Emperor's Edge Republic by Lindsay Buroker

look like I need it?” Evrial plopped down in the opposite chair.
    “Your father looked like he needed it. But he left before I could offer him a glass.”
    Evrial picked up a spoon and stirred and prodded her soup.
    “Where did he go?” Maldynado asked. “And your surly brother? Is that the same one who greeted Amaranthe with a crossbow once?”
    “No, that was Mevlar. This was Sovric. He’s actually my favorite brother.” Her face had grown glummer than a rainstorm.
    Maldynado searched for words that might cheer her up. “You should try your soup. It’s good.” He supposed he should take a sip before making such claims.
    “I will.” Evrial continued to prod. “They’re going to stay with smithing friends of my father’s, since we don’t have room, and because...”
    “I’m here?”
    She grunted, not taking her eyes from the soup bowl.
    “Did you tell them about me beforehand?” Maldynado asked. “Or was I... unexpected?”
    “Your dress state was unexpected.” A fleeting smile touched her lips. “But if they’d warned me they were coming, I could have warned you. Not that you necessarily would have changed anything about your introduction.”
    “I would too have. I would have set four places at the table instead of two. And donned my apron.”
    “ Just the apron?” Evrial asked.
    “You told me I looked good in it.”
    “I believe what I said was that only you could manage to look good in a red rooster apron with real chicken feather fringes.”
    “Exactly,” Maldynado said.
    The smile flashed by again, but she didn’t lift her eyes from the soup. Though he had worked hard at the meal, he doubted it was that engrossing.
    “Anything I can do to get your family to approve of me?” Maldynado asked. “Besides wearing clothes?”
    “Don’t worry about them. You are who you are. You don’t have to change yourself for them.”
    “That’s a no, eh? They’ve already got their minds made up?”
    “They like... solid, working class men, not those who were born into a gilded lifestyle.”
    “If it helps, Starcrest and his progressives are doing their best to strip the warrior caste of its influence. Pretty soon, we’ll be nothing more than pretty faces with pretty surnames.”
    Evrial squinted at something in her bowl, or maybe at something in her mind. “Nobody’s taking your land or money, or even your right to vote or hold office. All that’s changed is that everyone else has a right to vote and hold office now too.”
    “Yes, Books is probably gloating from the spirit world. Meanwhile, the entire warrior caste is aghast and quite certain the nation’s doom is written in the stars.”
    “Maldynado?”
    “Yes?”
    “Why are there grass clippings in the soup?”
    “That’s lemongrass. It’s an imported delicacy. I had to schmooze a lot of grocers to get a free sample.”
    Evrial considered her spoon dubiously. “Isn’t this chicken soup?”
    “Yes, a recipe straight from Lady Stoatcrest’s Gastronomy Guide for Finishing School Pupils .” Maldynado tapped his jaw. “Have you ever noticed that most cookbooks in the empire aren’t designed with the male chef in mind?”
    “Perhaps that lack could explain the poor rations soldiers are always complaining about.” Evrial braced herself, then took a sip of the soup. “Out of curiosity, would you ever find life in the bucolic countryside appealing?”
    “Is this about that promotion you were offered that you didn’t mention to me?”
    “Maybe.”
    Maldynado tried to imagine himself moving to that tiny, tiny village Evrial’s family lived in. What did people do there? One could only have sex so many times a day; after that, there had to be eating houses, taverns, theaters, baths, and gymnasiums to visit. “I thought your association with us had... soured your superiors on you over there,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t notice that he had avoided answering her question.
    “It had, but the captain and lieutenant have both