Page 298 of Blade of the Nightking

He found lamb. My favorite.

When was the last time we had meat?

My throat tightens, and I bite my lip to keep from crying. I'm ten years old and a Plague-Hunter now, just like him. And Plague-Hunters don't cry.

It isn't lamb after all, only mutton, the meat stringy and sparse, but I don't think I've ever tasted anything so wonderful. My stomach is fuller than it's been in months.

When we're finished eating, Father stands and reaches for the top shelf beside the hearth, the one that's still too high for me no matter how hard I stretch.

"One more thing."

He unwraps a faded checked kerchief with slow, careful fingers, the joints thicker now than they were a year ago.

Inside rests a single sweet.

Cloudy amber. Misshapen. Beautiful.

Papa’s smiling again. "Go on."

"Is... is that… honey?"

"It is."

I've never had honey all my life. I've never seen it.

I lift it carefully between shaking fingers. Warm and sticky from the fire, it glows from within like a tiny piece of captured sunlight.

"Can we share it?"

"Absolutely not."

"Please?"

"It's your birthday, Elowen."

"Please?"

He sighs so dramatically I burst into giggles.

He cuts it in half with a paring knife.

He takes the smaller piece.

We count to three, poised to pop it into our mouths at the same time. His hazel eyes crinkle at the corners, flecks of green and gold sparkling with excitement. I barely recognize him like this. Lately he's always so serious. Ever since I started helping him with the Infected, he hardly smiles anymore.

But right now…

Right now, he's just Papa.

The moment the honey touches my tongue, my eyes close. It's sweeter than anything I've ever imagined.

"Well?" Father asks.

I can only nod.

He throws his head back with an exaggerated groan and slaps his knee. "Terrible."

"Papa!"