THEY ATE, AND it was the best roast rabbit Ramus had ever tasted. Juicy, tender, rich, and the spice brought out the flavor and added a delicious heat that dwelled long after he'd finished the final mouthful.

“That,” Nomi said, “was pissing good food. You cook like that for the rest of the voyage, Rhiana, and—”

“Wait,” the tall Serian said, holding up her hand. “It's Konrad's turn to cook this evening.”

“But he makes everything taste like dust!” Ramin protested.

“Good food's bad for the soul,” Konrad said, but he could not keep a straight face.

“Rhiana's the best,” Noon protested. “Why put up with anything else? Rhiana, I'm pleading with you, hang up your sword and take up the skewer. We'll split the pay with you just the same. Please!” He knelt and clasped his hands before his face, mimicking the moon worshippers who grasped moonlight between their palms to honor their gods.

“My favorite way of killing an enemy,” Rhiana said, “is to fire a bolt into his spine, then slit his throat. That way he's paralyzed, but he sees the knife coming.”

Silence fell for a moment, then Ramin said, “And I bet you could even make an enemy taste good.”

“You said ‘his’ throat?” Nomi said.

Rhiana shrugged. “Most of the people I've killed have been men.”

More silence. Ramus always found such talk uncomfortable. He had seen fighting and he had fought, but for him it always marked an extreme moment, a time stamped into memory by its viciousness. For these people it was more a way of life, and he had to remind himself of that. The Serians were not just along for the ride. They were here to fight and kill if necessary, and if things went badly wrong some of them could die.

Oh, they will, he thought. Things will go badly wrong, and some of those sitting around the fire will be dead. He looked from face to face, feeling very distant. Noon? Maybe. Konrad? He's scarred, already marked from violence, so yes. Rhiana?

He did not like the idea of any of these soldiers dying on his voyage, but Rhiana felt different. He had spoken to the others, but she had chosen to speak to him. Perhaps as the voyage went on she could even become a friend.

Beko stood and stretched. “Good food, Rhiana. Konrad, your turn to cook for us tonight. Dust will do fine. Let's move on. I want to make the Lowkie farmstead by nightfall.”

Everyone stood and started gathering their eating utensils. Rhiana emptied the remaining scraps of food—bones, skin and gristle—into the small hole she'd made, then stomped the sod back over it. She kicked out the fire, spread the ashes and glanced up at Ramus watching her.

Ramus smiled.