“It's almost like we're the same person,” Nomi said, trying to move the conversation back around to where it had been heading originally, even though part of her truly wanted it to stay there. “We're friends like brother and sister are friends. Intense, but warring. Loving, but sometimes we get so angry at each other that . . .” She trailed off, not sure how to translate her thoughts into words.

“That . . . ?”

Nomi shrugged. There he is, she thought. Just a shape in the shadows, and I wonder if he knows we're talking about him right now? “Haven't you ever loved someone so much, and for so long, and yet sometimes you want to kill them?”

“Never had the chance,” Beko said, sheathing his freshly sharpened knife.

Nomi closed her eyes. “I'm sorry. Insensitive of me.”

“You're not insensitive,” he said. The sound of the blade-stonehad not started again, and it took a few heartbeats for Nomi to look at Beko. He averted his gaze and started running the stone slowly, smoothly along his sword.

“FOOD!” KONRAD CALLED tersely. And as much as the Serians had been denigrating his cooking, everyone dropped what they were doing to go eat.

He had made a stew—chunky vegetables and cubed sheebok meat, with snowspit petals adding a rich, warm aroma and a spicy taste. Everyone ate in appreciative silence. Lulah, the smallest of them all, went back to the pot twice for more helpings, and when Rhiana had finished she leaned back against her saddle and let out a small burp. Then she started running her tongue along her teeth, frowning and reaching for her knife.

“Boulders stuck between my teeth,” she said.

Ramin nodded. “That sheebok eat stones all its life?”

Konrad only smiled as the abuse came and went.

“I thought it was fine,” Nomi said. “In fact, it was better than fine. I've eaten some truly bad food on voyages, but I think this is the one when I'll be turning fat and lazy.”

“What do you mean, turning?” Ramus asked.

Konrad nodded to Nomi, acknowledging her praise.

“Thing is,” Nomi continued, “the grit gives it texture.”

Konrad hefted his knife, but made do with throwing a discarded potato at her head.

As they cleared up, Lowkie—a thin, wiry man with a startlingly wild head of hair—appeared carrying a wooden box. He walked slowly and carefully, obviously not wanting to upset the newly bottled wine. Beko helped him open the first bottle. Rhiana collected each of their mugs and held them while Lowkie carefully poured.

“Who's first?” he asked.

“You, surely,” Ramus said. “You brewed and bottled it.”

Lowkie grinned. He looked like someone who smiled a lot. “And that's why I don't want to be the first to die from it.”