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Summary
“Oh, the persimmons are out!” she says, and reaches for some on a passing tray. “Have you had one before?”
He has—Torlin had taken such pride in anything he possessed that no one else in the Gate could claim, and such fruit doesn’t grow naturally in places like this, all the rain and so little sun. He’d commissioned a spell to nurture the trees regardless, until late in the year when they’re finally pleasant to eat. But he tells her this will be his first, and she leans close to tell him more.
A thing of patience, and precision. Inedible for all the tannins, if you pluck one too soon, but exquisite if you wait, paying off in indulgent pleasure.
The first bite spills juice over his fingers, and Valas licks it off, slowly, glancing up. It’s perfectly sweet, and he finds Enver’s eye across the room as he takes his second bite.
Valas and Gortash go to a masquerade.
Series
- Part 8 of Even Horror Has a Home (Valas/Gortash)