In a larger cabin that ran across the stern of the ship, with a long window looking out over the twilit bay, he asked her to sit at the oaken table. He took a tray from the sailor boy that brought it, poured out red wine in goblets of heavy glass, offered her fruit and cakes. She tasted the wine. “It’s very good, but not the Dragon Year,” she said. He looked at her in unguarded surprise, like any boy. “From Enlad, not the Andrades,” he said meekly. “It’s very fine,” she assured him, drinking again. She took a cake. It was shortbread, very rich, not sweet. The green and amber grapes were sweet
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