Warsinger by James Baldwin (most important books of all time txt) 📕

“It’s fine,” Karalti whispered through the link. “I know. Don’t worry about it for now, though, alright? The heat comes and goes, and I won’t be like this all year. But, when it happens again…”

“Yeah.” I smiled, and brushed some hair away from her cheek. “I know. I think Suri does, too.”

“I think she does. And I think… I think she’s okay with it.” Karalti hesitated a moment, then pulled herself up out of the sand to her waist. We had both sunk into it over the course of the night, and her bare skin was dusty. “I’m… I’m sorry. I remember everything you said to me, about not being ready, about not wanting to take advantage of me and feeling weird about these feelings, because you raised me. But I’m not human. I’m Solonkratsu. I am what I am and, well… we are what we are.”

“Mm.” I nodded fractionally.

“I…” She stroked cool fingers down my stomach and bowed her head. She had put on another five inches of hair with her last level up, the roots soft and loose in contrast to the fall of fine braids that pooled across the surface of the bathtub. Her expression flickered, and then she pulled herself upright, letting sand stream down her body.

“Huh?” I sat up as well, dusting out my hair.

“It’s nothing.” Karalti looked back over her shoulder at me, a brief smile passing across her lips. “Let’s go see how Vash is doing!”

Istvan was drilling new troops in the yard, screaming at them with the benevolent sadism of a skilled NCO. The door to the hospital was locked, the windows sealed, and the scent of clear spirits hung around the building like an antiseptic mist. According to the map, Rin was inside, as were Masha, Lazar, and Vash.

“Guess they’re going ahead with the surgery,” I remarked, watching as Istvan expertly disarmed a recruit with his wooden practice sword and gave him a couple of swats on the ass with it, to the amusement of the others standing around the sparring ring. “I hope Istvan can stay off the sauce while we’re gone.”

“I think he will, as long as we write back sometimes,” Karalti said. “He doesn’t like to drink, but he struggles with despair. He only does it when he feels hopeless… like there’s nothing left to live for.”

I arched an eyebrow, glancing across at her. “Look at you, being all grown up and insightful.”

“Of course. I’m as insightful as I am beautiful.” Karalti smugly flipped her hair back. “But I’ve only got thirty minutes on my spell timer left, so I’d better go take care of that before I change shape somewhere too small to handle the extent of my majesty.”

“You HAVE been eating a lot lately,” I teased. “Your majesty gets a little more extensive every day.”

“You’re one to talk,” she huffed. “I have to level a special skill just to carry your fat ass around.”

“You know what happens when you start making fun of the ducal hiney,” I said. “Do you really want to go down that path?”

Karalti hurrumphed. “MY hiney is sleek and properly plump for a dragon of my size. YOU eat too much bread.”

“This is your final warning before I follow you around everywhere you go, raving and twerking.”

“I should make you shake it for money in the Karhad Market.” She vaulted onto the railing of the walkway and made a face at me.

“That’d be one way to fill the treasury.” I grinned back.

Karalti stuck her tongue out, then dropped down to the next railing down. She bounced off it to the ground, breaking into a jog.

“Looks like all that agility training paid off.” I couldn’t help but feel a touch of pride, watching her move like that.

There was some housekeeping to do before we went anywhere. I went to my office, and was surprised to see my new Valet inside. He was tidying up: the place no longer had the shabby look of an abandoned room, and there was a silver tray with a cover waiting for me.

“Good morning, my lord,” Rudolf said. “I noticed you prefer to spend most of your time here, so I thought you might like to take your breakfast at your desk. If you prefer to eat elsewhere…?”

“Uh, no, the desk is fine. Thanks.” I shuffled in, feeling a little awkward. The last person to make food and insist on serving me had been my grandmother. “What’s on the menu?”

“Salt pork stew with eggs over rice,” he replied. “We still lack a lot of fresh produce, I’m afraid. The Volod’s food relief ought to arrive soon enough, and after that, we will have less homely fare.”

“‘Over rice’ is always going to win with me.” I plopped down and uncovered the dish, and sure enough, there was a heaped bowl of fluffy white rice with a fried egg, chives, and stew poured over the top. It smelled amazing. “You have no idea how glad I am to see really good rice again.”

“Oh?” Rudolf continued dusting. “Most noblemen would turn their noses up at such a humble grain. Steamed barley is usually more suited to the upper-class palate.”

“All the more for me, then.” I broke the egg and gathering up a spoonful of food. “My parents and grandparents always had a big rice cooker warm on the counter full of stuff called japgokbap.”

“Interesting name. Sounds like something you would find in Jeun. What were the ingredients?”

“At home? Small red beans, barley, some other grains mixed with rice. But you can throw any kind of grain in with it.” I broke out some of the pickles I’d bought at the market, dumping about half a bowl on it.

“I’ll be sure to pass that on to the kitchen. Livia may know how to make it,” Rudolf said. “Excuse me, my lord; I must go and clean the bathroom. And, my lord… in regards to the bathtub…?”

“It’s fine. I’ll scoop it out