I blink, not understanding. “Grass and dirt?”
“The—you know—the stuff Lenka has been cooking for you.” He pulls another disgusted face.
“Fyan.” Vander’s tone is a warning.
“I’m just remarking on mortal cuisine. That’s all.” He holds his hands up, palms toward me. “You know, learning their backwards customs and such.”
I stare at him in consternation. “You think I eat dirt? Why would you think that? I don’t eat dirt.”
“You don’t?” Fyan seems genuinely confused.
Rivon sighs heavily. “No, you idiot. She eats plants that come from the dirt, not the dirt itself.”
“That’s the same thing,” he protests.
“How is that even remotely the same thing to you?” Rivon asks.
“Because, I mean, dirt…” Fyan doesn’t explain further.
“I don’t eat grass either,” I add.
“Now that’s just not true.” Fyan crosses his arms over his chest. “There are like, green bits of stuff in the kitchen. I saw it. Grass.”
“That’s not grass,” I say.
“Looks like grass,” Fyan replies obstinately. “Smells like it too.”
“Those were winter turnip greens. Lenka put them in a soup for me.” I’m beginning to piece together what should’ve been obvious all along. “You don’t eat vegetables at all?”
“We eat meat.” Fyan points to the platter Lenka deposited, steam rising from some sort of steaks. “Don’tyoueat meat?”
“Of course. Well, I mean, not often. Meat was hard to come by in Raingreen. My mother and I mostly ate vegetables. Meat was just too expensive. The nobles?—”
“They starved you?” Faraday leans forward his hands on the table.
“No, I mean, not really. We?—”
“You’re tiny.” Faraday’s gaze slides along my dress. “Just look at you. Skin and b?—”
A low rumble vibrates beside me, and Vander grabs the arm of my chair and drags me to his side with ease. “Stop looking at her.” His arm goes across the back of my chair.
“I’m not trying to fuck your little mortal. I’m just saying?—”
“Faraday!” Vander bellows, his fist coming down hard on the table.
“Tread carefully for once in your life.” Rivon elbows Faraday.
Heat rolls off Vander in waves, my hair lifting from my shoulders and flowing away from the sudden blast of warmth. I lean into it, soaking it up. The keep is huge, the rooms grand and often with a roaring fire within them, but nothing compares to the sort of heat Vander is capable of. It should frighten me, but I suppose dancing on the edge of death and surviving, all thanks to the dragon beside me, has changed my thoughts on DragonKin.
Sprite comes in, a smaller bowl in his fiery hands. “For you, Mistress.” He sits it in front of me. Wonderful scents meet my nose, spices both familiar and foreign. Lenka is the best cook I’ve ever met, though I’d never admit that to my mother.
“This looks delicious.” I pluck up my spoon and taste the soup. “Hot and perfect. The carrots have a little sweetness to them, and the greens add a little bitter bite. You should try some,” I tell Faraday.
“Hard pass.” He leans back.
“You, Fyan?” I ask and offer him the spoon.
Slightly aghast, he stares at me. Even Rivon looks at the spoon with something verging on suspicion.
