Warsinger James Baldwin (read this if TXT) 📖

and yawned, flashing massive rows of razor-sharp teeth. “I know you’re a wonderful host, Lord Soma. Do you have anything I could eat?”

I glanced at her, and frowned.

“Eat?” Soma flushed, suddenly frantic. “Why… yes, yes of course. I shall arrange hospitality at once, my queen. What manner of food do you prefer?”

“Fresh red meat,” she sighed. “If you have an un-bled corrun carcass…?”

“I shall order some cattle slaughtered at once.” Soma looked around, searching for a face in the warehouse. “Ah! Orlev! Please bring a droshka out from the carriage line! I have to go to the office and write a telegram.”

“You’re STILL hungry?” I asked Karalti, as I offered Suri an arm.

“Ugh. Yes.” Karalti shivered hard, wings rustling against her flanks. “I dunno. I feel weird.”

I frowned up at her. “Are you sick? Do you feel okay?”

“No, it’s… I dunno. We did a whole lot of stuff today, and I just want to eat.” She craned her head toward the ceiling of the warehouse. “And well… no, don’t worry about it. You two have fun, okay?”

“Worry about what?” I grimaced to one side.

“Nothing,” she said, more tersely. “Just… don’t forget your promise to me, okay?”

Chapter 30

We let the carriage take us to the Night Market, but damned if we were going to stay in the cabin. Neither Suri or I were the kind of people who enjoyed watching the world go by from the window of a car. We abandoned the carriageat the Merchant District gate, then ran hand-in-hand through the singing, laughing, chattering throng winding down toward the Market, grinning like kids. The air was heavy with the smells of sausages and frying onions, butter, machine grease, flowers, fruit, and spices.

“I swear we’re going the right way!” I called back to her over the noise.

“Just follow your nose!” she called back, white teeth flashing in the twilight gloom. “Can you smell that?”

Hell yes I could. And when we broke out of the street and emerged into the plaza, we saw the Holy Grail laid out before us: rings of stands selling every possible type of street food from every part of the continent.

“We finally found it,” Suri said hoarsely. “This, right here, is what Heaven looks like.”

I pulled her in against my hip and turned to look at her. The cloak had blown back, and the metal links poured down her body like a river of gold. Her brilliant red hair hung around her face in thick curls, burnished by the light of the lanterns.

“Nope,” I said. “I’m pretty sure Heaven is standing right beside me right now.”

Suri’s face flushed a dark cinnamon-brick red, and she playfully whacked me on the shoulder. “Shameless flatterer.”

“I’m serious. You’re stunning.” I pulled her in closer, and she pressed her body in against mine. “But I hope you’re ready to gain about twenty pounds tonight.”

“I was born for this.” Her full mouth spread out into a broad grin just before she leaned down to kiss me. It was lingering and sweet, the kind of pleasure I knew I’d want to hang onto in the days and weeks to come.

We started at one end of the night market and worked our way around. There were wheels of juicy veal and lamb kebab, served in fresh pita with pickled vegetables and garlic sauce; breads of all kinds, from sweet fried cheese donuts to cherry croissants. Then there was the burek: ring-shaped pastries dripping with butter and garlic and filled with meat, vegetables, cheese... and, well, more cheese. Vlachia was a great place for cheese: goat cheese, sheep’s milk cheese, and cheese made from the milk of more exotic species, like...

“Dolphin... cheese?” We stopped in front of a Meewfolk food stand, the only one in the entire market. Since Ignas had taken the throne, the cat-folk were allowed to trade in the city again, but while there were a couple of people ordering, there was no queue at this stand. Still, the Catfolk had gone all out. The stand was dressed with tropical silk flowers, with their to-go selections laid out in baskets and on trays: steamed fish, pungent with herbs and fresh chilies and baked in large, fragrant leaves; skewers of marinated songbirds, and translucent rice-paper wraps of squid, crab, shrimp, and giant water-beetle meat with chives and a thin, smoky sauce. And, yes - the dolphin cheese. It was fatty, firm, and yellow; chopped into cubes, then flash fried and served in a giant water-beetle shell.

“Is this really made from dolphins?” I asked the chef, a tall Meewfolk with heavily pierced ears, tabby points, and brilliant blue eyes.

“Yes, of course! That is ki’kira, mrah? A dish of royal court! Very tasty, very rare.” He flashed me an attempt at a human smile, showing off a pair of inch-long canines as he deftly ladled oil into a wok of frying crickets and tossed them up into the air. “You want try? It is expensive, mrah, but is a true delicacy of tropics! Two silver!”

It was easily the most expensive food we’d paid for during the night, but I was about to tell him to hit me when Suri’s eyes narrowed. She clapped me on the forearm and leaned in. “Is this the real shit? Or is it made out of tofu or something?”

The Meewfolk man’s tail bristled with offense. “Of coursssse it’s real!”

“Right. So a stack of food normally served to the courts of the Praa’ Rachini just fell off the side of an airship and happened to land in Litvy?” Suri arched an eyebrow.

The chef’s ears flickered as he tipped the crickets into a leaf-lined basket and passed it over to his fellow trader, an adorable little Meewfolk barely out of kitten-hood who went to go and serve them to a delighted Lysian customer. “This one has good connections, my lady. My brother work at Royal Nursery. He cut me good price for festival, so I send money home, mrah? I would not serve fake ki’kira here after so many troubles we