My intent to visit the local kitchen was dashed almost immediately. The pack of papers the king had handed me included a few items I hadn't looked at yet. One was a small but ornate wedding invitation, hand-printed in a flowing and perfect script on white parchment. His wedding was three days away, which was really inconvenient. I needed to find Frostfire, ask her to fly me home, confront the baron, and return in time for his nuptials.

  The other item was an emblem with two crossed swords behind a small shield. The shield had intricate runes engraved along its edges. Seraphina pointed out that it would be worn as a lapel pin or affixed to a cloak clasp. I chose the first option since I didn't own a cloak, nor could I see myself wearing one in the future.

  I eyed the emblem, held it against my jacket's lapel, and then placed it over my neck where a cloak might be secured. Neither seemed all that great to me and, frankly, gave me the worst case of imposter syndrome I had ever felt. Who was I to be running around the palace as a Lord Commander? I was a nobody from a little village.

  I had an overwhelming desire to find the kitchen and take the king up on his request to teach the cooks how to make chicken wings anyway, but time was running against me.

  "I'm going to find Frostfire," I said. "I'm sorry, Seraphina, but I need to fly home and take care of this tavern guild nonsense."

  Seraphina looked exhausted. Dark circles hung beneath her lids.

  "I can go with you," Seraphina said, but her voice wavered.

  I shook my head and placed my hands gently on her shoulders. "You need to stay here and rest. You and your father may be needed to talk with the king about Thalindra. We need to figure out how to get her out of that dungeon."

  "But—" she started to protest.

  "Sweetheart. You're dead on your feet." I brushed a strand of her raven-black hair from her face. "I can handle finding a dragon. She's probably near the kitchen, so she can eat everything in sight. If she will take me, it will only take a day or two at most."

  She sighed, obviously too tired to argue further. "Fine. But be careful."

  I leaned forward and kissed her softly. "I love you," I whispered against her lips.

  "I love you, too," she replied, squeezing my hand. "Now go find that dragon and teach the baron a lesson. Be careful."

  I nodded and picked up the emblem to tur it over in my palm. I pinned it to my jacket lapel with a deep, defeated breath. It felt heavier than expected, but that was probably in my mind.

  The moment I stepped into the corridor, a guard straightened and dipped his head. "Lord Commander," he muttered with respect.

  Unsure how to respond, I managed a stiff nod and continued walking. The same thing happened three more times as I navigated the palace halls. Each "Lord Commander" made me feel more like a fraud. What did I know about commanding anything? My greatest achievement lately was perfecting chicken wing recipes.

  I stopped a young page who scurried past. "Excuse me, have you seen a woman named Frostfire?"

  The boy's face scrunched in confusion. "Frostfire? No, Lord Commander. Should I know this person?"

  "Never mind," I said with a sigh. "Thank you."

  I asked two more servants and a guard, all with the same results. No one had heard of Frostfire. Of course, they hadn't—why would a dragon be wandering the palace halls?

  As I rounded a corner into what appeared to be a large reception area, I spotted a familiar metallic figure. Triolux stood chatting with a group of dwarves dressed in elaborate finery. Their beards were braided with gold and silver threads. Each wore a heavy chain of office around their neck. They appeared to be officials of some kind.

  Triolux noticed me and raised a hand in greeting. "Varix! What good fortune to see you here."

  The dwarves turned as one, and to my discomfort, each offered a quick bow.

  "Please don't do that," I muttered, my face growing hot.

  Triolux studied me and his gemstone gaze fixed on the emblem at my lapel. "It would appear someone has come up in the world. Well deserved, I must say."

  "I don't know about that, but thank you," I said quickly. "Listen, I need to find Frostfire. It's urgent."

  "Ah, our dragon friend," Triolux nodded. "I can take you to her last known location."

  "You can?" Relief washed through me. "That would be perfect."

  Triolux turned to the dwarven delegation. "My friends, duty calls. We shall continue our discussion of trade routes another time."

  The dwarves nodded and the one with the longest beard—silver streaked with copper—said, "Until tonight, Master Triolux. Lord Commander," he added with another small bow in my direction.

  As we walked away, Triolux chuckled at my obvious discomfort. "The title sits uneasily on your shoulders, does it not?"

  'That it does. I have imposter syndrome."

  "I've not heard that one before, but I understand the sentiment."

  Thanks, Triolux. Now, let's go find that dragon."

  "The last time I saw her, she was in one of the dining rooms."

  "Of course she was." I laughed as Triolux led us away.

  I followed Triolux through the palace corridors, which gradually transformed from the grand marble hallways of the main palace to more modest passageways. The ceilings lowered and the walls narrowed, clearly designed for dwarven proportions.

  "Mind your head," Triolux warned as we approached an archway carved with intricate square-off runes.

  I ducked. The stone doorway couldn't have been more than five feet high.

  I rubbed my neck as I hunched through another low doorway.

  Triolux chuckled. "This is authentic dwarven construction. It's beautiful and astonishing. I have learned much in a short amount of time."

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  "I'm happy you're fitting in, my friend."

  "Why thank you, friend Varix."

  We passed through a series of similar archways, each forcing me to stoop lower than the last. The walls were lined with smooth stone. They had been polished to a soft gleam and inlaid with veins of what looked like silver and gold.

  "Here we are," Triolux announced as we entered a modest dining hall.

  The room was simple but cozy. Low wooden tables and benches were arranged in neat rows. Plain tapestries depicting scenes of mountains and mines hung on the walls. A large hearth dominated one wall, with several pots bubbling over the flames. The air smelled of fresh bread, roasted meat, and savory herbs.

  "This is where the staff takes their meals," Triolux explained. "The kitchen is just through there."

  I sniffed the air, drawn to the delicious smells coming from the adjacent room. That's when I spotted her—Frostfire, surrounded by a group of dwarves in kitchen attire. The dwarves wore simple linen tunics with leather aprons stained from years of cooking. Their beards were neatly tucked into leather beard-nets, and several had flour dusted across their ruddy cheeks. They laughed heartily as Frostfire gestured animatedly about something.

  "Frostfire!" I called out.

  She turned, and her face lit up with recognition. "Varix!"

  Before I could say another word, she rushed toward me, threw her arms around my neck, and spun, her feet leaving the ground as she swung around in a 180.

  I straightened my jacket, a little miffed at the enthusiastic greeting. "It's good to see you, too."

  "Crownforge is amazing!" Frostfire enthused. "And these dwarves are absolutely lovely. Did you know they have seventeen different ways to prepare turnips? I've only tried six, and they were all good."

  The dwarves approached us, but several paused when they noticed the emblem on my lapel. They ducked their heads respectfully.

  "Lord Commander," one murmured with a quick bow.

  I resisted the urge to rip the pin off and stuff it into my pocket. Instead, I nodded awkwardly. "Thank you, but please, just call me Varix."

  I turned back to Frostfire. "I need your help. The Shadow's Respite is in danger of being closed in the next three days. I need to get back to Everspring as quickly as possible. Would you consider flying me?"

  Frostfire clapped her hands together in excitement, and a small burst of ice crystals shot from her fingertips. "Oh! A chance to stretch my wings! I'd be happy to fly you back home. We could return to the palace as soon as your business concludes."

  "That would be perfect."

  "I hope that nice bard will be at the Shadow's Respite when we arrive," she added with a dramatic sigh.

  "Thank you, Frostfire. I don't know how I can repay you."

  She waved a dismissive hand. "Repay me? You freed me from my long slumber, Varix. I remain in your debt."

  It was my turn to wave a dismissive hand and say, "I don't even know how I did what I did."

  "Nonetheless, the deed freed me. Do we need to leave right away?" she asked.

  I nodded, then paused and stroked my chin thoughtfully. "Well, if we could leave in about an hour, I'd very much like to see the king's kitchen first."

  "That sounds fun!" Frostfire exclaimed.

  Triolux chuckled at the dragon's enthusiasm.

  I turned to the dwarves. "Do you work in the kitchen? Your clothes suggest you might."

  The dwarf with the longest beard nodded. "Aye, we do."

  "Could I trouble you for a tour? I own a tavern and do quite a bit of cooking myself."

  Several of the dwarves laughed, clearly not believing that someone wearing a Lord Commander’s emblem would be interested in something as mundane as cooking.

  "We'd be happy to show you the kitchen," the head dwarf said with an amused smile.

  The dwarves led me through a low stone archway into the royal kitchen. I ducked to avoid hitting my head on the entrance, which couldn't have been more than five feet high.

  "Watch your noggin there, Lord Commander," the head dwarf chuckled. "Not built for your kind, this place."

  The kitchen was all about efficiency, but everything was scaled down. Work tables reached up to my mid-thigh, and I would need to bend almost double to use them comfortably. Copper pots hung from ceiling racks that I could reach without stretching. Stone ovens built into the walls had openings that forced me to crouch to check their contents.

  "This is amazing," I said, genuinely impressed despite the awkward scale.

  "I'm Warren Stonekettle, the head cook. Been cooking for the royal family for three generations," an older dwarf said. He wore a flour-dusted apron over his sturdy frame, his long gray beard neatly braided with stone rings that clinked softly as he moved through his kitchen with authority. He ran his hand along a polished stone countertop. "My great-grandfather laid some of these very stones."

  "This is an impressive kitchen, Mr. Stonekettle."

  Warren ducked his head and grinned broadly at the praise.

  The kitchen bustled with activity. A half dozen dwarves moved between stations. One group chopped vegetables with short, thick knives that resembled cleavers. Another tended to several bubbling pots. They added pinches of herbs from small ceramic containers.

  "What's that?" I asked, pointing to a contraption in the corner that looked like a box with a crank.

  "Ice maker," a female dwarf answered. She wiped her hands on her apron and approached. "Enchanted by the court mage. Turn the crank, and it freezes water and turns it into ice. Keeps our stores cold."

  She pulled open a small door in the wall to reveal a cold storage room. Inside, meats hung from hooks and shelves held cheeses, vegetables, and fruits.

  "That's incredible," I said. "At my tavern, we have to buy ice blocks from another city."

  "You own a tavern?" Another dwarf looked up from where he was kneading dough.

  "The Shadow's Respite in Everspring. I'm a cook." I confirmed.

  The head dwarf's bushy eyebrows rose. "And you cook there yourself?"

  "Every day," I said. "I developed all the recipes myself."

  The dwarves exchanged glances, their initial formality beginning to crack.

  "What's your specialty?" asked a dwarf with a red beard.

  "I have a few, but people love my stews and onion burgers. I also make a mean chicken breast sandwich," I said.

  "Heard 'a onion burgers. Haven't tried them myself." Warren nodded and handed me a knife. Its blade was dark metal and heavier than it looked. "Good balance," I noted, testing its weight.

  "Dwarven steel," he said with pride. "Never needs sharpening."

  "I need a few knives like this. Lady Churl, my sous chef, would be thrilled."

  Next, I examined the cutting boards—thick slabs of wood with deep grooves from years of use. The prep areas were organized by task: vegetables in one section, meats in another, and baking in a third.

  A dwarf splattered with flour up to his beard approached. "What do you think of our setup?"

  "It's more organized than mine," I admitted, wishing like hell I had a camera. "I could learn a thing or two."

  He grinned, revealing a gold tooth. "Not bad for a bunch of rock-diggers, eh?"

  "Not bad at all," I agreed.

  I spent the next half hour asking questions about their techniques and sharing some of my own. With each exchange, their formality dissolved further.

  "You know your craft," Warren said, clapping me on the arm.

  "Thank you for showing me around," I said, "but I need to leave soon. I have an urgent matter to attend to in Everspring."

  "Come back anytime, "Warren said. "It's not often we can discuss our trade with visitors who know their way around a kitchen."

  "Actually," I said, "the king asked if I might show you a recipe before I leave."

  The head dwarf's expression brightened. "His Majesty mentioned a recipe? What is it?"

  "Chicken wings," I said. "Fried and tossed in sauce."

  The dwarves looked at each other, and several chuckled.

  "Chicken wings?" The head dwarf's mouth twisted skeptically. "Those scrawny things? How do you make a meal 'a that?"

  "You'd be surprised," I said. "They're quite popular at my tavern. They're not the meal, but appetizers."

  "If you say so." Warren chuckled again.

  "Well," he said, stroking his beard, "if His Majesty requested it, we're curious to learn. Come back when you can, and we'll try these chicken wings."

  "Thank you, Warren." I clasped his hand in mine and shook it once."You're welcome in our kitchen anytime," a female dwarf added. "Lord Commander or not, you speak our language."