Slowly, I raised my head and looked around. Not far was a Chaarite restaurant, The Mirrange Blossom. It was something out of this world: a tall tower made entirely of imported redwood, its strangely curved roof supported by pillars shaped like mirrange trees, decorated with big, garishly painted flowers. Blue, pink, orange, red and purple. No sign of green. It was open, the scent of spices and roasted meats wafting from the door.
I approached it on wobbly legs. The wave of heat hit me from the entrance. The place, though exotic, felt cozy—walls covered in dark wood with warped masks beneath the ceiling, little tables separated by painted screens and potted trees with red leaves and pale flowers. Invisible musicians filled the air with the soft chiming of steel tongue drums. For the briefest moment, I was relieved.
But then I realized that all the people inside were looking at me.
My shoulders slumped, and I hurried to my favorite place in the corner. It was shielded from other patrons while still providing a good view of the entrance, and luckily, it was rarely occupied. But as I walked through the room, my legs shook, and heart hammered in my chest. My Dahlsian uniform seemed ridiculously exposing, and I fought the urge to drag the tablecloth from one of the tables and hide behind it. The only thing that stopped me was that it would draw more attention.
After what felt like an eternity, I reached my place and slid onto the seat. Only then did I muster the courage to look around: people were returning to their meals. I briefly considered leaving, but that would mean going through the hall again. Plus I was famished. I tried to remember the last proper meal I had. It was before sleep, before battle… probably even before I became vessár.
One of the waitresses approached—a small humanoid who never spoke and only communicated by gestures—clad in a loose white dress, and a paper mask. The first time I came here, the staff creeped me out, but now I was used to them. I still wasn’t sure if they were servants, slaves or automats, but that was none of my business.
I ordered a whole bowl of their famous red stew, with steamed fish and sweet dumplings on the side. What I really craved was Tarvissian sausage stew with nutloaf and sauteed mushrooms, but that was out of my reach.
When the waitress left, I dropped my head, determined not to raise my gaze for the rest of my meal. My table was a beautiful piece of furniture, intricately inlaid, but the strangely contorted figures reminded me of the battlefield, and my stomach turned.
Maybe it wasn’t such a good object to contemplate after all. I lifted my head just in time to see another patron entering the restaurant and, for a moment, was too surprised to avert my gaze.
Adyar Lah.
He spotted me too, and after a momentary hesitation, walked my way. I dropped my head immediately, my heart racing. Maybe he didn’t notice. Maybe he was meeting someone else. Maybe—
“Aldait Han.”
Shit.
“May I join you?”
I nodded and gestured toward an empty seat. “Of course.”
He sat hesitantly and didn’t speak for a moment.
“Look,” he started awkwardly. I probably should have found some comfort in the fact that I wasn’t the only person in the whole Mespana with communicative difficulties, but I didn’t. “I still feel a bit shitty about that… arrest. Can I buy you dinner? You know, as compensation?”
“You don’t have to,” I murmured, daring a peek at his face. He was looking away and his brows were slightly furrowed.
“Well, I’d feel better if I did. Or something else, if you’d prefer. I’m not trying to hit on you,” he assured me hastily, and a slight blush crept into his cheeks. “I have a girlfriend. It’s just…”
“Dinner’s fine,” I said with equal haste, wanting only to finish that line of conversation before we both died of embarrassment.
He smiled with relief. “Thanks.”
Shouldn’t I be the one thanking him?
The waitress came again, bringing the koocha set: a kettle inlaid with firestones and two drinking bowls of natural glass. She took Adyar Lah’s order—almost identical to mine, except he preferred his stew sweet and savory, while I liked it a bit spicy. And he ordered extra dumplings. But frankly, what else can you eat in a Chaarite restaurant?
The waitress left, and I hid behind the drink. The first sip spread a wave of warmth through my body, too much to come from temperature alone. Koocha was a brew similar to Tarvissian tea, but more refreshing with a more complex flavor. I never learned if it was a drug, medication, or just a damn good drink. But Chaarites enjoyed it on every occasion with no adverse effects, so I wasn’t worried.
And it did provide a nice shield.
“So, how are you holding up?” asked Adyar Lah.
The question surprised me so much that for a moment I didn’t know how to reply.
“Alright, I guess.” I caught myself shrugging, then did my best imitation of the Dahlsian hand wave. Then I figured that Adyar Lah’s presence here meant he was at least familiar with the outworlders’s ways. Only I wasn’t sure what type of gesturing Chaarites used—probably none, apart from servants, they were very non-expressive people.
I realized that my hand was hanging uselessly in the air and dropped it, embarrassed. “Frankly, I came here right after waking up,” I blurted, “I didn’t have time to think. About anything.”
“Yeah.” He nodded absentmindedly. “I was just walking down the Outer City. It looks grim.”
My throat tightened. Too late, sang the voice in my head, and fresh tears stung my eyes. I somehow managed to collect myself and answered with a noncommittal grunt. For a moment we both looked around, trying to avoid each other’s eyes, and searching desperately for something to say.
Just as I imagined. I caught myself rocking slightly and did my best to stop, scrambling for something else to occupy my mind.
“What are you even doing here?”
