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The sun wasn’t up yet, but Dante had consumed too much wine at dinner and had trouble sleeping, especially when Aster—who ran cool to begin with—threw aside the covers and left him shivering. Rather than wake him, Dante went downstairs to warm up, only to find that the staff hadn’t yet lit the fire in the frigid dining room, since it was hours before breakfast, leaving Dante to settle by the smaller hearth in Aster’s office that had been burning for a while.
He read by candlelight until he grew thirsty, and since it was the holiday season, he spared the staff his request for a drink and went down to the kitchen himself. He hadn’t spent much time on the mansion’s lower level, but kitchens were simple to navigate. With only a minute of searching, he’d found a saucepan and milk, which he sweetened with honey and heated over a low flame.
The drink was one the palace staff had brought him as a boy when the winter chill had kept him up at night. He guessed at the proportions, as he’d never prepared it himself, and watched, half awake, as steam began to rise from the surface of the milk. In past years, he would already be preparing to leave the Light Territory, but he’d had his warmest clothing packed and arranged to stay the week. Kleinmas was not as significant a holiday in Solaria, and it seemed important to the others that he was with them.
He didn’t stay for their sake, but Aster said it would make them happy to see him at breakfast.
Assuming he hadn’t caught a cold by then.
To the dormant kitchen hearth, he added a few logs and sent a small fire ball toward it. It would be a while before the kitchen warmed to a comfortable temperature but he’d be able to stand by the fire. Dante carefully poured the heated milk into a waiting mug and folded his hands around it, shivering as it heated his palms. The weakness that had kept him indoors and in the care of nurses as a child had been lost with the onset of adolescence, but he was still unable to tolerate the cold. He’d drink this down a bit and take the rest upstairs, back to Aster’s study, until the others were up.
Not a minute later, Yakumo discovered him standing with his back to the hearth.
“Oh! I thought I’d be the only one up. If you’re hungry, I can start breakfast.”
Dante glanced at him over his shoulder. Yakumo was carrying the pair of snake oven mitts that the sorcerer had gifted him for Kleinmas. A similar pair in the shape of his cat would’ve aggravated him, but at this moment, Dante envied anything like gloves.
“Does it require preparation at this hour?” he asked.
Yakumo smiled and laid the mitts aside. “I wanted to make cookie dough so that it’s ready to bake after breakfast. It needs to chill for a few hours. And I was going to make some bread, perhaps some other pastries.”
“Ah.”
None of that would immediately require the ovens. Dante huddled in on himself. As he opened his mouth to say that he would be returning upstairs, Yakumo spoke.
“But I think I’d like some hot chocolate first. Mr. Dante, would you like a cup?”
Something that had taken getting used to, when the new sorcerer had come to Klein, was interacting with other people not as a leader but as a contemporary. Yakumo wasn’t offering out of obligation or in deference to his title, so Dante’s response should be on equal footing. That had taken practice, but he said quite easily “Thank you.”
Yakumo moved around the kitchen with more ease than Dante had, pulling ingredients from an impressive pantry and lining them up on the counter beside the bottle of milk he had yet to put away. Turning only his eyes, Dante watched him finely chop a bar of dark chocolate and combine it in a bowl with spices. Next, in the same saucepan that Dante had used, he heated enough milk for two people.
“It’s much colder in the mansion than my grandparents’ house,” Yakumo confided and rubbed his arms. “It must be worse for you, coming from the desert—ah, although, the desert gets cold at night.”
“Not this cold.”
Yakumo smiled at the confirmation and stirred the milk into the bowl of chocolate until it turned from white to a thick, rich brown that he divided between two mugs. Dante finished the drink he’d made for himself and accepted Yakumo’s offering. It was more bitter than expected, with a familiar heat that built after the first sip and pleasantly stung his throat.
“You used desert spices,” he said as a compliment.
Yakumo seemed to flush with pride. “They balance the bitterness of chocolate well.”
He took a few sips from his mug and set it down to gather the next batch of ingredients. Dante, who was feeling warmer now, didn’t leave the kitchen as he’d intended. He looked out the kitchen windows onto the gardens that were becoming visible in the early sunlight. The sky was red, a sign of rain—or snow, if the cold lingered. Edmond would probably spar with him indoors today, but it was too early for swords. Dante looked at the counter again.
“Put me to work,” he said.
Yakumo, his eyes gone round, broke into another smile. “Do you know how to knead dough?”
By the time the dough had completed its first rise and the cookie dough had been placed on ice, Yakumo and Dante had drunk seconds of hot chocolate and eaten fruit porridge, which was keeping warm on a back burner. Yakumo was teaching him how to prepare a new type of dough when they heard footsteps.
Edmond appeared in the doorway. “Oh. Yakumo, I was coming to see if you needed assistance, but it appears things are under control.”
“Actually, if you could take over the dough for a few minutes, I’ll start on the soup for later. Everyone will be getting up soon.”
“Of course. What is the next step?”
“Please cut in the butter,” Yakumo said.
Edmond cleared his throat and stepped up beside Dante, who watched his movements and mimicked them. It was difficult to keep butter this cold in the Fire Territory, so he’d only worked with it softened, never in cubes that needed to be forced into the flour. Oddly satisfying work. Between the kneading and now this, much of the chill had left his body.
“What will this be used for?” he asked as the dough formed a ball.
“The pastries we sometimes have with tea,” Edmond said.
“Ah, Mr. Dante?” Yakumo said from the next counter where he was chopping vegetables. “Do you think Aster would be angry if we use the dried dream fruit?”
Dante raised his head. “Does he regularly limit your ingredients?”
“It’s just that dream fruit is very expensive and hard to come by this time of the year. We’d be using the last of it.”
Sniffing, Dante said, “Do not let him fool you. He has more money than he knows what to do with.”
When Yakumo asked a similar question about some roasted nuts and a spice that Eiden had brought back from Saia, Dante vowed that he would reimburse Aster in full if he had the nerve to complain when he wasn’t doing the cooking.
“What’s that shitty vampire complaining about now?” said a new voice from the corridor.
“He has not complained yet,” Edmond said, his brow furrowing when Morvay crowded behind him to peer over his shoulder. “Wh—what are you doing?”
“Watching you bake.”
“Watch from a distance.”
“Feed me some.”
“No!” Edmond cleared his throat and added, “The dough is still raw.”
“Aw, but I like it ra—I’m going, I’m going! Stop smacking me!”
Morvay settled beside the kitchen hearth that crackled with a satisfying fire. When the dough had been wrapped in dampened linen and placed in cold storage, Dante returned to the hearth to warm up. Yakumo was scooping vegetable pieces into a large pot. When he finished, he topped it with a lid and took out an immense ceramic bowl.
Dante had been aware that Yakumo cooked the majority of their meals, but he hadn’t considered the daily time expense. Should he inquire if Aster was compensating him? Then again, they all contributed to the household in some way, whether it was security or material goods or company, which Dante was learning to appreciate. If Yakumo felt overwhelmed by the work, the sorcerer would pick up on it, and Aster could certainly afford a chef.
As if he’d overheard Dante’s thoughts, their host appeared, still in his white night clothes with a blanket around his shoulders. Aster had one red eye closed and was yawning.
“There you are!” he said and shuffled across the kitchen to fall against Dante’s chest. “I thought you might have gone home during the night.”
Though he huffed at the accusation, Dante settled a hand on Aster’s hair. “I would have left you a note,” he murmured, aware that three sets of eyes were on them.
“Why are you down here?”
“I was thirsty.”
“That makes two of us.” Aster dragged the tip of his fingernail down Dante’s neck and groaned. “How can you stand being so close to the fire?”
Dante rotated their positions so that his back was to the hearth, blocking Aster from the flames.
“Ahh, that’s better~” Aster said, laying his head on Dante’s shoulder. “How is someone with fire magic always cold?”
“Fire is the end result. In my body, it’s merely essence.”
“Let’s go back upstairs.”
Though Dante stroked his back he said, “I’m assisting Yakumo.”
That seemed to rouse Aster, who lifted his head and surveyed the room. “Oh, what are you making?”
“Dough for cookies later, the scones for breakfast, and bread,” Yakumo answered, floating past. “Mr. Dante, it’s almost time to knead again.”
Nodding, Dante rolled up his sleeves.
Aster remained clinging to him on his approach to the counter. He slipped around to his back, arms locked around Dante’s ribs. And although it limited his movements somewhat, having Aster pressed against him like this made him feel infinitely warmer.
He continued to cling as Dante helped Yakumo and Edmond with the scones.
“What’s mixed into the dough?” he asked, peering around Dante’s arm.
“Dream fruit,” Dante said.
Against his back, he felt Aster flinch.
“The cinnamon that the sorcerer brought back from Saia,” Dante continued. “And roasted nuts.”
He cut a final scone and placed it on the baking tray. Turning around, he regarded the tense expression on Aster’s face.
“It will make them happy,” he said, just above a whisper. “You taught me that.”
Aster drew a long breath which he let out in a sigh. “Yes,” he said after a while, his face relaxing. “And it will taste good.”
They helped wash the dishes while the scones baked. The scent of warm spice filled the kitchen, and soon the entire household was inexplicably in the mansion’s lowest level. Garu was sniffing around the oven, held back only by Yakumo’s hand firmly patting his head and promising he could taste things once they had finished baking. The fox sat on a kitchen island with his legs crossed and periodically sent purple flames at Quincy’s head, which lolled against the stone hearth. Eiden had planted himself next to the fire and was eating a bowl of porridge while chatting with the priest, whose hands were occupied petting Topper. The e-droid had come downstairs with the sorcerer’s brother, who seemed content to stand beside Eiden. He occasionally glanced at Morvay, but the incubus was busy trying to rile up Edmond, who was busy speaking with Rei.
Aster had come alive once Eiden appeared, and though he’d dashed over to be hugged for a while, he’d resumed his role as Dante’s personal warmer. The sky, while brighter, was still pink like the hair against his cheek.
“We should take a walk before it rains,” Dante said.
And though Aster nodded, his arms tightened around him. “Yes,” he said. “In a while.”