They began to eat in silence, though Hendrik’s face betrayed more than it had all day, when he tasted the stew. He ate quickly after that, licking his lips and relaxing his shoulders slightly.
Dagan ate sparingly, expecting that his refugee needed nothing so much as a hot meal. Hendrik stopped eating halfway through the pot, though, and set down his spoon. He picked up his cup instead and cradled it in his hands, almost admiring it. He probably hadn’t seen a cup or spoon in moons.
Dagan said, “It’s my mother’s elderberry wine. She’s famous for it.”
“Wine?” Hendrik’s eyes widened.
“Try it,” Dagan urged.
He took a sip and shook his head. “Burning stone, I’ve never tasted anything so good.”
Dagan chuckled. “She’ll be delighted to hear your praise. Is wine uncommon in the City?”
Hendrik nodded and took another sip. “What fruit we get is mostly made into vinegar for preservation. Wine is for the rich people. The blooded.”
“I’ve heard that term,” Dagan said thoughtfully. “But I’m not sure what it means. Is it like nobility?”
“Yes, they are the nobility.” Hendrik took another sip then set the cup down, licking his lips as if he didn’t want to waste a single drop. “blooded families are descended from the Founder directly.”
“Oh, so it’s literal, then? They bear the Founder’s bloodline.”
Hendrik nodded, gaze fixed on his cup.
“There’s more, so drink up. I brought a whole skin full and haven’t touched it yet,” Dagan said.
Hendrik glanced at him, pale cheeks flushing.
He’s embarrassed. Poor thing. But he also didn’t seem the type to respond to pity, so Dagan simply said, “And the rest of the stew, too. I made five times as much as I would’ve for just myself.”
Hendrik froze, all but his gaze, which slid from Dagan to the pot and then back again.
Dagan leaned back on one hand and took up his own wooden cup with the other. “We don’t really have nobility in the Heart Wood, though we have stories of a time when we did. Are you noble—blooded?” It was a guess, considering his bearing and stature. He seemed a touch imperious, in spite of his currently reduced circumstances.
“No.” Hendrik picked up his spoon again. “You sure?”
Dagan nodded and sipped at his wine. It really was the most exquisite thing, and he was glad he’d thought to share it. “Really, I couldn’t.”
Hendrik began to eat again but slowly, almost too slowly.
Dagan watched, oddly fascinated at this display of apparent self-control, as he kept the chatter going. “What do the nobles do, exactly? I’ve always wondered. In the old stories, ours were sort of like the Council, running the conservancies but separately. Is it like that?”
“What’s a conservancy?”
“It’s just a section of the Heart Wood, really. They change boundaries often enough that it’s not hard and fast, but it’s an indicator of that region’s specialty. I’m from the Black Walnut Grove Conservancy, and my parents tend the main grove there.”
Hendrik chewed a mouthful of stew thoughtfully. “So then you’re nobility. Sort of?”
“No, by all the gods, no.” Dagan laughed. “My father would shake a fist if he heard you say that. Everyone has equal status in the Heart Wood. It’s a point of pride.”
“But some professions must be more desirable than others. Some must confer status.”
“That’s true,” Dagan admitted.
“What about scout? Is it a desirable profession?”
Dagan grinned. “Do I seem like I’d accept anything less than the most desirable of professions?” He might rib Alonza about being a Verder’s apprentice, but he was just as bad, and they all knew it.
Hendrik’s eyes crinkled again, and this time one corner of his mouth pulled up slightly too. “No, now you mention it.”
Satisfied, Dagan leaned back on his hand and sipped at his wine again. “Neither do you, as a matter of fact. That’s why I assumed you were—whatever. blooded.”
Hendrik took a deep breath and picked up his cup again. “I was a guard for the blooded.”
“Oh! A professional soldier?”
Hendrik nodded.
“For a rich family. How interesting.”
“It was just the one boy. The one man.” Hendrik’s voice went far away. “He was one of the most important people in the City.”
Dagan noted the use of “was” instead of “is” and wondered how best to approach the neverending march of questions through his mind. Delicately, after yet another sip of wine, he said, “I have a feeling you were an excellent guard. There’s something upright and unbending about you that suits the job.”
“I was,” Hendrik said, as if confessing to something. “I had a bright career ahead of me. Even after my charge inherited.”
“Inherited what?”
Hendrik was quiet for a long time. Then, finally, he downed the last of his wine in one long gulp, dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, and said, “Death, as it turns out. But I didn’t know that until it was too late.”
