The three-day road trip to Avonsil was uneventful. I got to know my captors a little more, and besides the whole ‘humans are garbage’ and ‘people are property’ arguments, they were not too different from what I expected. I was able to verify that all Beastkin ascend into more refined versions of their species after aspecting their sixth loci. This apparently is one of the reasons humans were untrustworthy. Unless you had a specific sensing skill or item, you couldn't tell a mortal human from an awakened one. I had evidence to this. For the ascended, though, apparently, there was a joke about them that reminded me of vegans and crossfitters. This did not help strengthen relations in the Everwar.

  I was not prepared for the city when we approached it. I was less prepared for us making camp when we first saw the city walls, the height of most earth stores in the distance. I asked about it.

  “Mistress Leyla, I know you are quite eager to be rid of my earnest company. I have a question.”

  The sly Shy fox beat her to the answer.

  “Silly human. Those walls are two hundred feet tall and half again as thick. We are a full morning’s ride from the gates, and this is the last free station. The dungeon we found you in was not as profitable as I had thought. Your price notwithstanding. I do approve of your acceptance of your role. Continue with that elevated language, and your last day with us shall be at least comfortable.”

  “His what?… And why are you giving it nice treatments?” Gorn was confused.

  “For the same reason, we are not selling him as cannon fodder at Har’at. My dear Bulkin, apparently, the human-loving Emir is in Avonsil and paying a premium for quality ‘attendants’. He is merely acting the part to raise his value for us.”

  “How know?” Rogan this time.

  “I was visited by a shadow wanting me to curry favor with my family, who let this tidbit slip. I assume the human overheard?”

  “I did indeed, my lady Apaste. And it seems a fair covenant that I raise my value, and you treat me accordingly. While I do imagine we could all grow to have quite the amicable relations, I fear there is too much animosity among our kindred kind. The least I could do to repay your efforts thus far is help offset any losses that you may have incurred.” I could play sycophant well.

  “Be careful not to overdo it, but you have the gist. I will admit Rogan will miss your culinary talent and the camaraderie of the cookfire. It would be a waste for you to die while we traveled when you eventually fall behind.”

  “I might dare say that my countenance will cause too many doors to close that erstwhile would be open?”

  “Indeed.”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Well then, my ladies and good sirs, let us at least dine well this final evening.”

  I turned to Rogan and motioned to the currently cold fire ring.

  “After you, my good sir.”

  “What the fuck was that?” Leyla finally interjected. Rogan and I busied ourselves by the fire as Shy introduced Leyla to the finer points of courtly manners. Apparently, my brand of bullshit was pretty close to what was considered the standard. I kept my ear open to the discussion as the two of us began our cooking. Rogan brought out our protein for the evening, which appeared to be, of all things, snake. I was instantly curious.

  “Snake?”

  “Snake.”

  “How are we going to cook it?”

  “Over fire.”

  “What does it taste like?”

  “Human mixed with chicken.” His flat tone made me feel that this was a common ingredient and also that eating humans was entirely normal.

  “I’ve never eaten my own kind. What do we taste like?”

  “Greasy. Like boar but chicken flavor.”

  “Spicy then?”

  “Yes. Much Spice”

  I always enjoyed my conversations with Rogan. His short and clipped language was at least concise. His cooking skill was also very impressive. He peeled the skin from the snake with a firm, even pressure that reminded me of peeling the skin off the back of pork ribs. That thought inspired me to whip up a rub and sauce for the ribs and attempt slow and low. Now that we had done a few meals together, Rogan knew that when I got started, he was about to see something interesting. My cooking skills over the campfire were not five-star, but I could bring a good deal of my earth skills over. I used a plate to push the fire off to one side and put the snake ribs on his mobile grate off to the side, low to the ground. They wouldn't cook fast over there, but I was waiting for the coals to develop.

  While the fire burned, I made up a dry rub for the snake. I mixed salt and pepper with what passed for sugar, a sweet, red, crystalline substance. Rogan had a stone spice grinder very similar to a molcajete that took the salt, pepper, sugar, and some dried onion and garlic and reduced it to a reasonable powder. I rubbed the mixture across the snake with a cooking oil as a binder. I then made a big request.

  “Rogan, do you have a spare shield?”

  “Has. Why?”

  “For the fire so I can cook better.”

  “Cook with shield? Must see. Here.”

  Rogan took an impossibly large bronze shield from his bag. It was just slightly larger than the fire pit itself. It was a perfect grill lid. The swingarm mount he had for the grill that was holding the rack of snake was the perfect height to vent the heat. I had made a miniature kettle grill. I began to work on my sauce.

  “Rogan.. Can I use some of the red paste?”

  Initially, the pachy balked at the request, but his curiosity got the better of him. He had let me try some of the sticky red paste a few nights ago after I saw him apply it to his food. It was a spicy version of tomato paste. He had already let me access the bag that held all the ingredients, but this was from his special stash.

  His sharp inhale of breath as I took a very large spoonful and placed it into the now-empty spice grinder warned me that this paste was either expensive or hard to get. I proceeded anyway. I added two of his fine dried peppers and began to grind them into the paste. This at least calmed him down and met with his approval. To the paste I added the red sugar and some salt. To the top of my barbecue sauce, I added a generous portion of vinegar, stirring to the correct consistency. I gave it a finger test. Not my best work, but pretty good. A little sweet but with plenty of peppery kick. A great sauce for snake, I hoped.

  I let Rogan try it. As his eyes slightly rolled into the back of his head, I could tell he approved. It took some effort to prevent him from eating it all right then. Worst case, I could open a barbecue joint after escaping the Emir.