Back straight, eyes forward. Ninia stood at attention just behind Alinyaln and Syrin, who were dining on crab legs, which happened to be one of Ninia’s most favorite foods. They had been cracked earlier in the night, likely by the cook and his helpers, to ensure an easy dining experience for the nobility. Ninia herself loved cracking the legs, the crunch they made when they released the lovely meat was incredible. It was like a gift given by the Triplets themselves, a gift of white and blue meat that, if you were lucky, could be pulled out in one large piece which could then be easily submerged in butter. As Alinyaln was doing now, in fact.

  Ninia’s stomach growled as she watched her masters eat, so she did the next worst thing and stared at a spot in the far distance. But she could still smell the crab legs. That was worst than seeing them, in a way. At least she didn’t have to listen to the torture of them cracking the legs.

  This was the direction of her thoughts through the crab course. There had been other courses, naturally, noblemen and women were too important for a single meal. The previous courses consisted of a plate of leaves which the house staff called a “salad,” and one of what looked to be bread and jam. Sounds better than that bread cheese, Ninia had thought.

  The next course, as the crab legs were taken by the wait staff—excluding Alinyaln’s as the man almost came to blows to keep the crab leg he had been breaking apart for the last fifteen minutes—consisted of large sausages and shredded meat. Sausage was another of Ninia’s favorite foods. Would this night be nothing but torture to her? The casings snapped as the sausages were impaled by forks, releasing juices onto the clean white plates. The smell, though, was lacking to Ninia, and she knew that there was a significant lack of spices in the sausage. Unfortunate, but also unsurprising due to the taboo against using anything delicious in food in Siston.

  True to their word, Syrin and Alinyaln had sat with Ytil and her husband, Phnan, though the seating arrangements were less than intimate. The tables each sat five couples; Alinyaln and Syrin sitting directly in front of Ninia, to their left was a couple clad in shades of purple (Syrin sat on the opposite side as to not disturb their choice of garb,) then sat Ytil and Phnan in their yellow, next sat a couple in green; a tall man with a whispy head of hair and a plump woman who giggled at everything. Their poor servant, a young boy of no more than ten, stood awkwardly in a shade of green that, frankly, disgusted Ninia. The last couple was wearing blue, which as they sat directly next to Syrin, caused a minor conflict but the woman, who wore the lightest shade of blue Ninia had ever seen helped to distinguish Alinyaln’s group from theirs.

  The Sisim people have such strange customs, Ninia thought as she eyed the other tables. While not sitting in the same configurations, she could tell that each table had made a point of not allowing more than a single color group to join. In the far corner, out of sight of the man in a clean white suit, with his lovely wife on the other side wearing a dress that was black as coal. Lord Synthar. That would explain why all of the servants were clad in gray. The table of misfits (Ninia couldn’t help but to think of them as such,) seemed to be understanding of their misfortune. As invites hadn’t gone out regarding this party, there was no way of ensuring that there would be an appropriate amount of people for each color, so they all sat as a rainbow of mostly yellows and blues.

  Ninia’s head was beginning to hurt just thinking about it all and how it was so contrived.

  At the very least she was able to watch Linli, who was standing behind her masters. The girl hadn’t paid any attention to Ninia since her charges had sat down, which was fine as Ninia knew she needed to pay attention to the dinner service, though Alinyaln and Syrin hadn’t needed her assistance yet.

  There was a lot of chatter, though most of the conversation was between Ytil and the purple couple she was sitting next to. This couple must be especially favored by Ytil in order to sit next to the heads of the table. At least, Ninia assumed they were the heads of the table, but there was very little evidence to the contrary. When Ytil had initially offered Alinyaln and Syrin a spot at their table, Ninia had anticipated it to be more of a gesture of generosity. Now, she figured it was to meet the quota of varied clothing.

  Syrin made small talk with the couple in blue, and Alinyaln appeared to be doing his best to listen to what everyone was saying. From the buzz of conversation in the room, Ninia assumed he was struggling almost as much as Ninia herself was.

  “And what is it that you do again, Lord Crinst?” Blue husband asked, loud enough to be heard over Syrin and Blue wife.

  Alinyaln started, clearly surprised that someone had tried to talk to him instead of Syrin. He set down the crab leg he was still working on, the one which he had threatened the house staff over when they went to take it from him, and he wiped his hands on the napkin he draped upon his lap. “Fishing, friend. I own a small fleet of boats, eight-set of them. We might be landwalkers but we like our seafood.”

  Blue husband nodded. “I see. And, if I may ask, are there crabs in the Arsin region? I can’t help but notice that you’ve absolutely butchered that poor leg.”

  “Seriously, man.” Phnan said with a snort. “They’re already dead, at least give them some dignity as our meal.”

  Ninia wasn’t able to see Alinyaln’s face, but based on the skin she was able to see around his neck the Captain’s face had gone red. “I think making sure none of the meat goes to waste is giving the plenty of dignity, don’t you?” He retorted bitterly.

  Syrin placed a hand on Alinyaln’s arm, “They’re teasing you, dear.” She whispered, but not all that quietly for Ninia overheard it perfectly fine. Once she removed her hand, she sipped at her drink and then grimaced. A swift glance—which Ninia could only see from the shifting of her eyebrows—told her that no one was looking, and she waggled her faintly glowing fingers over her cup. Small pellets of ice collected on her fingertips and dropped into the glass. Ninia’s mouth dropped in surprise, but then she remembered how the frost had developed on her hands during the confrontation with Kiara. The Crafting was impressive to Ninia. She needed to ask the woman how it worked some time.

  There was a chuckle around the table, the current plates being taken away and replaced with what looked to be bird wings, the scales peeled off leaving the skin and meat, then fried until golden brown and delicious. Each plate had three small cups upon them, one with a white sauce, the second red, and a third which was more of a blue color that Ninia could only—

  “In all seriousness, Crinst,” Blue husband continued after he finished his laughter, biting into a wing with the purple sauce on it. Immediately his face turned bright red, but he maintained his dignity. “I have to ask; do you get much business throughout Arsin? The coasts, sure, but how about further inland?”

  “Well,” Alinyaln said after a moment, and Ninia could see the skin on his neck returning to its normal color. He considered before he spoke, “That part’s been tricky, you see. The fish don’t tend to stay fresh for very long on their own, so we use shipments of ice from Mikklid to help keep them from going rancid.” Green wife sneered at the statement, then returned to her conversation with her husband, as neither of them seemed to care much for Alinyaln and Syrin.

  “We get about sixty miles inland before we can’t sell it any longer.” Syrin said, adding into Alinyaln’s explanation. “Closer to a hundred if we have the ice to go along with it.”

  “But,” Alinyaln noted, “Ice shipments can get very costly. We tried to get some harvested from the Ice Wall but it ended up being too dangerous. Last year, we tried large containers of water filled with live fish, but moving enough water to make that feasible was just too hard on the wagons.”

  How in Tarnation did Alinyaln know so much about the fishing trade in Arsin? His information seemed too legitimate, too accurate, for him to be making it up as he went along. Maybe Kiara had a book about it. Ninia thought, but she considered that fact unlikely as Kiara was keeping her distance from Alinyaln recently.

  A small glittering green insect began to fly around Ninia, the buzzing it made was faint but with it repeatedly buzzing in her ear Ninia heard it with no difficulty. She waved her hand to swat the bug away, but at a glance from Linli, who had a similar bug following her, Ninia put her hand down. Linli gave a small smile, almost too thin to see.

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  “Is that with horse drawn wagons or those new moscin powered ones?” Ytil asked, putting so much emphasis on the word “moscin” that Ninia almost didn’t understand the word. “I’ve heard they’re all the rage in Arsin nowadays.”

  “Moscin wagons?” Alinyaln seemed confused by the idea, a sentiment shared by Ninia.

  “I didn’t realize those were actually in production.” Syrin said, shrugging.

  Blue wife responded to this, “Oh I heard about it recently, there’s only about five or six of ‘em so far, but everyone is talkin’ about them. Some wealthy type wanted some prototypes made or somethin’ like that.” Blue wife’s accent was far more rural than blue husband’s was, perhaps she was a farm girl who had been fortunate enough to land a wealthy nobleman.

  Phnan pointed at blue wife. “I’ve heard similar things! Who was it dear,” He addressed Ytil, “Someone from Mikklid I believe?”

  “Arsin, actually.” Ytil responded. “But I think the first designs were made in Mikklid, near the Ice Wall.”

  Nodding, Alinyaln took a drink of his rum. Ninia could see his hand tremble slightly. “That makes sense, the air being colder near the Ice Wall, but Arsin is a bit farther inward than Mikklid. I wonder how efficient that would even be.”

  Ninia at this point lost the thread of the conversation, her thoughts drifting to the idea of a moscin powered wagon, or carriage, and how that would look. Would it have standard engines on it like the sea variants? Or, she assumed, something smaller, more closely resembling that of a quiat sword? No, no probably not. Then there was the issue of fuel, moscin burned far faster when it wasn’t kept cool enough, so it was likely to burn up rapidly. At that point would it be horse drawn? Would the speed increase be beneficial for the massive cost increase over using a horse?

  Linli moved at a gesture from Ytil, something that Ninia almost didn’t catch. She watched the girl. Lady Ytil spoke into her ear so softly that Ninia couldn’t even guess as to what she was saying, especially not over the sound of Alinyaln talking with blue husband and wife. Linli then ran off to do as her mistress asked.

  “What of you, Lord Tarsus?” Alinyaln asked. “What is it that you do?”

  “Me? Nothing!” Blue husband declared, then he clapped his wife on the shoulder. “That’s all on the lady of the house.”

  “Oh, hush Tary.” Blue wife said, covering her cheeks as she blushed.

  “No, no, Grennida here sells in exotic goods!” Blue husband—Tarsus—said, then leaned in conspiratorially. “She solicits trade for spices here most days. You know of the Dragonkin, Rigma? She’s the one who provides most of his goods.”

  Ninia brightened at the sound of Rigma’s name. She had quite liked the Dragonkin, and she still felt bad about her initial reaction towards him. The bottle of powder he had given her was tucked into a pocket hidden within Ninia’s dress, just in case.

  “Oh, the scandal!” Ytil said dramatically. “Working with subhumans?” At that, the rest of the table laughed. Alinyaln and Syrin glanced at each other, neither of them giving the joke so much as a chuckle. Their reactions, or lack thereof, made Ninia feel better as her own hands began to tremble in anger. What a horrible thing to say about such a nice man.

  “Do you sell other goods as well, Grennida?” Alinyaln asked after a polite pause. “Surely there’s something more exciting than half legal spices.”

  He must be looking for who may have bought slaves from Tyrnarm, Ninia thought.

  “Sometimes, Crinst,” Grennida said, noncommittally. “But the spice trade here is just so lucrative because of the high taxes imposed on them, or rather, the high taxes that the merchants try to avoid.”

  “What are some of the more eccentric things you’ve moved?” Alinyaln prodded.

  “Well, let me think…” Grennida rubbed at her chin, deliberating. “Movin’ the Burian coral to Loshbor?”

  “Definitely a dangerous deal, if nothing else.” Tarsus said with a nod. “Cursed stuff, even out of the water it’ll claim you.”

  This clearly interested Alinyaln, though it wasn’t the answer had been hoping for, as the man leaned forward. “How do you even go about that?”

  “Oh, I can’t tell you that!” Grennida said, shaking her head. “I need to keep a secret or two for my business.”

  “Come now, Grennida,” Alinyaln said, and even Ninia could notice the charm that the captain was starting to emanate. “I’m sure telling the landwalkers won’t hurt anything.”

  Grennida blushed, but she hid it with a drink of her rum. “I can’t say much,” She said once she put the cup down. “But I will say this; It only claims the living.”

  Syrin nodded at this, then said, “So, if you took a hammer to it…”

  “That’s the right idea.” Grennida said. “But no more of that, now.”

  Tarsus laughed. “But not right enough!” He said. “Gotta go for the roots, it dies otherwise."

  Grennida slapped her husband on the arm, causing him to flinch back. “None of that, now!”

  “Yes, dear.” Tarsus said, grumbling as he lifted his own cup of rum to his lips.

  Linli returned at this point, carrying a plate of small shelled shrimp, and set it before her mistress. Ytil nodded, then slipped Linli a small bottle, thanking her and dismissed her from her immediate presence. Linli stepped back and slipped the bottle into her dress, where it seemed to vanish into her bosom. The girl saw Ninia watching and blushed, turning her gaze away.

  The conversation at this point died as the couples at the table began to ravenously devour the plates of wings. Ninia really wanted to try the sauces they had put out with them, thinking that they would be similar to that barbeque sauce that she had tried with Higlim. Which, of course, only made her stomach growl as she considered that delicious food from the other day.

  Once the meal was finished, the house servants took away the final plates, these having had small pies with a sort of cream on top. The couples began to leave their tables all around the room and return to the gathering halls. Alinyaln dismissed Ninia for a few minutes in order to relieve herself and to fill her belly with food from the servant’s area.

  New food had been brought over here, or rather, old food. The food that the “proper” guests hadn’t eaten was now placed upon the table, the eaten scraps having been thrown away. In theory, everything on the table should be alright to eat.

  Ninia grabbed a few of those bird wings, but noticed there was none of the sauces to accompany them. A shame, but she bit into the wing and the skin still snapped, crunching in her mouth as she chewed. The skin was delightful, she couldn’t really put a finger on why, though the actual meat of the bird left something to be desired.

  If only she’d had the sauce.

  She nearly reached into her dress to pull out the bottle of powder from Rigma when a small voice asked her, “Want some?”

  Ninia turned around to see Linli standing there, holding the small bottle that her mistress, Ytil, had given her. The glass was a dark green, which made the liquid inside almost black in the darkness. Ninia could only assume what it was. “Your mistress gives you rum?” She asked, incredulous.

  Linli looked around with a mischievous smile, ensuring they weren’t overheard. “It’s untraditional, but my lady likes to treat me at these parties.”

  Ninia raised an eyebrow, then glanced over at Ytil, who was laughing with a couple clad in red that they hadn’t been sitting with. “I’m surprised.”

  Linli uncorked the bottle and held it up to Ninia for her to smell. The aroma that rose from the small bottle was grassy, but tempered by the newfound burning in her nose from the alcohol. “It really is rum.” She said wistfully. “I’ve never had rum before.”