Radeon looked out through the tent at the miners gathered beyond, bodies packed close, ears tilted toward every sound.
He let his qi carry the smell of broth and herbs out into the camp.
Back when he had been an emperor, he read demographic reports the way other men read weather. Miners were efficient workers.
At work they ate what could be chewed fast. Boiled meat if they were lucky, a loaf of bread if they were not, then water to force it down.
A real meal was for feast days and days off. Luxury was something you remembered, not something you expected.
Radeon took a small bowl and ate where Fay could see. The clay pot was deliberately large. Fay understood. He wanted the people to taste.
He stepped outside. He could feel the eyes on him at once, ten thousand little measures taking his shape, his posture, his hands.
He called Biscuit over and told him to have a taste, quiet and direct.
