Reborn From the Cosmos

One of my biggest concerns regarding the restoration of the city is food.

The northernmost point of my territory is a hundred leagues south of Victory. The southernmost point is close to three hundred leagues north Timberstrand, the kingdom’s largest source of lumber. In practical terms, three days’ ride from the fort and a little more than a week to the city. The land isn’t good for much, the soil being too hard and the growing season too short. One of the reasons the city grew to heavily depend on the trade of hunting was the abysmal agricultural prospects. Every settlement in the area larger than a village depends on trade to keep themselves fed, especially through winter.

Plainly, the city has always had food troubles, starvation avoided through a careful balance of mutual interest and the exchange of crowns. The battle didn’t help matters. Quest was a very individualistic city. By that, I mean the people put their faith in their personal power and their connections rather than officials and policies. More community-minded settlements have storehouses, secure buildings where the city stockpiles dry foods in preparation for winter. Here, the people secured their own supplies, in locked pantries and cellars. Supplies that were lost when those buildings were brought down.

Very little survived. The situation for the first few weeks was dire and likely would have turned fatal if not for the intervention of Orum. My father-in-law’s flippant gift to the annoying prince took the edge off the crisis, buying us time. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a solution. That fell to me.

Despite being very aware of the crisis, it never touched my home. From my seat on one of the kitchen counters, I watch Geneva prepare breakfast and wonder what someone unfamiliar with the last few weeks would think if they stood beside me. I doubt they’d imagine thousands of people wondering if they’d eat at the end of the day while witnessing her squeeze fruit juice into a clear mug or arrange a large platter with thin slices of bread, seared meats, diced fruit, and pungent cheese. Not one either, but three, enough to stuff a small family.

She completes her artful creations by placing glass vases a touch wider than my thumbs in the middle. Each one gets a single flower, the blooms vibrant and radiating a soft perfume that invites anyone who catches a hint to lean a little closer.

I’m ready to tuck into them, but restrain myself, taking the largest board and holding the door open for the succubus to pass. We’re brought up short as Alana steps into our path, her eyes on the food. Little glutton.

“These are spoken for,” I tease, playfully turning my platter away from her.

She manages not to roll her eyes, but I feel she wants to. “You’re taking those to Khan?”

“How’d you know?”

“You like having important discussions over food.”

Well, it’s a sound strategy. It’s much harder to get angry with a belly full of good food. “You caught me. Don’t worry, Geneva’s going back to the kitchen.”

“I’m coming with you.”

My smile wilts, my mind going back to the previous night. Just the thought of her brother had her in tears. Maybe how little she thinks of her brother? Whatever it is, I don’t like this idea. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“But—”

“Lou,” she barks. Then, she sighs. “I should be there. Someone who understands should be there to explain it to him. “

A part of me wants to argue that I understand, but I don’t, not like someone native to the north. I can also understand wanting to be the one to tell family bad news. Jac traveled across the kingdom to be with me after I learned about Father. All Alana has to do is walk down a hall. I can’t deny her that.

“Alright.”

“Good.”

The mood is tense as we walk. The closer we get to the wing of the house reserved for servants and unwelcome guests, the less windows there are and the dimmer the world becomes. By the time we reach Khan’s door, the air is gray and dour, fitting for the occasion. Alana, being the only one with empty hands, knocks, opening the door before her brother can respond.

My nose wrinkles as the potent mix of musk and sweat hits me, briefly overpowering the tantalizing breakfast. The room is as sparsely decorated as the others, with drab gray walls and simple furniture built without care for aesthetics. A dark lump on the bed stirs at our entrance, sitting up. The blanket falls away, revealing unruly dark hair and a small frown.

“Alana?” Predictably, he notices his sister first. “…and Lady Tome.” He stands, looking between us. “Is something wrong?”

I take him in, from his scraggly facial hair to the dark circles under his eyes. Is he thinner? No, that can’t be. Must be the lighting. Saint, did he always look so long? How old is he? Too young to have his world shattered, for sure.

“We’re here to have breakfast,” I announce while moving over to the small table pushed against the far wall. I lift it and carry it over to the bed. Khan stumbles, falling backward onto the thin mattress as I place it in front of him.

“Shall I fetch a chair?” Geneva asks as she puts down her burdens.

“It’s fine.” I offer the only chair to Alana, standing at the edge of the desk.

Her pink eyes glow as she steps around to Khan, water surrounding his digits. He yelps as the water springs up on his face, but it disappears before he can even question it, the droplets on his chin evaporating a moment later.

“Please call me if you need anything.”

I layer cheese and meat on a thin slice of bread before taking a bite, enjoying the combination of flavors and texture. To think there was a time when I used to think watery soup and bread as hard as a rock was a good meal.

“What’s going on?” Khan demands.

“Eat,” I respond. “This stuff is good.”

“I rather get to the point, if you don’t mind, my lady.”

“Stop calling me that. There’s no need for formality between us. And eat.” I stare at him until he reluctantly grabs a piece of fruit and nibbles it. It really is better to do this kind of thing over food. I wait for him to have a few more bites, his frown relaxing as he does, before I initiate my strategy for what might be the worst day of his life. “So, Khan. Alana tells me you make maps.”

He side-eyes me. “I do, not that there’s much to map in the north.”

“I thought the same thing. How do you do it?”

“…there is little beyond the mountains, but what is there doesn’t change. There are ice formations, snow compacted on the bodies of dead titans. Each is unique. Enough to navigate by.”

“Huh.” More mundane than I thought. “Have you tried mapping anywhere other than the north?”

“This is the first time I’ve been beyond the fort.”

Really? It’s not unusual for someone to never travel beyond the territory of their family, whether that be a small village or a region, but I would have thought he might have at least traveled to his mother’s home. Or maybe not. I don’t have the details, but it’s been hinted that she didn’t leave the clans to the south for happy reasons.

“What do you think?”

“About the south? I haven’t seen much of it, but what I have seen has been violent and bloody. Not too different from the north.”

I wince. “There’s more to see. Ever seen the ocean? Water as far as the eye can see. Farther even. A horse could gallop on it for a week straight and still not reach the end. Crazy, right?”

“That sounds terrifying.”

“Wha—how?”

“There have been times when a field army has unleashed such potent firepower that it’s melted the ice. Men have fallen into the water. Most who do die, if not from drowning than from the cold. Being on that much of it sounds horrifying.”

Saints damn it, does this man have no sense of wonder? “The food’s better down here.”

He sighs. “Can we please discuss the reason you’re here? I’m starting to imagine horrible things.”

I’m ready to drag him back into my probing small talk, but Alana cuts me off, her voice quiet and grim.

“We can’t restore your mind.”