She raises an eyebrow but doesn't argue, just gathers her tray and falls into step beside me.
I lead her out of the transport and through the terminal hangar, past the equipment crates and supply pallets, until we reach the side door I'd scouted out earlier. When I push it open, the Cerastean evening spills in. The air carries the faint scent of sand and something almost floral.
Outside, right where I left it, is the old metal table and two chairs I'd found in a storage bay and dragged out here. The table is battered and a little lopsided, but the view more thanmakes up for it. Spire Mountain rises to the east, its jagged peaks blazing copper and bronze as the last of the larger sun's light catches them from across the sky, painting the horizon in shades of violet, rose, and burnt gold. The larger sun is setting, but the smaller one still hangs above the horizon, holding the world in a warm, suspended glow.
A'Vanti stops and stares.
"Cody," she whispers.
Then A'Vanti's eyes dart toward the open desert, and a flicker of concern crosses her face. "But what if the keth'ra comes back?"
"Already handled." I nod toward the small device perched on a crate by the door. "L'Zaen helped me set it up. It emits some kind of subsonic vibration that keeps predatory animals away. He assured me we could enjoy dinner without becoming a meal ourselves."
The tension in her shoulders ease. "You set this up for me?"
"I wanted to do something nice." I pull out her chair with exaggerated formality. "Best seat in the house, m'lady."
She settles into the seat, and I take the one across from her. For a moment, we watch the sunset in silence, the sky deepening to richer colors with every passing minute.
"Let's eat while it's still hot," I suggest.
A'Vanti lifts her eating utensil and twirls noodles around what looks like a two-pronged fork. She takes a bite, and her eyes flutter closed.
"Delicious," she announces. "It is not exactly the same as my mother's. But it is close."
Her expression is so vulnerable in this moment, like joy and grief tangled together, that I am unable to look away.
I'd been warned about how spicy the Cerasteans like their food, but watching A'Vanti's face right now, I find myself thinking that I'd been overly cautious.
"Can I try a bite?" I ask.
"You wish to try Cerastean cuisine?"
"I want to try everything." I grin at her. "Within reason."
Her eyes open, and amusement sparks in their amber depths. "You wish to try chariom noodles."
"That's what I said."
"They are quite spicy."
"I can handle spicy."
The look she gives me is deeply skeptical, but she extends her fork toward me with a small portion of noodles. I lean forward and take the bite.
For approximately half a second, I think, 'Oh, this isn't so bad.'
Then the heat hits.
It doesn't build gradually. It doesn't start mild and then intensify. It arrives all at once, like someone set off a small explosion on my tongue. My eyes water and my throat constricts. I'm pretty sure I can feel my sinuses trying to evacuate my skull.
I wheeze.
It's not a dignified sound. Not even close. It's the kind of noise a dying animal might make, and it goes on for an embarrassingly long time while I grab for my soda and gulp down half the glass.
A'Vanti is laughing.
Not the measured, restrained laugh I've heard before. This is full and vivid and utterly delighted. And despite my watery-eyed suffering, I can't help but think it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. She's actually wiping tears from her eyes, though hers are from laughter, not capsaicin-induced agony.
