Page 33 of Beds and Blades

“Magic doesn’t work there,” I said. “At least not openly. But we’ve compensated with technology.”

Flavia leaned in slightly.

“Some of it is extraordinary. Medicine. Telescopes. Machines that let people speak across oceans. Libraries you can carry in your pocket. Hot showers.”

“Hot showers?”

“One of our greatest achievements.”

“And the rest?”

I took another sip.

“The rest includes weapons powerful enough to destroy cities, institutions no one understands but everyone is angry about, and a communication network that allows humanity to share its worst opinions at the speed of light.”

Flavia looked concerned.

“That sounds dangerous.”

“It is,” I said. “But it also has a vast archive of people recording themselves doing intimate things for the viewing pleasure of strangers.”

Flavia stared at me.

I took another sip of deeproot.

“I would like the record to reflect that I am listing that under achievements.”

Flavia laughed.

I took another bite of breakfast and found myself smiling. A small, improbable thing in the middle of an outpost that had almost fallen before dawn.

The mess hall moved around us with the low rhythm of recovery. Soldiers came and went. Some still wore armor. Some had bandages. Some carried bowls in both hands and ate standing because sitting down apparently required more faith in their ability to get back up than they currently possessed. Voices stayed low. Laughing occasionally. Complaining. Asking for bread. Someone at the far table was telling a story involving a mule, a missing helmet, and what sounded like a senior officer making a poor decision.

Life was aggressively persistent.

A fortress could come within minutes of being breached from the inside, and four hours later someone still had to make breakfast.

Flavia tore a piece of bread and used it to collect the last of her porridge.

“Did the High Commander really kiss you in the courtyard?”

I choked on deeproot.

This attracted attention from at least three nearby soldiers, which was both unnecessary and unwelcome.

“I’m sorry,” I said, after recovering enough to speak. “What?”

Flavia’s expression was innocence arranged over curiosity with almost no structural integrity.

“People saw. Was it because you saved the outpost?”

“That is not usually how military commendations are administered where I come from.”

“But he did kiss you.”

I looked into my cup.

The deeproot, regrettably, did not contain an escape route.