Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel by Greg Keyes Read Free Book Online Page B

resembled a giant spiderweb or some vast sea invertebrate, shone the sun of Tamriel. The sun she had been born under. It made her feel tight, claustrophobic, to know the light of that sun could illume the flying city, touch her, warm her—but that she could not go up through that sky, be in the wider world that orb washed with its radiance.
    “You’ve not been here in a while,” Toel said.
    Annaïg forced herself to look at him. She had first seen Toel when he and his staff had slaughtered everyone in her former kitchen—everyone but Slyr and her. Even then, surrounded by brutally murdered corpses, he’d been calm, serene really. She had been terrified of him then, and was even more so now. She felt that at any moment he would stand, take her by the shoulders, and push her over the balcony to her death. Afterward, he would never think of her again.
    But showing her fear would only get her killed more quickly.Toel had no use for the weak. She had to present him with something else.
    “You’ve not invited me,” Annaïg replied.
    He shrugged and breathed in mist from the long, curved glass tube he held.
    “I’m aware of why you haven’t been here,” he said, frost forming on his nostrils. “Are you?”
    “You’re disappointed that I asked you to spare Slyr, after she poisoned me.”
    “It goes beyond that. I thought you were like me, driven to excel, to rise. But you hold yourself back, and there isn’t anything I can do about that.”
    “Then why am I here?” she asked.
    “Because still you intrigue me. You invent marvelous things. I hope to reach you, at last.”
    The hairs behind Annaïg’s ears pricked up at the ominous sound of that.
    “I do wish to please you, Chef,” she said.
    “Do you?”
    “Yes. But in my own way.”
    “By definition, you can only please me by catering to my desires.”
    Annaïg shook her head, tightening her belly to act bold. “That is only the beginning,” she said. “A child’s idea of pleasure.”
    “What is a child?” Toel asked.
    “It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “My point is that the best chef cooks what the patron never knew he wanted.”
    “And what is it that I don’t know I want?”
    “That is for me to show you,” Annaïg said, trying to sound playful. “And it cannot be rushed.”
    “And yet, I feel impatient,” Toel said, “and perhaps a bit condescended to.”
    She forced a smile. “But still I intrigue you.”
    “I cannot deny it,” he said, inhaling again.
    He looked off into the distance for a long moment, and then returned his attention to her.
    “There will be a banquet,” he said, “some days hence. It will be for the court of Umbriel himself. Four kitchens have been invited to present a tasting for Lord Rhel, Umbriel’s steward—mine, and those of Phmer, Luuniel, and Ashdre. Whichever kitchen pleases the steward most will cook for Umbriel. I need not tell you that it must be my kitchen that wins.”
    “It goes without saying, Chef.”
    “Phmer is our chief competition, to my mind. She is known for her creativity. Before Phmer, there were only eight essential savors: salty, bitter, piquant, sweet, sour, ephemerate, quick, and dead. But Phmer found a ninth sensation of taste, which has no name, and all attempts to duplicate it or ascertain how it is created have failed. And so, Annaïg, although you may tantalize me with these desires you know I have which I myself do not, this is what I tell you now: You will find this ninth savor for me. If you do not, any other plans you have to gratify me are moot. Do you understand?”
    “I do, Chef,” Annaïg said. “I won’t fail.”
    “Indeed,” he replied. She couldn’t tell if it was an affirmation or a question. “Now you may go.”
    “A few questions, Chef,” she said.
    “What are they?”
    “Do you have a sample of this ninth taste, so that I might know what I’m trying to duplicate?”
    “I don’t have any, no.”
    “Have you ever tasted it yourself,