The clattering of heavy iron pots and the rhythmic scrubbing of wooden brushes against the stone floor filled the lower kitchens long before the rest of the palace woke. Steam rose from huge cauldrons of boiling water, carrying the sharp scent of lye soap and roasted root vegetables.
Rowena, an older servant with graying hair tucked tightly under her cap, wiped her brow with the back of a damp hand. She glanced toward the heavy wooden door leading up to the main corridors, then leaned closer to Malekai, who was busy sorting fresh winter herbs.
"Keep your head down today," Rowena warned in a low, raspy whisper. "The upper halls are like a powder keg. One spark, and the whole place goes up."
