![]() Polyam was very carefully staring at the table. “I really shouldn’t,” she said, as good manners dictated. At last the girl took up the threadbare linen napkin Polyam had supplied and spread it over her crossed legs. If Polyam saw emotion, she would know that Daja was sensitive about Trader food, and she would have the advantage when they bargained. Looking at her knees, she bit down on her lower lip until she had beaten the urge to cry. ![]() All were traditional foods among Traders, in caravans and ships alike, and Daja had not tasted any of them in months. Last but not least, she saw almond and orange cakes. ![]() The plates were laden with things like cold vine leaves stuffed with rice, onion, garlic, and mint, tiny pickled onions, pastries filled with chicken or eggplant and spices, apricots stuffed with almond-rosewater paste, and small fruit tartlets. “Talk needs food, or the talkers weaken.” She took lids from the dishes, putting them aside. ![]()
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