Marked by the Four Beast Lords After Transmigration

By the next morning, the lower kitchens no longer smelled like one meal. Smoke, rendered fat, steamed leaves, roasted roots, and berry syrup crowded the air until it felt as if winter itself had been brought inside to be sorted.

Rendered boar fat cooled in covered jars along the stone shelf. Bundles of folded winter leaves steamed near the far hearth, their thick ribs softening under damp cloth. A tray of roasted roots sat near Mari’s elbow, half eaten by people who had walked past too many times to keep pretending they were only tasting.

Nia stood beside the long table with her sleeves tied back and her two gathered braids resting over her shoulders.

Sera had retied her scarf before they left the family household. Shen had checked the cloth ties in her hair before he went down to the salve room. Kael had not been home when she woke, but there had been a wrapped meat cake beside her cup, still warm at the edge from where someone had tucked it near the hearth.

She had eaten it while standing in the doorway, listening as Rovan’s voice carried too loudly down the corridor before he lowered it under someone’s sharp reminder.

Now the kitchens were already moving around her.

Mari spread a clean cloth over the table and weighed the corners down with a knife, a root, and two covered cups. “We need what we can actually make, not what sounds pretty when everyone is rested.”

Nia nodded and wiped berry syrup from her thumb with the edge of a damp cloth.

The first test tray had left dark red stains on everything it touched. Red stone-root bled color eagerly, but the taste stayed colder and earthier, stubborn until heat and fat pulled sweetness out of it. It did better beside ridge carrots and pale frost-root than alone. Alone, it tasted like cellar floor no matter how pretty it looked.

“Roasted roots can stay,” Mari said.

A kitchen worker beside her made a mark on a narrow strip of bark-paper.

Nia pointed to the tray. “Only if the red ones are cut smaller. They need longer than the carrots.”

Mari nodded once. “Smaller red. Thick carrots. Frost-root thin.”

The worker marked again.

Sera sat near the hearth with a bowl in her lap, stripping softened leaves from their thickest stems. Her shawl kept sliding down one shoulder. Rhaegar came behind her and drew it back into place without interrupting the report Tarek was giving him near the doorway.

Sera did not look up. Her hand only rose and patted his wrist before returning to the leaves.

Nia saw it and looked back to the tray before the warmth in her face could draw attention.

Tarek’s voice carried from the door. “Two more root-field boars by midday if the lower ravine holds. Frost hares are coming in thin. Hunters say the burrows shifted after the last icefall.”

Mari’s mouth tightened. “Then hare stew cannot be a main pot.”

Nia touched the edge of the shallow bowl where the hare pieces had been cooling in broth. Lean meat. Too lean to trust without extra fat. The first test had gone dry at the edges before Mari added more broth.

“It can be a smaller pot,” Nia said. “For people who want something lighter. Roots cut small, more broth, maybe long hollow stalk near the end.”

Mari looked at the bowl, then at the worker. “Small hare pot. Not counted for the main line.”

The worker marked it.

A heavy basket hit the sorting table near the entrance.

Rovan came in behind it, snow melting along his collar and one arm wrapped around a hard-shelled gold gourd almost as wide as his chest.

“I was told to bring this one to Lady Nia.”

Nia blinked at the gourd.

Rovan set it down with relief and flexed the arm that had carried most of the weight. “Storage sent it up. They said this one was sound all the way through.”

Darius, who had been carrying clean bowls toward the table, shifted one aside to make room. “Then it was worth carrying.”

Rovan looked toward the hearth before he could stop himself.

Sera tore a leaf cleanly from its stem. “Come get broth before you run again.”

Rovan sat on the stool near the wall.

Sera handed him a cup a moment later.

Nia ran her palm over the gourd’s ribbed shell. The skin was hard, dark green beneath patches of gold, and the stem had dried into a twisted handle. It was heavier than it looked, dense enough to need slow heat. If the flesh softened well, it could roast first and then mash into something richer.

Mari brought the knife over herself. “Storage ravine had seven of these. Two spoiled. Five good.”

“Five is not enough for everyone,” Nia said.

“No.”

“Then it should stretch something else.”

Mari’s eyes shifted toward the grain.

Nia smiled faintly. “Mash with grain? Or folded into cakes.”

Sera looked up from the leaves. “Sweet or savory?”

“Maybe both, but not at the same time.” Nia pressed her thumb against the hard shell. “Roast one first. If it is sweet enough, honey can stay for the berry trays. If it is mild, salt and fat.”

Mari nodded and handed the gourd to one of the workers. “Roast it near the side hearth. Slow. Do not split it too wide or it will dry.”

The worker carried it away with both arms.

Nia’s gaze followed it until the crowd swallowed the dark green shell.

A folded leaf bundle split open on the tray beside her.

Mari looked at it. “Too full.”

Nia picked up the leaking one and tucked the escaped grain back with her fingers. The filling smelled like burrow-hen, sharp bulb, hollow stalk, fat, and grain. The bird was gamey, the grain coarse, the leaves thick and green, but the comfort was simple: warm filling held in something sturdy enough to share.

“Less filling,” she said. “And fold the stem side first.”

Mari watched her hands.

Nia made the next one smaller.

The softened leaf bent around the filling without tearing. She tucked one side, then the other, then rolled it toward the thin end until it held. It was not pretty, but it did not leak.

Mari picked it up and turned it once. “Better.”

Sera leaned back enough to see. “Small enough for elders.”

“And children,” Mari said.

Darius set bowls beside her. “The hunters will want them too if the bird filling holds.”

Sera handed him a stripped stem without looking. “Chop that.”

He took it.

Nia looked down before her smile became too obvious.

The kitchen kept moving around them. Tarek left with Rhaegar to check the cold room. Rovan finished his broth and disappeared with two messages tucked under his arm and a piece of root bread Sera had wrapped into his palm. The side hearth opened long enough for someone to slide in the gold gourd. Steam rolled out and vanished into smoke.

Mari spread the menu cloth flatter.

At the top, the worker had marked the first solid items in dark strokes: roasted winter roots with berry sharpener, folded leaf bird bundles, a small hare broth pot, and boar fat rendering.

Mari tapped the blank space beneath. “We need a main meat pot.”

“Root-field boar?” Nia asked.

“If Tarek gets two more.”

“The fat is good. Strong, but good.”

“Boar with iron-greens,” Mari said.

Nia reached for the small bowl of greens they had tested earlier. Iron-greens softened slowly, but the raw leaves were tough enough to demand smoke, salt, and time. If boiled plainly, they would turn bitter and tired. With boar bones and sharp white bulb, they could become rich enough to stand beside any roast.

“Boar bones first,” Nia said. “Long simmer. Greens later, but not too late. They need time, just not forever.”

Mari’s mouth moved faintly. “That is a narrow instruction.”

Nia looked at the greens again, judging the thick ribs and dark edges. “If they go in too early, they will lose everything good. If they go in too late, they will stay tough.”

Mari marked the cloth. “Boar bones first. Greens after the broth darkens.”

A pan scraped near the smoke pit. Someone called for more salt. The gourd at the side hearth hissed softly as its skin began to split.

Shen arrived while Nia was tasting the second batch of berry syrup.

He came in quietly for a man so tall, treatment case in one hand and a packet of dried bark in the other. His hair had been tied back more neatly than Kael ever managed, though winter had pulled a few strands loose around his face. He paused near the entrance to speak with one of the lower workers, then crossed to Nia.

His hand touched the back of her shoulder.

Nia turned.

Shen bent and kissed her temple, brief enough for the kitchen to keep moving around them.

“You ate?” he asked.

Nia glanced toward Sera before answering. “She brought broth before I reached the worktable.”

Shen’s gaze moved to Sera by the hearth, and his mouth softened. “Good.”

Nia tasted the syrup again before it cooled too far. “This batch is better.”

Shen set the packet beside Mari. “Elder Bran sent dried peel from sun-sour fruit. Not much. He said winter has had enough dull food.”

Mari’s hand stopped above the menu cloth.

Nia looked at the packet.

The scent reached her before Mari opened it fully: bright, sharp, almost floral under the drying, with a clean bitterness beneath it. The pieces were thin, pale, and edged with a faint gold-green color that made them seem like they had carried sunlight into the room.

She did not touch it at first.

Mari opened the packet carefully. “This is rare.”

“Bran said it came before the last storm with a trader who turned back south,” Shen said. “He kept some for medicine.”

“And gave us this much?”

“He said the festival table needed something bright.”

Sera’s mouth softened near the hearth. “That sounds like Bran.”

Nia pinched one dried strip between two fingers and smelled it again. Her mouth watered before taste touched her tongue.

“Not in everything,” she said.

Mari nodded at once. “Too little.”

“Warm berry drink, maybe. Or a small glaze for the roasted roots. The peel should steep, not boil hard.”

Shen’s gaze moved from the peel to the berry pot. “If it boils, the bitterness will take over.”

“Yes.”

Mari looked between them, then marked a small note at the side of the cloth. “Sun-sour peel. Limited. Drinks first.”

Nia nodded. “Drinks first.”

Shen washed his hands and stayed.

He did not take over. He worked where there was space, trimming hollow stalks, checking the syrup’s edge when Mari asked, moving a hot bowl before Nia reached across the table without looking. His tail brushed Nia’s ankle once, then settled out of the walkway when a worker passed with a basket of bones.

Kael came through near midday with Tarek and two hunters behind him.

He did not stop at the doorway. Cold moved with him in a brief wave, then closed behind him when the door fell shut. His cloak was marked with wet streaks from melting snow, and there was ash on one sleeve.

His eyes found Nia.

She was seated because Sera had eventually pointed at the stool and Nia had understood the point before it became words. Shen stood at her left, Mari at her right, both of them leaning over the menu cloth.

Kael crossed close enough to touch her braid.

His fingers slid along the tied cloth once.

Nia tilted her face up.

He bent and kissed her mouth, a little longer than he had the day before, still brief enough not to steal the room’s attention. When he straightened, Sera held out a cup of broth without rising from her chair.

Kael took it.

“Drink,” she said.

He drank.

Darius looked pleased and kept chopping stems.

Tarek set a new tally beside Mari. “Two boars. One winter elk-beast. Hunters found tracks early and took it below the ice line. No chase into the upper ravine.”

Kael’s gaze moved to Mari. “Half the elk goes to patrol.”

Mari picked up the tally. “Half?”

“The upper ravine stays closed until I know the ice has settled.”

She read the marks. “And the bones?”

“The kitchens can use them.”

That softened her mouth. “Good.”

Nia looked toward the covered basket the hunters had brought in. The elk-beast scent was dark, cold, and mineral beneath the fresh blood. It would need slow cooking, enough time for the tough cuts to soften and for the marrow scent to reach the corridor before people reached the kitchens.

“Elk bones for a main broth,” she said, mostly to Mari.

Kael looked at her.

Nia kept her eyes on the tally. “With deep cellar tuber if there is enough. Ridge carrots. Pale frost-root. Long simmer.”

Mari marked beneath the boar pot. “Elk marrow stew. Patrol share separate.”

Kael nodded.

He finished the broth Sera had given him, handed the empty cup back to Darius, and touched Nia’s shoulder before turning toward the cold room with Tarek. He was gone from her side almost as quickly as he had reached it.

The place where his hand had rested remained warm beneath her wrap.

Shen moved a small bowl closer to Nia’s elbow.

Inside were slices of the roasted gold gourd.

The flesh had gone soft and deep orange, the edges browned where the heat had touched long enough. Nia picked up a piece with her fingers. The flavor was sweet and nutty under the smoke, denser near the skin and softer toward the center.

She tasted.

The sweetness was gentle, not enough for dessert on its own but enough for mash, and perhaps for cakes if grain helped carry it.

Mari waited.

Nia reached for salt instead of honey.

Sera watched from the hearth and smiled into her cup.

“Savory?” Mari asked.

“For the big batch,” Nia said. “Salt, fat, maybe sharp bulb softened first. If there is extra, small sweet cakes later, but not for the main festival table.”

Mari marked it. “Gold gourd mash.”

Shen tasted after her and nodded. “It would take bark well if used sweet.”

Nia shook her head lightly. “For another batch.”

Shen accepted that and set the rest of the slice back in the bowl.

By afternoon, the menu cloth had more marks than blank space. Roasted winter roots with berry sharpener stood at the top, followed by folded leaf bird bundles, boar and iron-greens pot, elk marrow stew, gold gourd mash, small hare broth, warm berry drink with sun-sour peel, and honey-bark berry trays if enough preserved fruit remained after the drinks.

Mari stood with both hands braced on the table, reading it over while people moved around her.

“This is enough to begin counts.”

Nia looked at the cloth and rubbed a bit of dried berry from her fingertip. “As long as no one treats it as final.”

Mari nodded. “I will mark it as first count.”

Sera came up behind Nia and draped Nia’s outer wrap over her shoulders before Nia noticed the draft from the open door.

“You are done for now,” Sera said.

Mari looked at the wrap, then at Nia’s hands, stained red and gold from roots and berry. “For now.”

Nia did not argue.

Shen took the cloth from her lap where she had been wiping her fingers and replaced it with a clean one. His thumb passed over the side of her hand, checking for stickiness, not making a point of it. The touch was brief. Familiar now.

Rovan appeared at the doorway again, cheeks red from cold. “Message from Chief Kael.”

Mari looked up from the cloth.

Tarek’s voice came from behind him. “Let me through.”

Rovan stepped aside.

Tarek entered with snow on his boots and looked at the menu cloth from across the table. “Chief says the upper ravine remains closed. No Level Five hunts until tomorrow, maybe later. Use what came in.”

Mari tapped the cloth. “We are.”

Tarek’s gaze moved over the list and stopped at the roasted roots tray. He took one piece when Mari pushed it toward him, chewed, and gave a single nod.

“Hunters asked if there will be more of these.”

Mari’s expression settled into satisfaction. “If they bring roots and fat.”

“They will.”

Sera slipped a small wrapped piece of root bread into Tarek’s hand when he turned to leave.

He paused, looked at it, then at her.

“Eat it before you forget,” she said.

Tarek tucked it into his vest. “Yes, Mother.”

A few eyes turned toward them before the kitchen returned to its work. Sera came back to Nia’s side without comment and adjusted the wrap again.

Nia looked at the menu cloth.

The food was not finished. The festival was not close enough to taste fully. There would be more counts, more arguments, more substitutions when a hunt failed or a cellar shelf spoiled or Kael took half of something for patrols because survival came before celebration.

Still, the cloth held.

Mari folded one corner over carefully to keep ash from settling on the marks. “Tomorrow we test the bird bundles in larger batches.”

Nia nodded.

Shen picked up the packet of sun-sour peel and tied it closed again. “I will keep this dry.”

Mari pointed toward the covered honey jars. “There. Everyone can see it, and no one will mistake it for medicine.”

Shen set the packet where she indicated.

Nia rested her hand on the table near the menu cloth. The smell of roasted roots still clung to her skin. Boar fat, bitter greens, berry, gold gourd, smoke. Beneath those, faint and bright, the sun-sour peel waited in its packet like a piece of warmth from somewhere the winter had not reached.

Across the kitchen, Kael’s voice sounded briefly near the cold room, low and firm, then disappeared again into movement.

Sera’s hand settled at Nia’s back.

Shen’s sleeve brushed her arm as he reached for the covered cups.

Mari looked at the cloth once more and nodded to herself.

“Tomorrow,” she said.

Nia looked at the first real shape of Winter Festival written in dark strokes, grease marks, and berry stains.

“Tomorrow,” she answered.

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