“Just starting, actually,” Mari said, and she gently lifted one of the honey cakes. “Come, try, but only after Cyrus tries one first. It’s his special day, after all. Or night. Close enough.”

The smell of the cakes, and the golden brown layer of honey baked across their surfaces, kicked off a rumble in Cyrus’s belly.

“If you insist,” he said, and he took one in hand, careful to cup his fingers to catch the falling crumbs. It was as delicious as he could hope for. He offered a silent prayer of gratitude that the pile was so high upon the plate as he tore into them. He had already finished his second before Rayan could cross the room to take his first.

“Spare some room for the drink, too,” Thorda said as he fetched glasses and bottles of both wine and beer from a wall cabinet. “You may not be much for it, but others present are.”

Everyone gathered at the table, and conversation flowed easily among the group. Mari in particular radiated happiness at how much everyone loved her cooking, to the point of blushing.

“Uh, Mari,” Cyrus said, noticing a small red splotch near the left side of her mouth. He pointed at his own to show her. “You’ve got something on your face.”

Mari wiped at it, then shrugged.

“Just blood,” she said. “Every now and then some remains on me after I revert.”

That she so easily dismissed the lingering blood of a soldier she had torn apart with her teeth only confirmed to Cyrus his long-held suspicion: Appearances and temperament aside, Mari was easily the most terrifying of the Ahlai family.

The alcohol flowed, and the pile of cakes dwindled down to a burnt few Mari had hidden at the bottom of the plate beneath the much more presentable ones. Cyrus stuffed himself, unable to remember the last time he’d had any such dessert. Though he could afford it all and more, Thorda ordered his cooks to provide meals meant to be hearty and filling, but not necessarily sweet to the tooth.

After the food was eaten and the cups ran low, Thorda clapped his hands twice to gain everyone’s attention. To Cyrus’s shock, he actually looked a little nervous and embarrassed. It was an expression entirely foreign to the older man’s face.

“I believe the giving of gifts on a naming-day is also a tradition here,” he said. “As such, I have picked one I think you will enjoy.”

Thorda lifted up a large book hidden beneath the table. Cyrus accepted it, and his fingers brushed the front cover.