Harper jerked her attention away from the headdress when the chief began speaking. Impressive and valuable it may be, it wasn’t important at the moment. She had seen their like in auction houses and as trophy pieces before. Material from the corpse of the Ebon King had been claimed by the colonies either through conquest or trade.

  Right now, she needed to focus on the proceedings. The chief spoke in Quilish, albeit with an accent she had some trouble parsing. After the greetings were exchanged, he motioned to the feast.

  “Friends, I invite you to eat with us. Our catches have been bountiful and our crops healthy. Let us share some of our wealth.”

  The efferans and some of the more experienced of the party moved to the food, picking up stake-like instruments from the side. Where are the bowls and plates? Or the silverware for that matter? she wondered.

  Harper watched as the participants walked up to the tarps of gathered food and stabbed into their choice pieces, sliding them to the bottom of the stake. They did this with their chosen foods until the stakes were filled. They then found a spot on the animal skins and sat down. The food was either picked off and eaten by hand or bitten out of directly.

  The experienced delegation members showed no hesitation in partaking and some even began chatting with the efferan elders. Ameila was one of those; she had quickly met with one of the female elders and they began speaking animatedly, in broken Quilish in the case of the elder.

  Quilish seemed to be the main language being spoken. Only the delegation's leader seemed to know the Uweyvi people’s language. She was speaking with the chief in solemn tones. One of the other elders approached but the chief waved him off.

  The young woman noticed that she was one of the last to not have gotten food and moved towards the tarps. Picking up one of the stakes, she slid on a few pieces of fish, fruits and vegetables that she was familiar with.

  They had a few varieties of aquatic produce. They were classic Canjorian fare. As far as she knew, they weren’t native to Vanax. Seeds must have been imported in and traded to the tribe. Only Canjor had developed freshwater plants that could bear food.

  Harper sat cross-legged in one of the emptier corners on what looked like a collection of seal skins. She looked at the staked food and lack of tableware with some distaste. Well, they are said to be quite uncivilized. I don’t know what else I expected.

  She took a bite of one of the Canjorian vegetables. It was a starchy root that was harvested from the riverbed, or in this case, the lakebed. The plant grew these fibrous roots underneath and wood-like branches above. They were called flumiculas, and they were known for their adaptable nature and fast growth, if not their taste.

  Harper took a bite, expecting a plain flavor. She almost spat it out when a rush of sweetness filled her mouth. It was not unpleasant, just surprising. Reinspecting the vegetable, she noticed the sprinkle of green and brown particles that coated it. Whatever they were, they drastically altered the flavor. It was like salt and pepper, only sweet rather than savory.

  In much less time than she was expecting, she had devoured half of her food. Some of those who were also trying the food for the first time blanched, the more experienced members watching knowingly. Not everyone was as delighted with the overload of sweetness the efferan spices brought.

  Harper had no such scruples. She had always enjoyed honeyed cakes and intense fruity wines. Perhaps too much. All the food, including the fish she had taken, were flavored in such a way. After finishing, she got another helping; the odd manner of eating forgotten.

  Partway through her meal, one of the efferans sat next to her. She was the young woman that Harper guessed was the chief’s daughter. Her skin color was unusual among the efferans. It was a greenish brown, still suited to the surrounding forest, but a noticeable darker shade than most of her kin.

  Harper guessed that one of her parents, her mother, if her assumption that the chief was her father was correct, had a tanner skin tone. The product of mixing those colors would make sense.

  The few with tan skin she noticed undoubtedly hailed from the deserts of the far north. They were not often seen these days. The desert tribes had taken the brunt of the first conflicts between the colonies and the efferans. Any that survived were pushed south, to join their brethren in the colder climates.

  The young woman had bright orange eyes and chestnut hair. She smiled and greeted Harper in surprisingly understandable Quilish.

  “Hello. My name is Adetvsga Daleyvsgi Mu. My common name means Diving Salamander in your language, you can call me that, or just Salamander if you wish. What is your name?”

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  Harper was extremely glad that she did not have to attempt to pronounce her name. Harper knew several languages, but none confounded her ears and tongue as the Uweyvi language was. She returned her greeting cautiously. “My name is Harper. Nice to meet you.” She held out her hand. The other woman looked at it in confusion for a moment before remembering something.

  “Ah yes, a handshake. I had forgotten; some of you greet with those.” She returned it with a firm grip. “Is this your first time eating with my people?” she inquired.

  Harper nodded. “Yes, it’s my first time seeing any of your people. I have only seen your species in illustrated books.”

  Salamander looked as though she was deliberating her word. “Illist- Ilistratud? What does that mean”

  Harper had momentarily forgotten that the other woman was not a native speaker, as her accent and grasp of the language was surprisingly good. “Ah, it means a drawing. A picture.”

  The efferan nodded in understanding. “I have not seen your species either. You look mostly like the others, but your hair is...” she paused, trying to think of the right word, “shiny.”

  She reached out for a moment, looking like she was going to touch her hair and Harper quickly leaned back.

  The young woman opposite her stopped and suddenly looked a bit stricken. “Apologies to you.” she stammered, tripping over her words a bit.

  Harper shifted back into place and relaxed. “It’s okay. I am not a different species than the others, not mostly anyways. I have an ancestor among the ranva.”

  At this, Salamander forgot her earlier blunder. “The ocean people? They have hair like this?”

  Harper nodded. “Yes, but more metallic than this.” Seeing her look of puzzlement and guessing the source, she tried to explain what she meant. Quickly realizing that she did not know how to describe metal, she gestured to her sword hilt, banging her knuckle against the metal part.

  Their conversation continued like that for a while. Harper ended up letting Salamander touch her hair in exchange for the efferan woman showing her claws. She agreed readily, flexing her hand. Harper watched with interest as the young woman’s fingernails slid out of her fingers. They were thicker than a human’s and looked solid at the base. They were somewhere between pale and yellow, much like a cat’s.

  Eventually, the chief called for her and she bid Harper farewell, indicating that they could talk more later. Harper quietly finished her meal and watched the gathered feasters. Once everyone had finished eating, they began the exchanges.

  Materials, weapons, tools, and other assorted items were unloaded from the rafts and brought into the unconventional building. Aether imbued items were taken out of aetherspaces where they were stored. Afterward, the efferans own trading goods were brought from the fortress above and loaded onto the rafts. Their goods were almost exclusively pelts and other creature parts of various quality. Freshwater animals of various types were by far the most common materials.

  Harper delivered the contents of her satchel directly to the chief. She learned that his name was Atasgia Equajisdvna Mu, though most of the expedition called him Bleeding Karkinos. It was a brief if somewhat intimidating encounter as the chief stared her down as she handed him her burdens, she being careful to not meet his eyes directly. Soon he turned his attention from her to the gathered delivery and muttered his thanks.

  Harper had a lot of practice remembering names, thanks to her training and brief visits to the King’s court. The young woman was able to do so even with the names from this bizarre foreign language. She noted that the chief and woman she had previously talked to were the only ones to share the surname “Mu,” all but confirming that they were father and daughter.

  Shortly after, most of the party was led up the staircase. They were given several rooms to rest in for the night. The rest areas were, to no one’s surprise, more animal furs. Harper wondered if they had to take measures to ensure the surrounding animal populations were not driven to extinction. She knew that the efferan people were prolific hunters, but she hadn’t realized it was to such a large degree and such an integral part of their culture.

  Some of the others headed back down to continue conversing with the efferan elders, but she and Amelia elected to call it an early night. They had both had the last watch during the previous night after the mountain lion attack and needed rest.

  It was surprisingly easy to fall asleep; the furs were comfortable, and the enclosed room let her pretend they were not inside an efferan village on a lake inside a building built atop a floating bahamut corpse.

  Harper woke up from a deep and peaceful sleep to a very unwelcome noise. Muffled shouting could be heard from below. Amelia stood above her and stared warily at the door. Once she noticed Harper had awoken, she motioned to Harper’s gear.

  “Grab your stuff. We aren’t in danger, but I don’t believe we are welcome here anymore. It's best if we join the others.”

  The other women in the room were in various states of getting ready. Harper was the last to wake. The older woman had said they weren’t in danger but the tension in her voice and the urgency of the others cast that statement into doubt. She jumped to it, putting on her outer clothes and belting on her weapons.

  After they were all ready, they left the room as a group, heading downstairs and joining the others. Most of the delegation was there, as well as most of the elders from the previous night.

  Amice Green, the delegation leader, was talking loudly in a placating tone with the chief. He seemed intent on arguing. The elders were loudly interjecting into the conversation from behind him. She wished she could understand a word any of them were saying.

  Salamander, his daughter, stood off to the side. Her hands were balled into fists and her glare could pause a tyrannus. Noticing the newcomers, she stared them down, one after another. Each looked down, avoiding her gaze. Until her eyes met Harper’s.

  Harper didn’t know why she didn’t look away. Perhaps it was the suddenness of the moment, or surprise that the friendly conversation partner from the day before was looking at her so aggressively. Perhaps it was an arrogance instilled in her by her birthright and skills. Perhaps it was a combination of these factors. Whatever the case, she met her gaze head on.

  The young efferan woman’s glare softened for a moment, but only for a moment. Her brows drew back together, and she yelled out. Harper couldn’t understand the words, but they held the air of a ritualistic challenge.

  Those arguing looked over. Some in concern, but most in annoyance. Only the delegate had a different expression. She looked... relieved.