The castle grounds may have changed since last I walked them, but the taste of the air has not. The same flora and fauna still thrive here.

Trying not to seem too familiar in my movements, I plot a meandering path towards the labyrinth's largest and most lively pond. In childhood, I'd thought of it as Turtle Pond—for what I imagine are obvious reasons.

I breathe a quiet prayer of thanks when I find the waters as lively and well-stocked as ever. Turtles of every size bask on the stones and in the squat water shrines, others slipping away to hunt or hide amongst the lotuses. Royal koi—pearlescent white with blue dappling—drift just beneath the surface, awaiting tribute.

Drawing and cutting a length of cooking twine from one of my pocket belts, I tie it to the end of a deadened branch I'd found amongst the hedges. Then I fish a bit of duck meat from my leftovers, affixing that to the end of my makeshift line. Pity I don't have anything I could use as a hook.

Dangling my lure near a promising cluster of reptiles, I wait for someone to take interest. They don't keep me waiting for long. A fat emperor softshell stretches its neck towards the morsel, snapping at the air as I bounce it up and out of the way. Then I lower the bait again while drawing it closer to the edge of the pond. The softshell wavers its head from side to side, considering. While it takes its time, a blue-eared snapper launches itself into the water, headed straight for its quarry.

Not about to have that, the softshell shoves off its rock, readily following my bait to the edge of the pond and up onto land. When I have it far enough away from the water's edge, I pounce. Minutes later I'm on my way back to the bunk tent. Muddied, frazzled and victorious—for now—with my quarry squirming in my hands. But that was just the first battle. I have a war to win.

~~~

My dish had been beautiful.

Somewhere between a risotto and a curry stew, served in the turtle's own shell. I'd incorporated nourishing coconut along with the choicest cuts of turtle meat and crisp lotus root. I'd seasoned it thoughtfully with fresh peppercorns, garlic, shredded ginger, and saffron, among other things. I'd even add a spray of white rainflower—a sweet blossom that cleanses the soul and lifts the spirits.

Those ingredients, served together with every bit of care and intent I could imbue in their assembling, should have stabilized her digestive system. They should have eased the way for the rest of the casting to take hold. Washed away the tainted flavors left by her father's mistreatment. Given her body the resources it needs to save itself.

But instead it now seeps into the dirt, an acidic slop of regurgitated ingredients.

"I'm sorry," Tass says weakly, after she's choked the last of it up. "It was delicious, but I just couldn't—"

"Please, don't. Don't apologize. None of this is your fault." I sit cross-legged on the ground across from her, head in my hands, hands tangled in my hair.

"It really was a good last meal," insists Tass. "I loved it."

I shake my head, tears pricking at the corner of my eye.

"That wasn't your last meal." Tossing my hair back and binding it up into a pair of messy buns, I struggle to my feet. "We still have a few hours left. I'm not giving up yet."

"Miss Jun—"

"Go talk to that cute apprentice groundskeeper some more." I advise, cutting her off. "I have work to do."

Snatching a lantern from a row strung between the tents and trees, I stalk off to the sliver of forest along the mountain face to the north. With a sturdy stick in one hand, foraging basket at the crook of my arm and lantern raised, I open my senses to the forest. Taste and scent the air as I breathe it in. Scanning the ground by the light of my pilfered lantern, I search for signs.

Then, finding a likely spot amongst the tangled roots of an ancient, moss-drenched oak, I begin to dig.

An hour and half later, I sit in a dirty, crumpled pile—my basket on the ground beside me, overflowing with hard-earned treasures. Between this and my leftovers, I have every ingredient I need. Or at least, everything I can hope to get. There's only one matter more to contend with before I can get to cooking. A special boost for my last-minute Hail Lutra.

I only hope it doesn't take too long, because I have less than an hour and half now to find the person I need, get their help, and cook my dish. And I'll have to pray to all the gods the whole way through, because this is my absolute last chance. If I screw it up this time, tomorrow's sunrise will be my last...and Tass's, too.

Padding my way back to the bunk tents, I hover around the ones with light and voices issuing from within. Listening and waiting.

As I'd expected, many in the tents are those who've finished their trial early and successfully. Relieved, proud, and quickly getting drunk, more than a few of them recount their experiences—each trying to one-up the other in loudness if nothing else.

It doesn't take me long to find a gaggle of Artisans recently past their own trials. High on the thrill of brushing straight past death and into the good life.

Pushing through the door flap, I sidle into their tent as though it's my own. The Artisans—seated at the ends of their cots and passing a bottle around—all look up at once.

"Hey, sorry to bother you all. I was just curious if anyone wanted to carve a few sigils for me in exchange for some mothfish powder?"

A lanky man with spectacles and long auburn hair slides off his cot.

"How much mothfish powder are we talking about, here?"

~~~

My hands shake as I present the dish to Tass. Our last chance.

She stares down at it, bemused. "Breakfast at night?"

"The first meal of your new life," I say, managing a smile. "The start of a new day. Figuratively."

Her returning smile is soured by despair as she makes the sign of gratitude and takes the coconut shell full of food from my hands. Settling down beside my dying cookfire, she accepts the fork I offer and readies her first bite, careful to incorporate all the dish's components.

My hands curl into trembling fists while I wait. Then, finally, she pops it into her mouth—jaw setting to work. Immediately, her eyes go wide. Her chewing slows.

She swallows. "This...this is incredible," Scooping up another bite, she devours it in a heartbeat. "How are these so good? It's just a runny egg and potatoes." Another bite, gone. And another. My smile broadens to a grin.

"Well, it's a tiny bit more than that."

As she eats, she brightens before my eyes. Her hair, where it had been dull and frayed, takes on a soft luster. The shadows beneath her eyes begin to fade. Even her cheeks seem to fill back out a touch. Gradually, the flavors of her energy change, realigning into something more harmonious. Something more her. A healthy balance of fresh greens, wild game, sweet chestnuts, and mushrooms.

"I have to know. What is this?"

I look innocently up at her. "Fried breakfast potatoes."

At her glare, I smirk and continue. "Well. Fried breakfast potatoes with a few add-ons. The egg's from a Queen's Crest peacock, there's quite a few out in the forest. They're the ones that scream and whoop all the time. Beautiful creatures, think they own everything." She laughs a bit, and I go on. "I added curry sauce drizzle for flavor and all the beneficial spices, and truffle shavings and green onion, too. Oh, and I fried the potatoes up in duck and turtle fat."

"Really?" She looks from the dish then to me again. "But I don't feel sick at all. I feel...I feel wonderful!"

I break into a grin so wide it hurts.

"Of course you do. I'm a genius."

Her eyes light up again as she finishes the last bit of potato and notices the sigils carved all over the inside of the coconut bowl.

"Wash and keep that," I advise. "Eat as many meals out of it as you can."

"But these are—"

"Sigils that invoke the qualities of goddesses and queens. You'll never feel unworthy of anything ever again."

I want to crow my success to the moon, sun, and stars. To every tentfull of bragging newcomers. It's as I hoped. The duck and turtle fat had been too nuanced and subtle, used as a fry oil. By the time she knew they were there, the rich flavors of the casting had already worked their magic. Her body has what it needs now, and the ability to use it.

She's going to be ok.

With minutes to go, we set out for the Gourmand's tent arm-in-arm.

Most of the others to return at the last moment do so with their patients still ailing—eyes devoid of hope. So when the Grand Royal Gourmand comes to Tass and I, he very nearly fails us without even bothering to look at her. His eyes slides past her face and the words are halfway through his lips. Then he freezes. His gaze snaps back to her, taking in the changes to her features. Trying and failing to conceal his surprise. Perhaps he's even impressed.

Then the interrogation begins.

He grills me for every ingredient I used, and how I got it. Has me review my cooking methods in exhaustive detail. His eyes widen a fraction when I tell him about the Artisan. Then he turns to Tass, barraging her with questions too. Asking to see the coconut bowl and examining it with narrowed eyes before handing it back. Finally he inspects Tass herself, searching for signs of fakery or imminent regression.

"You pass," he admits at last. "You'll receive your room assignment tomorrow at lunch. Until then it's the tent. Enjoy the festivities."

"Wait," I call before he can move on to the next person. "I offer my time for the rest of the night to the remaining patients whose Gourmands failed. Let me save them too."

The GRG scoffs. "And for every one of them you saved, another healthy person would have to offer themselves up to take their place. No, they've had their chance. They made their choice. Goodnight Miss...Savine, was it?"

I gnaw my lip and nod, but only as an excuse to look down—hoping he won't see the hate in my eyes. Leaving the tent behind, Tass and I hug. Then she's off to share the good news with her new friend, the apprentice groundskeeper. Wandering between the tents, I stare up at the cloud-washed sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of a star or two.

My blood runs cold as a flash of teal lights up the clouds.

Another storm? This soon?

I curse, glancing wildly around for the nearest tent flap and diving through the first one I see. For a few disoriented moments, my surroundings don't register as I scramble for my earplugs and cram them into place. Then, taking a deep breath, I finally look around.

Half naked and face blank with shock, the burly glyphed-out Trial Director from earlier blinks down at me—hands frozen over the lacing of his pants.