A Conversation Sparked by a Bowl of Fish Soup

"Thick stew, roast meat, fried skewers, pies made with ferocious wild fish from four star systems away or fruit grown on local estates—"

Fulgrim smiled, placing both hands on the smooth white tabletop. "What would you like to eat, esteemed Grand Inquisitor, having come all this way?"

Seated in a chair far too large for him, Kael Lohars did not know how to answer for a moment. At last, he understood this feeling—and naturally felt embarrassed by it.

Strictly speaking, though, what truly gave rise to that emotion was not Fulgrim's current question, but rather a series of events that had occurred shortly before.

For instance, the Emperor's Children's stiff postures after that hug he did not wish to recall. Or the Phoenix's gloomy expression when Kael had finally touched down, immediately pulled out his data-slate, and intended to handle matters officially.

There had also been that nearly imperceptible laugh after Ra removed his helmet—an especially interesting matter, since it had not sounded like him at all.

Combined with the subtle gesture Ra had made several seconds later, Kael immediately guessed the true identity of the culprit. But he had no time to dwell on it now.

He had to answer Fulgrim's question quickly.

"Anything is fine," Kael said cautiously.

"Anything is fine? I do not consider that an answer, honored guest—you must show some respect for the chef who is about to prepare a delicious meal for you, all right? Instead of throwing the all-important decision of what to eat back at him, giving the chef one more thing to consider after millions of others."

Fulgrim narrowed his eyes, raised his right hand, and drew a long, narrow kitchen knife from the knife rack atop a nearby marble counter. He held it between his index finger and thumb, lightly