Sweet Starfire

heated trays of food. A still-smoking slab of meat was thrust in front of Severance, who eyed the Crosshatch grill marks with satisfaction. Cidra studiously avoided looking at the meat as she examined her own plate of vegetables. The waiter hovered anxiously until she glanced up and realized why he was hanging around.
    “It’s lovely. Just what I wanted. Please thank the kitchen staff.”
    The waiter beamed and disappeared without waiting to see how Teague Severance felt about the condition of his steak.
    Severance didn’t mind; he was too busy slicing into the bloody heart of the meat. He was unaware that Cidra was swallowing uncomfortably as she tried to avert her eyes and struggled to control her stomach.
    “Just right,” he declared, chewing a chunk with the thoughtful concentration Harmonics reserved for a glass of fine ether wine. “Like I said, lady, you do have your uses. Do you know how hard it is to get a place like this to use the grill instead of the heater?”
    Cidra didn’t pay any attention. She was lost in her silent recitation of the chant that by Harmonic custom preceded the evening meal, a ritual that was also helping to take her mind off the bleeding carcass across the table on Teague’s plate. When she was finished, she hunted unobtrusively around the table for the proper vegetable-eating prongs. Failing to find them, she settled for the all-purpose bowled fork that was lying beside a sharp-edged blade near her plate. The sight of the knife gave her a start. The idea of a weapon at the table was unsettling. She was going to have to become familiar with the informal eating habits of Wolves.
    “Are you going to finish your ale?” Severance asked.
    Cidra glanced at the mug she had left untouched and shook her head. The famous brew didn’t look terribly appealing.
    “I’ll finish it for you,” Severance said, reaching across the table to help himself to her mug.
    “About my passage on board your ship, Severance, I want to make it clear that I am fully prepared to work. I am not proposing that you take me along as excess baggage.”
    “Lady, mail ships are made to be operated by one person. They don’t require any extra crew.”
    “But I’ve heard that mail pilots sometimes hire a crewmate,” she protested. “Surely there must be plenty of small tasks required on board.”
    He stopped chewing long enough to give her a hard, steady look. “The kind of crew situations you’re talking about are generally called convenience contracts. I tried it once and it was a disaster.”
    “Why was that?”
    He stifled a muttered oath and went back to sawing on his meat. “Because the woman I contracted with nearly drove me crazy. She and I were at each other’s throats by the time we reached Renaissance. I had to put her off ship at Port Try Again with enough credit to buy a commercial ticket back to Lovelady. I decided after that experience that a little loneliness was probably good for the soul and a hell of a lot cheaper than companionship.”
    Cidra smiled gently. “The one thing you would not have to fear is me going for your throat. I was raised in Clementia, remember?”
    “Uh-huh. And what’s going to keep me from going for yours?”
    Cidra blinked, unsure if he was teasing her. He didn’t look as if he was, but how could she really tell? Whatever sense of humor Severance had, it seemed to be on the savage side. “When I inquired into potential ships’ masters, I was told you were considered a reasonably honest man. Somewhat rough around the edges and basically a loner, as are most mail pilots, but generally honest. Insofar as it is possible for Wolves to trust each other, your acquaintances appear to trust you, Severance. Among Wolves, I understand, that is not a common occurrence.”
    Severance drummed his fingers on the table. “Any Wolf dumb enough to completely trust another Wolf deserves what he or she gets. Just the opposite of how things work in Clementia, hmmm?”
    Cidra’s eyes softened. “For obvious reasons.”
    “Lady, you don’t know what you’re getting into with this plan of yours. Talk about being a Saint among Wolves!”
    “Would you mind terribly calling me by my name? I would prefer it to ‘lady.’” She kept her tone rigidly polite.
    “Far be it from me to annoy a near-Saint. What was your name? Cidra Something? I didn’t have time to catch it back in that tavern.”
    “Cidra Rainforest.”
    “Rainforest,” he repeated, tasting the word.