“Well, I’m here. And if I can tolerate natural food, so could others. If they really wanted to. Can you honestly say that what we eat does not affect us? I mean, I bet you’ve never eaten the processed shit we live on. Have you ever had an allergic reaction?”
“Never even had a cold in my life,” I admitted, not without a hint of pride.
There was more to it, of course. Tarvissian medicine, at least what I had access to, was pretty primitive, so if someone was sickly—or unlucky—they usually didn’t make it to adulthood.
“See?” He pointed his drinking bowl at me. “That’s what I’m talking about. Life outside, real food, and you don’t need a single pill. Or an injection.”
The main meals arrived, and for a moment, we cherished it in silence. Red stew was a signature Chaarite dish, packing such a punch of savory flavor that you could feel your muscles swell even before it hit the stomach.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” he asked at some point. I tore my gaze from my bowl to see him fidgeting with his spoon. “Why did you leave your world? I always thought you colonists were pretty happy with your lives.”
I took a moment, considering my reasons.
“When I was a kid, a Dahlsi woman, Girana Da-Vai, came to our world and opened a school. Obviously, she could only teach us Dahlsian things—Dahlsian language, Dahlsian math, some general knowledge, and basic spells.” I chuckled. “You know, I didn’t even learn to write in Tarvissi-é until I was an adult.”
“Well, to be fair, all you really need is Dahlsi-é,” he joked.
“Fuck you. That’s my mother tongue you’re talking about. Anyway, I think she awakened some deeper yearning in me. I wasn’t happy being a farmer anymore. I wanted more… though I had no idea what. Until one time, a tax collector came with a Xzsim guard and I learned that you accepted foreigners in Mespana. So I decided to join.”
I decided to keep the part about hiding my ambitions from my father and waiting for him to die to myself.
“I’m certainly glad you did,” said Adyar Lah, raising his glass again, and we drank.
“What’s your story?” I asked, emboldened by the drink.
“What, why I’m Dahlsi?” He smirked.
“Why you’re in Mespana?”
“Oh, it was a no-brainer. I always fantasized about seeing other places. As a child, I aimed at Chaar, but later decided I wanted to explore new worlds. So, it was either Mespana or the Cosmographic Society and I had no talent for math.”
“And you don’t want to go outside anymore? Visit one of the old worlds?”
“I do. I was actually planning a journey to Chaar.” He grimaced. “I feel like it’s going to be harder now.”
Harder. I wished my job was merely as hard. We defeated the rebels, but I still had to bring my family back. From Tarviss.
If they were still alive.
I pushed that thought away.
Given how easy our conversation was, I thought maybe I could use it to get some answers.
“Can I ask you a question?” I chanced.
He arched his eyebrow. “A personal one?”
“Well, not really. It’s about someone else.”
His smile faltered. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, considering, “I don’t like gossiping.”
I felt a twinge of disappointment, but decided to press on, “someone described Dahlsi as a gossipy bunch to me.”
“That’s a bit of a stereotype, isn’t it?”
His gaze became harder and my cheeks heated. I scrambled, trying to think of anything that would prove I’m not… the person he initially took me for.
“He was Dahlsi,” I said, hopeful.
Adyar Lah didn’t seem impressed. “One can be racist against his own race. What do you want to know, anyway?”
I hesitated. I wasn’t so sure anymore if I wanted to ask. But the curiosity still gnawed at me and I didn’t have many other ways to satisfy it.
“What’s the deal with Tayrel Kan?”
Adyar Lah gave me a weird look. “If you’re asking if he sleeps with Myar Mal, I know as much as you.”
I was glad I was done eating; otherwise, I would certainly choke. “Is he?”
Adyar Lah’s eyes widened almost comically before he lowered his head sheepishly. “I don’t know. That’s what some people say.”
I quickly rectified: “That’s not what I wanted to ask.”
I took small comfort in Adyar Lah seeming to regret taking the conversation in that direction.
“What then?”
“Why everyone seems to hate him? Laik Var warned me to stay away from him,” I explained, seeing his doubtful gaze, “giving the reason that Tayrel Kan later told me was bullshit. And Tayrel Kan said if he died, no one would mourn. So, why is that?”
Adyar Lah didn’t answer immediately. He looked away, biting his lip as if considering. Finally, he turned back to me. “Did you ask him?”
“Yeah, and he told me to ask someone else. He said gossiping only makes sense when you talk about others.”
Adyar Lay smirked, but it seemed pale. His arms were hunched and his fingers drummed on the table. “I don’t know, Aldait Han. It’s not my story to tell.”
But I felt I was getting close, so I reached for my ultimate argument. “He said he didn’t mind.”
“And you think he really didn’t, or he was just resigned to the fact that everyone already knew?”
I couldn’t answer that. If the latter was true, I guessed that made me an asshole for prodding. On the other hand, if he hadn’t meant that, why did he even say it? If you say something you don’t mean, you can’t blame people for misunderstanding you.
But after a while, Adyar Lah sighed and started talking, “I guess, there’s no harm in that. If I don’t tell you, someone else will. It happened… five cycles ago? I was just starting my duty, and we were both in the Second Cohort. He had a partner—”
“You mean a work partner or a lover?” I asked, once again failing to bite my tongue.
“Both.” He shrugged awkwardly, and I wondered if
