Page 66 of Moonless

That one passes.

I finish the root while she works the herbs into the fish, some inside, the rest over the side nearest the coals. She rubs the last of it in with her fingertips and keeps the string-marked ones out of it.

The smell reaches me across the hearth. I know those leaves. I’ve stepped over them every summer on that ledge.

She catches me looking at the fish.

“Mel puts them in at the end. You can ruin them if you cook them too long.”

“Are they ready?”

“The fish or the leaves?” She turns the spit a notch.

“Supper.”

“You’ll survive another few minutes.”

I growl at her, and she doesn’t look up from the spit.

She moves the second spit a little nearer the heat and leans back with her right hand on the hearthstone. The linen’s loose above her collar again.

I put the last slices of root into the pot.

She leaves me to watch them this time. When I lift one out to check it, she looks over and nods. Then she takes the first fish off its spit and lays it on a plate.

It comes away from the spit cleanly. She lifts a piece near the spine with the knife’s tip, checks underneath, and sits a little straighter.

“There.” She adds roots beside it and hands me the plate.

I take a bite while she’s serving herself. The skin breaks under my fangs, crisp along the edge, and a low sound comes up my throat. Inside it’s still moist, and I can taste the leaves right through the fat.

I’ve been putting the fish too close to the fire.

Kestria watches my mouth while I take another bite.

“Well?”

“It’s cooked.” I lift one shoulder and keep chewing.

“Anyone can see that.” She sits with her own plate on her knees and a piece of fish halfway to her mouth, waiting.

“Taste it yourself.”

“I want to know what you think.”

I pull a bone free with my teeth and set it beside the plate. “You kept me waiting long enough to be hungry.”

“You were hungry before I started.”

“Then let me eat.”

She takes her bite, grinning around it, while I finish the skin along one side and work the next strip of flesh free.

She swallows and leans toward my plate. “Better than yours.”

It is. I reach for a slice of root.

“Rauk.”