Page 46 of Stars in Mist

With love in her eyes

A smile on her face

And peace in her arms

She brings a fine chair

And a beautiful tray stool

Engraved in silver and gold,

And the plates shining like the moon!

She dishes up for me

The sweetest of meals

With raisins, with spice.

She feeds me, putting morsels in my mouth

She sings soft and sweet.

While she pours wine from the pitcher

The grape juice effervesces

And she makes me drink it

Preparing for me sweetmeats from Timbuk

With sugared oranges from Ozi.

She folds it and puts it between my lips

With cardamoms and almonds.

And shows me a good place to rest,

Where I lay down my head

To think of all the ways

I can praise my lover,

My choice one, Inamorata.’

Silence fell as Ribau’s voice faded away.

Élisa quivered at the beauty of the words, which were like rain falling on a decades-dry desert basin.

She sniffed, hiding her reaction, not wanting to hand this man any victory.

Raising a skeptical brow, she kept her tone dispassionate. ‘It’s quite the poem, but it’s very one-sided, bordering on sexist. Where’s Inamorata’s refrain? What does he do for her?’

‘Even more, because he adores her. I’ll read youThe Inomoratitomorrow.’

She narrowed her eyes at him in mock disbelief. ‘I can’t wait.’

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