out with Tarek. Mari counted and argued and tasted. Sera stayed near Nia with broth, bread, and quiet touches. Rovan appeared twice at the doorway, carrying messages in and food out before Sera could call him closer.

By late afternoon, the sample cloth had become a working corner. Roasted roots waited beside a small bowl of berry sharpener, folded winter leaves softened over steam, and shredded burrow-hen sat mixed with grain, sharp bulb, hollow stalk, and a little rendered fat. Near the hearth, honey warmed slowly with the preserved berry waiting beside it. They did not have a full menu yet, but the beginnings had taken shape.

Nia stood beside Mari and watched the first folded leaf bundle come together under Mari’s hands. It was rough, too large on one side, and likely to leak if someone dropped it.

Mari looked at it. “Ugly.”

Sera, seated behind them, smiled at the crooked bundle. “That one will still feed someone.”

Darius laughed from the doorway.

Mari ignored him and tucked the leaf tighter. “Second will be better.”

Nia smiled and reached for another softened leaf.

The filling smelled rich with burrow-hen, sharp bulb, hollow stalk, fat, and grain. Her hands knew how to fold warmth into something that could be held.

She tucked the leaf around the filling.

Shen came back from washing his hands and stood close enough that his sleeve brushed hers. Kael entered again a few moments later, cold returning with him, and paused only long enough to touch Nia’s back and take the root piece Sera held out for him.

He ate it while listening to Tarek.

His free hand remained at Nia’s waist until Tarek pointed toward the door.

Kael’s fingers pressed once and then left.

Nia kept folding the leaf in her hands.

The festival was not ready, and the menu had not been written. The mountain still had ice to clear, meat to count, roots to sort, and people to feed before anyone danced or sang or called the worst of winter behind them.

But the first bundle held when Nia set it on the tray.

Mari looked at it, then at her.

Sera’s hand touched the small of Nia’s back from behind.

Shen’s tail brushed her ankle beneath the table.

Across the kitchen, Kael’s voice cut low through the crowd, giving orders that would keep paths open and hunters alive.

Nia reached for another leaf.

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