Jamie smiled his tight little smile. “That’s one reason I thought you’d love this place. They bring the same passion to food you do to your books.” He smoothed his napkin over his thighs. His lapis blue suit was snug, not because he’d gained weight, but because that seemed to have become the fashion. His pants were as close as a second skin. It must be uncomfortable to sit. His shoes were the color of mahogany, with silver buckles, shiny and impregnable. Bob tucked his battered Nikes out of sight.

In the Swords and Shadows series, the clothing of the wealthy was richly detailed with embroidery and trimmed with fur. Their arms, ears, fingers, and necks were festooned with gold jewelry studded with precious gems.

Serena, the TV show’s wardrobe mistress, constantly pressed Bob for details. Would the petticoat under the queen’s dress be made of silk or cotton or linen? “A lot of TVs are the size of a movie screen now,” she’d told him. “After three or four viewings, fans start to notice even the tiniest details. That’s why we go to all this effort.”

The last time Bob had been on set, she’d shown off the costumes for the fisherfolk. “We wove the fabric out of heavy wool and then coated it with fish oil to make it waterproof.” When Serena held one out to him, Bob was forced to step back, his hand over his nose. The smell was a dumpster on a hot day. “They do stink,” she said, “but they’re authentic.”

Authentic to what? Bob had asked himself. To what he’d imagined sitting alone in his suburban study, cramming Doritos into his mouth and then typing on his plastic keyboard with orange-coated fingers?

Nearly a hundred people worked under Serena, and she had more specialists on call. Bob’s words employed weavers, embroiderers, leather workers, armorers, and jewelers. To make the costumes appear realistically worn, a half-dozen textile artists were responsible for destroying and then repairing them.

While Serena implied she would source the actual hides of flying unicorns if she could, an underling had once admitted to Bob that the rough black fur capes worn by the Armies of the Night had started life as IKEA area rugs with holes cut in the center for heads.

Now Jamie looked at Bob meaningfully. He hadn’t taken a single bite. “So you’ve probably guessed what I want to talk about.”

Bob didn’t answer. No good could come from talking about the book, which was years overdue. He tore off another hunk of bread, smeared it in the fat and spices, and stuffed it in his mouth.

“I know this is delicate, Bob, but how is Eyes of the Forest coming along? I would love to schedule it. Of course it will be our lead title. We’ll build everything else around it for the season. For the year.”