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“It was good,” Ryneth said, nodding a little too firmly. “It had carrots and potatoes and lentils and anything really that was cheap and nutritious. What about you?”

Daven watched the way Ryneth kept stirring the pan even though nothing needed stirring, like the motion itself held the memory steady.

“This.” Daven’s voice sounded rough with emotion. Something about the way Ryneth rushed to defend himself struck a chord. Like he’d wanted to apologize for his upbringing as if he could have changed that himself.

He hadn’t been thrown away. His parents had done that.

They’d sold their baby. They’d sold this beautiful, wide-eyed, soft-spoken man who got snappy when someone came too close and defended himself with static and work.

Suddenly, Ryneth made perfect sense to him. He was easy to read but hard to reach.

“This?” Ryneth stared at the pan where onions and carrots were frying.

Daven chuckled. “Not exactly like this, baby. This is our variation on what we call Talren Sole. It’s a national favorite. The fish is in the oven. Usually the carrots are thinly shaved and caramelized. We made our own version today, though. Go on, get the plates. Food’s ready.”

Ryneth blinked, then got moving, opening and closing drawers until he found the plates.

“When I was young, we used to have a servant who made the best dishes ever. I spent hours sitting in the kitchen with him, just watching and tasting whatever he made.”

Next to him, Ryneth snorted. “When I was young, I had an older brother who’d take me hunting for vegetables at the local farms before dawn.”

Daven filled their plates. “I thought you said you were the oldest.”

“He was. But then he disappeared one night. And then I was the oldest.”

Well, shit.

“It’s okay.” Ryneth grabbed their beers and set them on the counter. “It was a long time ago.”

“Not this way. Here, follow me. I told you I’ve got a surprise for you,” Daven called over his shoulder as he walked down the corridor and out the other side.

“You’ve got another terrace?”

“I do.”

When they stepped outside, Ryneth slowed. His gaze lifted to the oval glass building at the far edge of the terrace, the light already glowing inside. Daven watched him take it in, watched surprise give way to curiosity.

Beyond the terrace, Helion stretched out below them, calm for now, even with rumors about Attica’s drugs moving through every district.

“What’s that?”

“Let me show you.”

Daven led him across the terrace and pushed open the glass door. Warmth wrapped around them at once. Inside, the curved walls caught the city light and threw it back in soft reflections. Cushions and low seating had been arranged around a sunken center, with a narrow table already set for dinner.

“It’s called a Waltr.” Daven handed him a plate and pointed him toward the cushions. “Some people use them for studying. It’s got great acoustics.”

Ryneth looked around again, then let out a slow breath as he settled onto the cushions. “It’s very beautiful in here.” His gaze moved past the curved glass to the city beyond. “Warm too. Like your own little bubble above the terrace.”

Daven sat across from him with his plate. “That was the idea.”

Ryneth leaned slightly toward the glass, taking in the view. “You can see all the way to the sea from here.”

Daven watched him for a second before he finally started eating. “On a clear night, even farther. Moargan used one as his bedroom when he was younger. Helianth practices chess in his, and I⁠—”

He halted. Thought about it.

He wasn’t sure, really, why he got it. He’d wanted to impress Ryneth, the same way he always wanted to impress everyone.