Chapter 22: Mud-Pit Bistro

The boat scraped up to the edge of a small, miserable island in the middle of the swamp.

It wasn’t much of an island. It was just a lump of dirt tangled up with roots, drifting in a sea of black sludge.

“This,” Ren announced, stepping off the boat and sinking ankle-deep into the muck, “is the worst kitchen I have ever worked in. And I once cooked in a food truck with a leaky roof during a hurricane.”

Syris followed her off the boat. He floated above the mud, his shimmering robes still spotless.

“Make the heat,” Syris commanded, his voice tight. He was shivering again, the damp air seeping into his bones. “Viper. Bring the ingredients.”

Viper, the lead Snake Guard, slithered onto the mud. He carried a woven basket in one hand and a dead duck—well, Water-Fowl—in the other. He looked shaken.

“King,” Viper whined, holding the basket away from his body, his forked tongue flicking nervously. “The Rock-Spiders… they are angry. One grabbed my tail.”

“Put them down, Viper. Before you cry,” Ren ordered.

She took the basket. Inside were four huge mud crabs, each about the size of a dinner plate, blue-black, with claws strong enough to snap a broomstick.

[System Notification: Ingredient Detected – Giant Mud Crab (Rock-Spider). Quality: A-Rank. Aggression: High.]

“Perfect,” Ren said with a grin. “Now I need fire, dry wood, and that ’Stinging-Root’ I saw earlier.”

“Stinging-Root?” Syris frowned.

“The yellow, knobby root growing by the water. You guys call it a weed. I call it ginger. Fetch.”

While the Python King sat on a dry rock, looking proud and cold, his guards hurried to find dry twigs and ginger.

Ren went to work.

She set up a circle of stones. Using her survival lighter—which Syris watched with wide, amethyst eyes—she lit the damp wood. It smoked a lot at first, but soon a good flame appeared.

She placed the cast-iron skillet over the fire.

First, the duck. She butchered it quickly, saving the fat. She threw the skin and fatty pieces into the hot pan.

Ssssssss.

The sound was like music. The smell of duck fat cooking sliced through the swamp’s stink.

Syris’ nostrils flared. He leaned forward on his rock.

“The smell…” he whispered. “It is thick.”

“It’s flavor, your majesty.”

Ren chopped the ginger and the [Fire Fruit], which were chilies. She tossed them into the hot fat. The air turned spicy right away. The snake guards coughed, their forked tongues flicking in annoyance.

Then, the crabs.

Ren didn’t have a pot to boil the crabs, so she made a stir-fry instead. She cracked the shells with her knife handle and tossed the crab pieces into the hot, spicy duck fat.

The blue shells turned a brilliant, angry red.

“Sorcery!” Viper hissed, pointing his obsidian spear at the pan. “The stones turned to blood!”

“It’s just cooking, you noodle,” Ren said, rolling her eyes as she tossed the pan. “The heat changes the color.”

She added the chunks of duck meat, tossing everything together until it was coated in a glossy, red, spicy glaze.

[System Notification: Dish Complete – ’Swamp Surf & Turf’. Effect: Heavy Warming. Aphrodisiac Rating: Medium.]

Ren paused. Aphrodisiac? She glanced at the chilies. Of course—capsaicin releases endorphins, and snakes are sensitive to heat.

“Done,” Ren announced.

She spooned the steaming, red mountain of crab and duck onto a large, clean leaf. She walked over to Syris.

“Careful,” Ren warned. “It’s hot.”

Syris didn’t care. He stared at the food with a hunger that was almost scary and reached out with his pale hands.

“Use the sticks,” Ren snapped, handing him two twigs she had sharpened. “Don’t touch it with your hands, or you’ll get chili oil in your eyes. And if you rub your eyes, you will blind yourself.”

Syris looked at the sticks. He looked at Ren.

“Feed me,” he said.

Ren blinked. “Excuse me?”

“My hands are cold,” Syris stated, opening his mouth slightly. “If I touch the food, it cools down. I want it hot. Direct delivery.”

Ren sighed. “I’m a chef, not a baby bird feeder.”

“I am the King,” Syris reminded her, his amethyst eyes flashing. “And you are the hostage. Feed me, or I feed on you.”

“Fine. Open up, airplane coming in.”

Ren used the chopsticks to pick up a chunk of spicy duck meat. She shoved it into his mouth.

Syris clamped his lips around the chopsticks and Ren’s fingers.

His lips were freezing. But his tongue…

He chewed.

Crunch. Sizzle.

The reaction was instantaneous.

Syris’ eyes widened. The spice hit the back of his throat. The heat exploded in his stomach.

“Mmmph!” A sound escaped him, a real moan. It was pure pleasure.

His skin, usually pale as moonlight, turned a light pink. He shivered, not from cold, but from the rush of sensation.

He swallowed and immediately leaned forward, his mouth opening again.

“More,” he gasped. “The Rock-Spider. Give me the shell-meat.”

Ren picked up a crab leg, cracked it, and fed him the white meat coated in chili oil.

Syris ate like he hadn’t eaten in days. The heat rushed through his veins, waking up nerves that had been quiet for months. His heart pounded, and his amethyst eyes glowed with a hazy, dazed light.

He ate the entire pile. Duck, crab, ginger, chilies. He licked the oil from the leaf.

When he finished, he sat there, breathing hard. Real beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

“I am…” Syris whispered, looking at his hands. They were rosy pink. He touched his own face. “I am hot.”

He looked at Ren.

The look in his eyes changed. Before, he saw her as an object. Now, he looked at her as if she were the only water in a desert.

“You,” Syris breathed.

He lunged.

Ren didn’t have time to grab her pan. Syris wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down onto the rock, dragging her into his lap.

“Whoa! Personal space!” Ren yelped, pressing her hands against his chest.

But his chest wasn’t cold anymore. It was warm—almost hot.

“You did this,” Syris murmured, burying his face in her neck. “You put fire in my blood. Now I feel… everything.”

He rubbed his cheek against hers. His skin was slick with sweat, and he almost seemed to vibrate.

“The heat is fading,” Syris whispered frantically. “I can feel it slipping. I need to keep it.”

He held her tighter, wrapping his legs around hers.

“We go,” Syris commanded the guards, his voice hoarse. “To the Palace. The heated floors. I need to keep her warm.”

He stood up and lifted Ren easily into his arms. Without setting her down, he walked back to the boat, holding her close.

“Syris,” Ren said, trying to wiggle free. “You’re sweating on me. It’s gross.”

“It is glorious,” Syris corrected, stepping onto the boat. “I have not sweated in years.”

He sat on the furs and pulled her onto his lap again. This time, he didn’t just hold her—he ran his hands up and down her back, amazed by the warmth and sensation.

“Ren,” he whispered into her ear, his forked tongue darting out to taste the salt on her skin. “You will never leave. I will build you a kitchen of gold. You will cook the fire-food every day.”

“I’m expensive,” Ren said, though her heart was pounding. “I charge by the hour.”

“I own the mountain,” Syris mumbled, nuzzling into her chest, drunk on capsaicin. “Take it all.”

As the boat drifted away from the Mud Island, Ren looked back at the dying fire.

She had survived the first meal. But seeing how the Snake King clung to her, like someone addicted, she realized she might have made a mistake.

She hadn’t just fed him. She had awakened him.

And a warm snake was a very active snake.

Ahead, looming out of the fog like the jaws of a beast, stood two massive gates made of black stone.

The Onyx Gates.

“Home,” Syris sighed, his grip tightening on her thigh. “Welcome to my nest, Little Chef.”

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