These words brought a flurry of questions to Anji’s mind, but she knew Kit wouldn’t answer them. She took another spoonful of the stew and let a strip of meat disintegrate on her tongue, savoring the salty tang and toughness of something warm and spiced. Jared slipped his hand out of Kit’s and settled his narrow chin into his palm.

“Politics. Scheming. No, Kit. I appreciate what you’re doing and what you’ve got planned. Really, I do. But I’m out. Hells, you might have saved me another decade or two of running for my life. I can’t stomach the garden-walk plotting or the back-door, smoke filled room–type things anymore.” He winked at Anji and padded at his coat pockets. “Speaking of, I think I’ll get some air.”

His chair creaked as he eased up and sidled out of the smoky kitchen. Anji grinned at Kit.

“So,” she said, raising a brow, “you two—”

“Not another word,” Kit said, dipping back into her stew. Her face reverted to the hard planes and lines Anji had been so used to seeing over the last few weeks, as though the woman hadn’t just spent the morning with an old friend. Anji raised both her hands and her eyebrows before joining Kit in silently lapping up the rest of their meal.

“He’s been smoking a lot more lately,” came a voice from near the stove. Anji looked around in time to see Berip’s scrubby face emerge from behind the counter.

“A surgeon should know better,” Kit said, running a finger along the inside of her bowl. She sucked the last morsel of stew and leaned over the table’s burnished surface, arms crossed.

Anji thought that was rich, coming from someone constantly dosing herself with Rail, but she remained silent. She pushed her bowl aside with a clatter and leaned back in her chair, relishing what might be her last shred of comfort. The warmth of this dingy kitchen reminded her of the intimate laundresses’ quarters under Linura Castle. She thought if she closed her eyes the simmering pot and rickety plumbing of the inn might make her feel like she was home again.

“Surgeons smoke more than anyone,” said Berip, sliding Jared’s chair out with a loud scrape. He hopped up and set into his stew. Anji watched a dribble leak onto his chin and twitched to wipe it away, but Berip ran his forearm along his mouth. “He doesn’t want to do it around me, but I don’t mind. Whenever I smell it outside, on other people, it reminds me of him.”