All the Hidden Paths (The Tithenai Chronicles Book 2)

by Foz Meadows

Though simpler than the excellent fare produced by the Aida’s cook, Ren Valiu—or, indeed, by her anxious counterpart at the Avai estate—the inn’s food was nonetheless memorable, the steamed fish simmered with chives, shallots and something I didn’t recognise, thin slices of a pinkish fruit that was almost citric while still being slightly sweet. Cooked, the texture was already meltingly soft; after soaking in the light, buttery sauce, it was divine.

Never having spent much time with cats before—my experience of them had been largely restricted to dockside strays, agile mousers and haughty stable-cats, none of whom had ever paid me much attention—I was at a loss to explain the sudden surge of affection I felt for the pair before me. Perhaps it was simply that I’d reached the end of a long and extremely fraught journey, but in that moment, I could easily have fought my would-be assassin barehanded to ensure the continued happiness of Spoons and Son of Spoons.

To my Farathel instincts, he read as litai, and specifically as the kind of youth that older litai might call a berry, meaning: small, tartly sweet and ripe for the plucking.

Twink

I started off with a bowl of fragrant, savoury soup, the golden broth gleaming with oil and rich with a mix of fish, green onion, wild garlic and noodles. After that came several types of dumplings, meltingly soft spiced goat with field rice and a hot plum sauce, and a dish I hadn’t had before that Ru Merit said was known locally as pig-leaves: absurdly thin slices of grilled pork marinated with a mix of honey, wine and sesame, layered between equally thin cuts of apple, pear and roast peppers coated with goat’s cheese, all held together with tiny skewers. They were utterly divine, so much so that I transferred several to Cae’s plate on general principle: everything else might be horrible, but food at least was something we could both enjoy.

Zo’s Sons and Ayla’s Daughters were temple-sworn dedicates who, should the need arise and usually (though not exclusively) with the aid of magic, might sire or carry children for couples who, for whatever reason, were unable to get one between themselves. Couples like Cae and I.

Something soft butted against my hand. I looked down, and there was Spoons, purring as she set her paws to my thigh and started kneading. “Oh,” I said, stupidly. “Oh.” I began to cry; softly at first, and then in deep, wrenching sobs that doubled me over, clutching my own stomach. All the fear and anxiety I’d stored up over our journey, the tension from dinner; everything came pouring out of me in a great, wrenching rush, until I could scarcely breathe for tears.

Next came his hair, which, when he looked at himself in the glass, he was dismayed to realise was not only bent out of shape from having been slept in wet, but fluffy. Muttering curses under his breath—for all that he didn’t care for General Naza’s opinion of him, it was nonetheless embarrassing to have been interviewed in such a state—he dragged a brush through it, fished around for some ribbons and a wooden hairpin on the dresser, and pinned it away in an upcoiled braid.

He was trying to look serious and dependable, but radiated so much earnestness that I almost laughed, not because I thought any less of him, but in fond amusement of youth’s perpetual inability to perceive itself as such.

But I remembered the lions: huge and sleek, imported from Nivona at some wild expense, lounging bloody-muzzled over the carcass of a deer. They didn’t know they were owned by someone; only that they were fed.