“We’re serving full Southern luncheon in the lodge.” The woman eyed the sweat sheened across Zofi’s and Vidal’s foreheads and the dust that coated their boots. “You should stop, rest a while. Food’s on us.”

“Thank you,” Zofi said, and meant it. There weren’t many merchants along this road who would open their businesses to Travelers, let alone invite them to dine for free. “But we really need to be on our way.” As she spoke, though, her stomach growled in protest.

The woman laughed. “All right, but at least let me fix you a little something for the road. Your mother would kill me if I let you ride away hungry.”

Zofi almost protested, but Vidal elbowed her side. One glance told her his stomach was giving him the same pangs. They’d eaten spiced gruel with dried berries last night, and half a sack of dried meats this morning, a diet Zofi was accustomed to living on at times when the band needed to move fast. But even she could do with something more filling.

So they led their new mounts to the front of the inn, and waited until the woman bustled back with a pair of sackcloths bursting at the seams. “It’s not much.” She offered them up with an apologetic grimace, even though the weight nearly made Zofi topple forward. “Just some hard cheese and pickled veg, fresh-baked flatbread, some jams to go on top… Careful with the red jam, it’s hawkclaw pepper. Burn your tongue right off.”

“It’s more than enough, really.” Zofi hugged her one-armed. “Thank you again, for everything.”

“Anything for Deena’s brat. Her family is mine.” The woman smiled with a fondness around the edges Zofi recognized. Ah. Definitely another of Mother’s conquests.

“I’ll give her your best,” Zofi promised as they remounted. Only once they were back on the road did Vidal lean across his saddle.

“Isn’t hawkclaw pepper…?”

“Ridiculously expensive? Yes.” She stifled a grin. “I have a feeling she’s very fond of my mother.”

“I can see why,” Vidal replied, and she spun around to glare at him. His eyes went wide and his hands shot up in surrender. “I didn’t—I just meant, because she’s got a really, er… commanding presence.”

Zofi snorted, and he relaxed, though only a little. It endeared her, really, how easy he was to rile up. “Go on, eat your lunch, my pet Talon.”

Now it was his turn to glare, but only until he dug into the food. The flatbread alone was to die for, warm and fluffy. The woman hadn’t lied—a single dollop of the hawkclaw jam was enough to make her eyes water. She loved it.