Page 5 of Sanctuary and Spices

“Did you hear about the new artifacts they found in the Ilexis Ring?” “...trading routes through the Veythar Reach are getting dangerous again...” “...swear the food here tastes better than anywhere else in the Veil...”

A wave of exhaustion hit me. Even after crashing for a few hours on the transport, my body was still fighting the aftermath of those stim patches. I swayed slightly.

“You should eat something now.” Ronhar’s voice came from behind me, low and steady. “The breakfast rush won’t start for another hour.”

“I’m fine.” The lie felt hollow even to me.

“Sit.” Soryn pointed to a stool by the prep counter. “Before you fall down in my kitchen.”

My kitchen training warred with my pride. In the end, fatigue won. I sank onto the stool, watching as Soryn worked the flame grill with practiced ease. The scents of actual cooking filled the air—no molecular gastronomy, no perfect foams or spherified sauces. Just real food, cooked with fire and skill.

My eyes drifted to the garden, where Ronhar had returned to tending his plants. His movements were precise but gentle, each touch careful and deliberate. The plants seemed to lean toward him, responding to something I couldn’t quite see but could feel in the air—an energy that hummed just below normal perception.

My gaze lingered, catching on the way the morning light played across his markings, highlighting the glow that moved in rhythm with his careful gestures. I couldn’t decide if it was his connection to the plants or something else entirely, but for a moment, I couldn’t look away.

What had I gotten myself into?

RONHAR

The human woman perched on the stool, clearly fatigued, but her movements hinted at resilience rather than weariness. She brushed a strand of hair from her face, her fingers lingering on the edge of her cup as if grounding herself in its warmth.

I moved deeper into the garden, giving her space while I focused on the morning’s tasks. TheJhyrashifted in their cycle, petals closing as the station’s artificial dawn brightened. Change was always delicate, whether with plants or people, and I’d learned not to rush it.

“You’ll need fresh herbs for that,” I called through the open doorway as Soryn worked at the grill. Yesterday’s batch was perfectly usable, but the fresher cut would better highlight the breakfast special’s flavors.

The herbs near the kitchen window stretched slightly toward Jani, their reaction unusually pronounced. Interesting. I’d seen plants react to energy before, but this felt... different. I paused briefly, studying her. Despite her fatigue, there was an undeniable presence about her—a grounded strength that seemed to ripple outward, even when she sat still.

“Don’t hover in the doorway,” Soryn muttered as I approached. “Either help or go back to your plants.”

Jani’s head dipped forward before she caught herself. My hands tightened briefly on the doorframe as I recognized the stubborn pride keeping her upright.

“I heard about theCelestial Crown,” a customer whispered just beyond the dining room. “Some chef lost it during a diplomatic dinner.”

“Really?” their companion leaned closer. “What happened?”

I shut the door, more for privacy than protection. The click of the latch made Jani flinch slightly.

“Your tea’s getting cold,” I said, my tone softer.

She wrapped her hands around the cup but didn’t drink, her fingers steadying as they rested against the porcelain. She was looking for her footing, that much was clear. And I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of... what? Admiration? Sympathy? Maybe both.

A pot clattered in the sink, and Soryn shot me a pointed look over her head.Do something.But pushing rarely helped in moments like these.

The herbs in the window box rustled again, responding to her energy with uncanny enthusiasm. Plants rarely reacted that way unless...

“You’re burning the edge,” Jani murmured suddenly.

Soryn’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“The protein. The heat’s uneven on the left side.” Her words were measured but precise, her exhaustion no match for her instincts. Soryn adjusted the flame, and the faint scent of charring faded almost instantly.

“Good eye,” Soryn admitted, plating the food. “Now eat.”

She hesitated, staring at the plate like it was a challenge. Professional pride and necessity squared off visibly in her posture. Before she could decide, I brushed past the windowbox, letting the familiar scent of the herbs ground me as I added, “The food here is real. No molecular tricks. No pretense. Just...”

“Life,” she finished, her voice soft but steady.

Her fork hesitated over the plate before she finally took a bite. I returned to the garden, giving her privacy for that first taste. The quiet hum of satisfaction that followed confirmed Soryn’s cooking had worked its magic once again.

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