Something changed in Figgal on the way to the Charmant Valley. Perhaps it was the departure of his cousin. Perhaps it was the nearing of his mission. He had grown quiet. Serious. Julienne tried and failed to engage him in their carriage ride through the mountains. Only Moondrop could break Figgal's steely visage, and even then, Figgal's jaw would set and his eyes would focus into space once the dog got its fill of pets and moved on.

The mood infected the others. Mindy scooped up Moondrop and pet him calmly, no longer giggling as she did so. Yarrow flipped through a deck of cards absentmindedly, zoning out. A piece of kindling caught fire deep within Julienne. For weeks, he felt like he had been treading water. Working at this restaurant. Speaking to that sycophant. Shamelessly getting his name into every home in Toral. All for this.

He wondered how many truffle hunters had dropped out due to the influence of his name. Most years, there were as many as thirty teams. He hoped there would be fewer than five. The thought of going home without the truffle—the thought of his miserable summer having been for naught—was something he couldn't cope with. He wouldn't cope with. The fire burned brighter.

They spent the afternoon in focused silence, the carriage tilting as it climbed. They pulled off the main road, crunching through gravel. Patrols and guard posts stopped them every hour, and the driver passed with a single word: "Julienne."

They stopped for the night in a little village nested on a plateau and ate polenta with white wine and cheese and bread. Julienne walked off on his own at sunset and looked around at the tall, narrow buildings with the murals on their walls and their bright green wooden shutters. He wondered what it'd be like to grow up in such an isolated place. There couldn't have been more than a hundred people. He was familiar with everyone knowing his name, but this would have been different. They would have known him.

The moment was fleeting. They left the village in the morning and made their way through particularly treacherous terrain, causing Julienne and the others to hold onto the walls and pray that the carriage wouldn't topple. Eventually, the ground leveled again, and they passed through a wrought iron gate to enter the duke's estate.

Julienne had been warned about Duke Malakoff. After some crafty marriage maneuvers from previous generations, the nobleman had managed to claim ownership of all of Charmant Valley, and his allegiances lay entirely with it. He bowed not to prestige or rank or seniority. He bowed only to those who could help him entrench his position as the valley's sole owner. Uncle Julienne had managed to get on his good side with a very public letter praising the duke's stewardship, but Uncle Julienne had also told his nephew that the duke would forget the letter in a heartbeat if it served his purposes.

At the very least, the letter had not warranted Julienne a warm welcome. Their extravagant carriage pulled up next to several other extravagant carriages, and their driver was only allowed as far as the door before being turned away to the servant's quarters, taking Moondrop with him.

Even the duke's manor itself seemed thorny and hostile. Everything had been built for battle, every staircase winding and narrow, every entrance heavily gated with overhanging walls with murder holes. If a feature of the gray stone building could end in a spike, it did, the buttressed towers all along the building turning it into a collection of spears defending against the clouds.

But for all of the brutality outside, the interior of the manor was a spectacle of warmth. Even having spent years in Cafe Julienne, Julienne felt outclassed by the formality of the decorations. The hallways were wide, their paths preordained by red running rugs with gold accents. Suits of armor lined the hallways in front of mahogany wood columns, their polish reflecting the light of the abundant lanterns. Between them, the walls had been painted a dark, muted red to match the carpets and carried paintings of the duke's ancestors.

A servant led Julienne's team into a reception room that was thirty feet tall with ornate bookcases and the mounted heads of animals hunted from the valley, their eyes seeming to follow Julienne into the room.

Those weren't the only eyes that watched him. More than twenty people, over half of them Chefs of high ranking, filled the lounge, all of them going silent as Julienne entered. They looked at him with a contempt that he struggled to understand. They tensed and faced him as if ready to put his head up on the walls with the rest of the hunted. Julienne instinctively stepped aside, and that's when he realized the eyes weren't for him.

"Figgal," an absolute unit of a Purple Jacket growled as he stroked his mustache.

"Brought your shield, did ya, Figgy?" another gruff man hissed. One-by-one, the rest of the room joined in.

"Not very subtle, bringing them."

"Think they'll protect you?"

"Bending the rules, Figgy. Don't think you can win fair?"

Figgal took their vitriol with crossed arms. "Now that I'm here, you can all go home."

A chorus of scoffs echoed through the room. Julienne looked from one Chef to the next, realizing something.

"Are they all truffle hunters?" he whispered to Figgal.

Figgal kept his eyes on his enemies as he spoke. "Don't worry. None of them are as good as me."

It wasn't the quality of the hunters that concerned him. It was the quantity. He had figured all of the carriages outside belonged to the duke, but now he realized that they belonged to the twenty truffle hunters that presented a unified front against Figgal. Julienne's entire summer had been dedicated to reducing the amount of competition and hadn't worked even half as well as he would have liked.

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The hunters continued to jaw and squabble until a weaselly, whiny voice broke through their clamor.

"Now, now! Keep things civil in my keep!"

The crowd quieted and turned for the arrival of the duke. He dressed the part of the noble with his polished pauldrons sitting atop his red velvet robes, but his royalness did not extend beyond his clothes. His hair was long and greasy, his teeth crooked and yellow, his upper lip plagued by scarce, spindly hairs that made a sorry excuse for a mustache. He had a ring on each finger, their oversized jewels clanging against each other as he clapped for attention.

"I would like to welcome all of my esteemed guests to Charmant Valley. It is the most beautiful piece of land in the world, and the contributions of your sponsors help to keep it that way. It is my privilege to host you all and to be the sole owner of this historic valley. We have some special guests today, including—"

The duke froze and regarded Julienne with horror.

"He has empty hands!" he croaked as he looked around for a servant. "Someone get young Julienne a drink!"

"Oh, it's alri—"

The duke waved his hands in the air. "I want everyone to have a drink in hand! We must toast! Come, come!"

Servants scurried around the room and cups were handed out and wine was poured as one of the truffle hunters approached the duke and nodded at Julienne.

"Why do they get to send four into the valley?"

A few of the other truffle hunters gathered around in a failed attempt to intimidate the duke. "Yeah," one of them added. "All of our teams are limited to two."

"Having a Julienne in the valley is a historic moment," the duke answered. Despite his thin, nasally voice, he projected his words with certainty. "They'll write of this summer. Of him. Of you. Of how it all happened under my eyes. Besides! Figgal is the only truffle hunter in their party, so if anything, they are at a disadvantage."

"You're letting unauthorized Chefs into the valley," another protested. "You risk the truffles."

The duke pushed a truffle hunter aside and spoke loudly to the rest of the room. "This is everyone's reminder that there will be no use of Ambrosial essence in the valley! Anyone found guilty of defying this policy will be subject to imprisonment according to the laws of this valley, which supersede the national laws of Labrusca."

The duke looked at Julienne's team and lowered his voice. "Do you understand?"

Julienne looked at his team. They nodded at each other. "Yes."

"There!" the duke announced. "Now, there will be no more dissent on such matters! The list of entries is final. Each of you required a sponsor to get into the valley. I suggest you consider how your behavior is a reflection upon them."

One of the truffle hunters scoffed and walked away. The duke scoffed back, twice as loud and twice as pitiful.

"With that out of the way…" The duke adjusted his pauldrons, which had only grown more ridiculous looking in the company of the distinguished and grizzled truffle hunters. "We have no first-time hunters here today, so we can keep the reading of the rules to a simple reminder.

"There will be no use of essence in any form during the hunt. Only one Charmant truffle may be taken from the valley, at which point it must be brought immediately to my manor. We will ring a bell to announce the end of the hunt, at which point all parties are expected to return. We do not sanction any violence—"

A group of hunters laughed. "Violence has owned this valley a lot longer than you have, duke."

"We do not sanction any violence!" the duke repeated. "But if violence occurs, I would remind you not to use essence to defend yourself. Even a little bit could disrupt the entire valley. There are fates worse than death, and in the valley, I rule alone."

A quiet fell over the crowd. Julienne believed the duke. On the ride up, he had thought about sneaking some of Neccio's elixirs on their hunt. Now he thought better of it. He'd double his dose the night before going into the valley.

"We will have three feasts for three nights, and then the hunt shall begin. Teams will be released in thirty minute intervals based on their sponsor's contributions to the longevity of the valley. I will now reveal the order."

"Sponsors are supposed to be anonymous," a Purple Jacket interrupted.

"Ravi!" Figgal cheered with sarcasm as he stepped toward the Purple Jacket. "I didn't see you there!"

Ravi stood tall, making Julienne's eyes widen. The Purple Jacket was a beast of a man, more chiseled than a statue, his arms the size of Julienne's legs. He marched toward Figgal with his chest out.

"You see me now, don't you, Figgy?"

"I thought you would've given up after last year's embarrassment."

"Enough!" the duke squealed. "Any act of violence committed in the next three days will disqualify the offender from entry."

Ravi stared at Julienne and backed away.

The duke sighed. Heavy was the head that wore the crown of the valley. "I will resume with the reading of the list. The sponsors are anonymous. I shall only be reading the hunter."

Julienne didn't need to hear the order. Cafe Julienne had provided the biggest purse, guaranteeing that their team would have first entry into the valley. He glanced at Ravi, who had never stopped staring at him.

"First shall be Ravi," the duke said.

There was a collective gasp punctuated by murmuring. Cafe Julienne was not first? Another restaurant had offered more gold? The thought seemed impossible. Cafe Julienne charged nearly double anyone else.

"His team will be released to the valley at first sunrise. Then, thirty minutes later, Grison."

The low murmurs grew to a buzzing that filled the room.

"What's going on?" Yarrow asked Julienne.

"We've been outbid twice."

"How?"

"I don't know."

"Ten minutes after Grison, we have Figgal."

Finally. Julienne leaned toward Figgal and whispered. "How bad is being third?"

Figgal shrugged. "I was twenty something-eth my first time around and still got it. The hunt takes all day, sometimes two. It's a disadvantage, but they really just stagger it so we don't all kill each other right outside the gates."

Julienne frowned. He looked around the room, coming to terms that he had entered a world he did not fully understand. "How often does someone die during the hunt?"

Figgal smiled. "Every time, Julienne. Every time."

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