Seven

 

Graciella went to light the candle on her night table and then stood by the bed with her arms hugged around herself while her handsome escort knelt to build her a fire. He had just gotten a small flame going when there was a knock at the door.

“Sire, it’s me,” came Liel’s voice through the door.

“Enter.” Yavi moved a twig to spread the flames better.

Liel entered and bowed.

Yavi rose to his feet, hands on hips. “Why was there no fire in Miss Stovy’s room this evening?”

“Sire, I lit the fire myself, an hour ago. Just before dinner ended.”

Graciella spoke up, suppressing a shiver. “It’s true—there was a fire in here when I came in here before meeting you in the study.”

Yavi frowned at Liel. “I don’t understand how it went out, then, and why it’s stone cold in here now.”

“Neither do I, Mahaj. Perhaps a window was left open?” Liel went to check the windows, but found them all latched.

“How is Miss Stovy supposed to go to bed in these freezing temperatures?”

Liel offered a suggestion. “Perhaps I can get some extra blankets, Sire.”

“Yes, get some extra blankets, and send up a steaming hot jug of water for her washstand.”

“Yes, Sire.” Liel bowed and left.

Graciella gave Yavi a tentative smile. His angry expression softened a bit, and he motioned her to come closer to the fire. When she did, he unexpectedly placed an arm around her shoulders to warm her. She snuggled into his side, and as he squeezed her in closer to his torso she noticed it was covered in hard muscle. A blissful warmth radiated through his shirt. He smelled clean and masculine, and she could detect the fragrance of the bergamot soap she’d found on his washstand.

“It seems we’ve placed you in the coldest room in the palace,” he murmured somewhere near the top of her head. “A grand welcome for my little sister-in-law.”

I’m not little, she wanted to protest. “In general my room has been very comfortable. Although a couple of nights ago a window did blow open and let in a cold draft. I’m sure that’s what must have happened after Liel lit the fire tonight. Perhaps another servant came in and closed it.”

“Yes, perhaps that was it.”

She dared to rest her cheek against his thick pec muscle. “It’s comfortable and warm with you here, though.”

She felt him pause and look down at her, then caress her shoulder.

Her moment of heaven was interrupted by a tap at the door. “Sire?”

Yavi released her, stepped away, and cleared his throat. “Enter.”

Liel strode in with an armful of white fur, followed by Tinni carrying a steaming jug of water. The boy filled her washstand while Liel spread the fur covering over her bed.

“That filstoc fur is the warmest bedcovering we have,” Liel said as he worked. “Miss Stovy will sleep like a baby under it, Sire.”

“Good man.” Yavi nodded. “Tomorrow, I want you to tighten the latches on all these windows, ensure they are secure. Miss Stovy says one of them blew open a couple nights ago.”

“Yes, Sire. Anything else tonight?”

“That will be all.”

When the servants were gone, Graciella went over to rub her hand over the thick, soft fur on her bed. “What’s filstoc?”

“It’s a large bear native to the northern tundra of Nandala.”

“Oh. I’m sad he had to give up his life for my bed covering, but his fur is beautiful.”

Yavi smiled. “I’m sure this one died a peaceful death of natural causes, and went to live with the Old Gods soon after.”

Graciella looked over her shoulder at him and grinned. “We both know that’s a load of rubbish.”

He chuckled, then cleared his throat and fixed his silvery gaze on her face. “Well, everything appears to be in order now, or as best as I can make it.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I’ll take my leave so that you may use your washstand before the water cools too much.”

“Yes.”

“Well, good night.”

She wanted to rush across the room and push herself into his arms again, beg him to stay a bit longer, but chose to behave herself instead. “Good night, Yavi.”

When he was gone, she quickly stripped out of her clothes and washed up, tugged her nightgown over her head, and crawled into the cold bed. The filstoc fur was heavy and comforting on top of her coverlet, and soon she drifted off into peaceful sleep under it, pretending Yavi was holding her as she slept.

§

Yavi lay in bed, one hand behind his head, the other resting over the emperor’s ruby, deep in thought.

Troubling thought.

If he had known that Graciella had grown into such a beautiful young woman, he never would have agreed to send for her to visit right now. Not now, while he was acutely missing his mother and father, and feeling his loneliness made all the more apparent in comparison to his brother’s happy marriage. The more he was around Graciella, the stronger the temptation became, and tonight he’d indulged himself a bit too much by holding her. She’d curled up against him as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to hold her in his arms by the fire.

It’s comfortable and warm with you here, she’d said. As he watched her caress the filstoc fur with her delicate hand, he’d wanted to crawl under it with her, show her a level of comfort and warmth she’d never known before. And the way she’d snuggled against him almost felt like she was seeking his touch, but he was certain she thought of him more like an older brother, or an uncle. Not a lover. And either way, she was off limits. He wouldn’t break his oath.

He rubbed a hand over his face. “She’s off limits,” he repeated aloud to himself in Nandalan. Get her out of your head.

It wasn’t working. Her sweet smile, lovely hazel eyes, and silky dark hair—all of it was emblazoned on his brain. He needed a plan that would keep him away from temptation. No more late-night chats in his study, for one. She had a way of drawing out his innermost thoughts and feelings when they conversed in the intimacy of his private study. And no more popping in on her in the kitchen—she was far too sexy when she was cooking.

And certainly, definitely, absolutely no more escorting her to her room late at night, because next time, he might not be strong enough to leave.

§

The next morning after breakfast Graciella sat at the desk in the library making a list of supplies they needed in the kitchen while her sister worked on knitting a blanket for her baby. The twins were outside in the courtyard, practicing their sword skills and archery.

There was a tap at the door, and Jiandra called for the servant to enter.

Liel came in and bowed. “Your Highness, a farmer is here from the village of Nirren, asking to speak with you.”

Jiandra set her knitting aside and rose to her feet. “What is it about?”

“I don’t know, Your Highness, but he says it’s urgent.”

Graciella stood up. “Would you like me to accompany you, sister?”

“Yes, please.”

The two women followed the steward down the main staircase and into the Great Hall, then stood waiting by the throne for Liel and Wolfan to usher in the farmer. He wore worn leather boots and a threadbare coat, and held his cap in his hands.

He bowed deeply to Jiandra, then said something in Nandalan.

Liel translated. “He says thank you, Your Highness, for receiving him today. He has an urgent request from Nirren. The village has been struck with Vinta fever.”

Jiandra nodded to the visitor. “Go on.”

The man spoke again, a pleading look in his silver eyes.

Liel translated. “Some have already died, and others are deathly ill. They need your assistance, and he’s asking if you would be willing to come to the village and heal the sick with the Omaja stone.”

“Absolutely,” Jiandra replied. “Give him some water and something to eat, and have him wait while I speak with the emperors. Wolfan, would you please go out to the courtyard and ask them to meet me in the library?”

Wolfan bowed curtly. “Right away, Your Highness.”

§

Graciella looked up as Yavi and Yajna entered.

“What’s this about?” Yajna asked his wife.

Jiandra related what the peasant had said. “What is Vinta fever?”

The men exchanged glances, and Yavi answered solemnly. “It is the sickness that killed our mother.”

“Oh dear,” Jiandra said.

“It spreads through contact with infected people or animals,” Yajna explained. “It’s common on ranches and farms.”

Jiandra nodded. “I’d better go and take care of it immediately. Will you escort me, husband?”

“Of course. You are certainly not going without me.”

“How far away is Nirren?” she asked.

“About a day’s ride by coach. We would need to stay at an inn for at least one night.”

Graciella spoke up. “Would you like me to accompany you as well, sister?”

“No, I don’t think there is any reason for you to make such a grim journey during your visit here. Yavi, what do you think?”

Yavi rested his hands on his hips, sighing. “I agree. There is no need for Graciella to go, unless you wish me to accompany you as well. In that case, we shouldn’t leave her here at the palace alone.”

Yajna shook his head. “No, brother, stay here at the palace to keep watch over it and Darpan. Jiandra and I will take a small guard detail in case of trouble on the roads.”

“Good, then that’s settled,” Yavi said.

Jiandra turned to Yajna. “How soon can we depart?”

§

Graciella hugged her cloak around her shoulders as she stood by Yavi, bidding her sister and brother-in-law farewell.

Jiandra squeezed her hand. “We’ll return in two or three days.”

“Safe journey, Jia.”

“The stone protects me.”

Graciella smiled. “Well, then, keep Yajna safe.”

Jiandra grinned at her husband over her shoulder. “Will do.”

“Godspeed, brother.” Yavi clasped Yajna’s wrist, and Yajna returned the gesture before helping Jiandra into the coach. Two guards led the coach on horseback, and two more rode behind as they set off.

Once they had disappeared through the main gate, Graciella glanced up at Yavi.

He offered her a taut smile. “Well. Shall we go back inside, get you in out of the cold?”

She nodded, shivering, and followed him up the steps. He didn’t offer her his arm as he normally would, perhaps distracted or in a hurry. Once they were inside, Wolfan shut the heavy wooden door behind them.

Yavi inclined his head to her. “I must see to some palace business.”

“Of course.”

“Please let me know if you have need of anything.”

She nodded, and he turned to go. When he was out of sight, she smiled. Two or three days alone with Yavi in the palace, albeit under grim circumstances. Still, it was a golden opportunity, and she would definitely take advantage of it if she possibly could.

§

“Emperor Yavi, Miss Stovy requests your assistance in the kitchen,” Tinni said, bowing.

Yavi looked up from his book on warfare tactics. He’d managed to avoid seeing her all afternoon, and was determined to stick to his vow of not visiting her in the kitchen while she cooked. “What’s this about, Tinni?”

“She wants to ask you some questions about making your mother’s Talún.”

Bloody hell. He could not say no to that—it was a well-meaning gesture on Graciella’s part. He closed his book and sighed. “All right, Tinni. Tell her I’m on my way.”

§

Graciella placed the jar of garlic all the way at the back of the top shelf, then climbed down off the tall crate with the step stool and pushed the crate to the back of the larder. She placed some sacks of flour on top of the crate, arranging them casually, then stored the step-stool by the door and went back into the kitchen to stir the lentils. She’d sent Wilten to the solar to cut a bowl full of the thyme that was growing in pots there, hoping the girl would tarry long enough for Graciella to be alone with Yavi a moment.

The kitchen door swung open, but she pretended not to notice, stirring her pot of lentils instead.

Yavi cleared his throat. “You sent for me, Miss Stovy?”

She glanced over her shoulder. His expression was stern.

“Yes, ah, I was hoping you could tell me the list of ingredients in your mother’s Talún once more, so I can make sure I have it right.”

“Yes, of course,” he answered curtly, unsmiling.

“I know it’s made of lentils, and I have them boiling now.”

His expression softened a bit as he moved a closer to peer down at the beans in the kettle. “She boiled them with onion quarters and sprigs of thyme,” he murmured softly, not making eye contact with her.

“Oh, let me cut up an onion then. Wilten went to get some thyme.” She turned to her worktable and quickly quartered three onions, adding those to the pot and stirring them in.

He watched her work. “She cooked finely chopped carrots with garlic and oil in a skillet. And it has rice. You mix the rice in to make the loaf hold together.”

“All right, I’ll start the rice in a minute.”

Wilten appeared with a bowl full of cut thyme sprigs and curtsied to them both before setting it on the worktable. Yavi spoke to her in Nandalan, and the girl curtsied again, grabbed another empty bowl, and left. He turned to Graciella. “I told her to go cut some sage and oregano as well. As I recall, those go in with the cooked lentils and rice at the end.”

“So I’ll need some garlic…” Graciella went into the larder and pretended to search for garlic. “Oh, I think it’s way up high on the top shelf,” she called over her shoulder, moving the step stool close to the foot of the shelves.

Yavi appeared in the doorway and watched as she positioned the step stool, climbed up to the top, then stretched as far as she could reach, tiptoeing up on one foot to reach farther. The step stool teetered a bit.

“You’d better get down and let me do it,” he scolded, coming a little closer.

“No, I’ve almost got it.” Almost. She just needed him to move a tiny bit closer.

He did, so she wobbled on the step stool again. “Graciella…” he warned, holding out his arms.

She pushed the step stool with her toes just enough to make it topple, and right on cue, Yavi caught her. She managed to land with her arms around his neck, buoyed up against his firm chest as he held her with his arms tight around her waist.

She gave him a little smile.

Devastatingly handsome silver eyes peered up at her, a faint grin playing about his sexy lips. “I told you to let me do it.”

“Okay, I’ll let you do it,” she replied softly, staring at his mouth. She stretched her chin forward just a bit, hoping for a kiss, but he abruptly set her on her feet instead. He re-positioned the step stool, climbed it, and retrieved the jar of garlic.

Graciella pressed her lips together glumly as she took it from him. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” he said. “Do need anything else?”

Yes. You. Graciella thought fast. “Ah…”

“If so, just send Tinni to get me again.” He swept past her out of the larder and left the kitchen.

Graciella made a fist and stamped her foot in frustration. “Damnation. So close.”

“So close to what, milady?” Wilten appeared in the larder doorway with the bowl of herbs.

Graciella blushed, then decided to confide in the girl. “So close to kissing him.”

Wilten looked puzzled. “Kiss? What that?”

Graciella kissed the air.

Wilten’s eyes widened. “You kiss Emperor Yavi?”

Graciella giggled. “No, not yet. But I want to.”

Wilten hugged the bowl to her slender chest, closing her eyes. “Oh, yes. Emperor Yavi so handsome.”

“Yes. So handsome. Okay, you chop some carrots while I start the rice. I want to make this Talún loaf one he’ll never forget.”

§

Yavi retreated to his study and poured himself a glass of katsuri, taking a long drink of it. There was no mistaking what had just happened. She’d tried to kiss him.

He strode over to the fire and stared into the flames, his groin throbbing. Well, at least now I know she doesn’t see me as an older brother or uncle. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, the memory of how perfectly her curved, slender waist fit in his arms, how sweetly her firm breasts pressed against his chest. Her full lower lip had been within inches of his mouth, and she smelled of lavender and lilacs.

And she tried to kiss me. He took another drink, pressing down on his erection through his trousers with his other hand, willing it to subside. How the hell was he going to survive if Graciella was becoming attracted to him? Down in that warm, steamy kitchen, cooking up all kinds of wonderful-smelling dishes, stood five feet six inches of captivating female perfection—creamy, smooth skin, silky dark hair, and pale-hazel eyes framed with long black lashes. Things would have been much easier later tonight if he hadn’t gone down there and gotten a preview while she was cooking. But what else could he have done? Tell Tinni he was busy? She was honoring him by cooking his mother’s Talún, and he hadn’t had that dish in fifteen years, since his mother’s death. The truth was, he was dying to taste it again, to savor the good memories of his sweet, beautiful mother and her delicious cooking. Memories of her before she fell ill and wasted away before his very eyes.

What would Mother say if she were here now? His throat tightened as he stared at the flames. Would she be ashamed of him for almost kissing his young, innocent houseguest just now? What if she knew he’d had his pick of the women and had freely played the field after he and Yajna left home to join the military? And what would she say if she knew Svana had been killed, and that it was his fault?

He took another drink of the katsuri, beginning to feel its softening effects on his tense muscles and troubled mind. Eventually, the answer to his questions about his mother came to him.

She’d forgive you, Yavi.

§

Graciella braided her long hair and then coiled it on top of her head, fastening it with hairpins. She pulled out some strands around her face and neck, then searched in her armoire for a suitable dinner dress. She’d already worn her best attire, and was down to an older dress, a pale green hand-me-down from Jiandra. The bodice hooked in back and was a little snug on Graciella’s bosom, since Jiandra was smaller up top than she was.

Graciella went to look in the mirror. The bottom half of her breasts was flattened out, and they were bulging unattractively at the top. She adjusted the neckline of the chemise to try to improve the overall effect, but it didn’t really help because the bodice held her chemise so tightly. “Well, it’s either this or a work dress,” she said aloud to herself, yanking down on the bottom edge of the bodice to get it in a more comfortable place. “I’ll just have to live with it.”

When she arrived in the dining room downstairs, Yavi was already there waiting for her. Graciella smiled, eager to spend an entire evening alone with him.

He bowed stiffly to her as she approached. “Good evening, Miss Stovy.”

“Good evening, Emperor,” she returned with a little curtsy.

He picked up a bottle of wine from the table. “I had the steward bring up a bottle of Nandalan Fahrshir that was stored in the cellars here when we moved in. It’s at least thirty years old.”

“Oh.” Graciella tried to see the label on the bottle, but it was scribbled in Nandalan. “What’s Fahrshir?”

“A small grape that grows along the western slopes. It makes a rich, complex red wine. It goes well with Talún.” He glanced at it with a half-smile. “Not that we could ever afford Fahrshir at my family’s farm. I only know how well it pairs with Talún from the dinner the servants had laid out in Thakur’s tent the night we defeated him in Villeleia.”

“I can’t wait to taste it.”

“Yes, let’s pour some now.” He popped the cork and filled two goblets, then handed her one of them. He raised his, meeting her gaze. “To my gracious houseguest. Thank you for preparing my mother’s special dish.”

Graciella raised her glass, feeling self-conscious. “I hope I did it justice.”

He touched his goblet to hers. “From the aroma of it, I’m sure you did.”

She sipped the wine. Its flavor was similar to that of delicious tart cherries, dried strawberries, and pomegranates. “Oh, it’s really good.”

“Yes,” he agreed, licking his lips. “Shall we eat now? I’m looking forward to trying your Talún.”

“Yes, by all means.”

He set his wine down and seated her in her chair, then directed an order in Nandalan at Tinni, who stood by the kitchen door waiting.

Kitran emerged from the kitchen with a platter of the lentil loaf, a large dish of roasted garlic and rosemary potatoes, and a bowl of mushy peas. She and Graciella exchanged a brief glare as Kitran set down the peas, but at least she didn’t dump them on her, so Graciella considered it to be an improvement in relations. Graciella had given her the evening off from helping to prepare dinner since Wilten was becoming so efficient and useful, and to give herself and Kitran a break from being stuck together in such close quarters.

Yavi cut a slice of the Talún and placed it on her plate. “This looks exactly like my mother’s Talún.”

Graciella was relieved. “Oh, good,” she smiled.

§

No, not good. Yavi didn’t want to fall in love tonight. He didn’t want to lose his head and heart to the exquisite creature sitting at his right, with her charming innocence, her youthful optimism, and her undeniable talent in the kitchen.

He cut himself a slice then took the bowl of potatoes she passed to him, realizing what a perfect pairing roasted potatoes was going to be with Talún. He wasn’t sure what the green purée was in the next bowl that came around, but it smelled like sweet peas.

“What is this?” He served himself a hefty pile of it.

“Mushy peas. It’s a popular dish in my homeland.”

He ate a forkful of it. Garlicky-green sweetness filled his palate. “Delicious.”

“I hope it goes well with the lentil loaf.”

He swallowed the peas, took a deep breath, then ate a bite of Talún. The flavor was so familiar and perfect, tears stung his eyes as memories of his mother flooded him. He looked away and swallowed, taking a sip of wine to try to clear away the lump in his throat.

Graciella finished chewing her first bite of it as well. “How close is this to your mother’s?”

The lump wouldn’t clear. He forcibly blinked back the tears, and when he spoke, his voice came out raspy. “Very.”

“Oh, good.” She beamed, a dimple appearing in her right cheek. “I’m so glad.”

Yavi couldn’t look at her, and he couldn’t continue eating either, until he had a grip on himself. He took a long drink of his wine, then poured himself another goblet full and drank more.

“Speaking of Thakur’s meal in his tent,” she said, “sometime I would love you to tell me the full story of your battle with him. How on earth you and Yajna faced down two armies with only a few men. I only know a few details from what Jiandra’s told me.”

Yes. Good. Focus on telling a story, Yavi, not on the way her delectable breasts are bulging over the top of her bodice. He ate a bite of potato, perfectly roasted with crispy brown edges and fragrant with rosemary, then slipped in another bite of Talún before he could overthink it and get emotional again. “We did it with the help of your sister. Without her healing powers, both Yajna and I would be dead on that battleground. We owe her our lives.”

“I owe Jiandra my life as well, although not for her healing powers. If she and Elio hadn’t taken over the responsibility of running the farm and raising me and Rafe when our parents were killed, we probably would have ended up in an orphanage.”

The image of her being raised in an orphanage disturbed him. He took another long drink of wine and met her gaze, even though staring at her beautiful eyes was a dangerous proposition. “How old were you when your parents were killed?”

“I was seven.”

Sorrow pierced him. “So young,” he murmured. “Do you remember them very well?”

“Only a little. I remember my mother’s cooking, my father’s swordplay lessons. And I remember how in love they were with one another.”

He returned his attention to his meal in an effort to break her spell over him. He was able to enjoy the Talún without choking up now, so he counted that as a victory. He finished the last few bites of what he had on his plate and cut himself another slice.

“How old were you when you lost your mother, Yavi?”

The way she said his name with her smoothly slurring Villeleian accent always sent a bit of a shiver up his spine. “Fifteen. I was lucky to have her twice as many years as you had your mother.”

“What was she like?”

“Quiet, gentle, delicate. My father adored her. He was never the same after she was gone.”

“So your parents were deeply in love too?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“I think that is a rare thing.”

“I do too.” He caught himself mesmerized by her face and looked down at his plate.

“Do you believe people should marry for love?”

How did we get on the topic of love? Damn it. He finished off his second goblet of wine and poured another before answering. “To be honest, I haven’t given the topic of marriage much thought.”

“You haven’t?” She frowned, causing her lower lip to pout a little.

Tejeshwar help him, he wanted to lean across the corner of the table and lick that lip with the tip of his tongue. “Well…no.”

“Don’t you want to marry someday?”

Marry? Of course. But how could he explain to her that it probably wasn’t in the cards for him to do so?

“Yavi,” she chided, “surely you aren’t planning to die an old bachelor.”

He had to deflect this line of questioning, and fast. He faked a chuckle. “No, of course not. I’ve just been too busy learning to be an emperor to give much thought to marriage.”

“Well, I think about marriage all the time.” She ate another bite of Talún. “Bless Zehu, this recipe is good! I see why it was your favorite of your mother’s.”

He decided to shift the focus to her thoughts on marriage, not his. “Do you believe people should marry for love?”

“Yes, no question.”

“Many young women would disagree with you. They would hope for a husband with wealth.”

“I was raised on a farm, and I’ve never been accustomed to wealth. I don’t need a lot of servants or fancy dresses and jewels to be happy.”

He chuckled, sincerely this time. “Neither do I, and I’m the emperor of Nandala.”

“No need of dresses and jewels, you say?”

He grinned. “Nope. None at all.” He ate a mouthful of Talún, realizing he was starting to feel the wine just a bit.

“That’s good, because to make a dress big enough for you would require a hefty amount of fabric.” She giggled and sipped her wine.

He glanced down at himself. “Could you imagine fitting this body into a corset?”

“No,” she laughed, shaking her head. “Nor would a corset do you much good—your body is hard as a rock. I doubt it can be squeezed much.”

You’re right about me being hard as a rock, but I can still be squeezed, he joked to himself. He couldn’t resist asking, “How do you know my body is hard, Miss Stovy?”

“I felt it last night through your shirt, when you hugged me.”

He took another swig of Fahrshir and cut another slice of Talún. Stop this, Yavi. You’re flirting and having too much fun. It can only lead to regret. “Be quiet,” he murmured aloud to his conscience as he laid the slice on his plate.

“Quiet?”

He darted a glance at her face, then pretended to be teasing her. “Yes, be quiet, Miss Stovy. You’re complimenting me too much.”

“It’s not a compliment; it’s the truth. I know what muscles feel like.”

“Oh, you do?” He raised an eyebrow in mock disdain.

She laughed. “My brother has them too. Well, I guess both brothers do at this point, since Rafe has grown so much.”

He noticed her wine was getting low. “Would like more Fahrshir?”

“Yes, please. It tastes wonderful with the Talún, just as you said it would.”

He poured her another goblet, then picked up the Talún platter. “More Talún to go with it?”

“Yes, a small slice. I’m saving room for dessert.”

“What did our talented chef prepare for dessert, pray tell?” He served her a piece of Talún, then turned his attention back to finishing his third slice.

“Baked egg-and-cream custard with nutmeg on top. It’s one of my specialties. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven when you taste it.”

Indeed. Or gone straight to hell, at this rate. “Yavi in Yahvi,” he mused.

“Yavi in Yavi? What does that mean?”

“Yavi in heaven. My name means ‘heaven’ in Old Nandalan.”

“Oh. That’s interesting.”

“Yes, although the concept hasn’t really played out in my life, I’m afraid.”

“There is still time,” she assured him confidently.

“Perhaps.”

“What does Yajna’s name mean? Does it also have a meaning?”

“Yes. It means worship.”

She smiled. “Well, I know one person who worships him.”

He feigned a defensive tone. “No I don’t!”

She laughed heartily. Yavi knew he should stop joking and enjoying her company so much, sober up, and claim he was tired and needed to go to bed soon.

Instead, he kept eating, drinking, and laughing with her, squelching all the old, familiar voices of protest.