Two-
Dragaera, Godslayer
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"I'll have an eithnar-berry tart," I told him.

"With leaf?"

I just looked at him until he shrugged and turned away, flicking an eithnar leaf off the pile on the back counter and laying it out. Eithnar-berry tarts are sold wrapped in their own leaves to keep the sticky stuff off your fingers; the leaves are painted with mint-infused chirash, so that when you lick the jam off the leaf afterwards you get a nice blast of mint to freshen your breath and a slight rush.

The pastry chef finished painting the chirash onto the leaf and wrapped the tart in it, folding it over neatly four times before holding it out to me. I took it and waited expectantly. He looked away and didn't say anything else, so after a moment I shrugged and left with my tart.

Well? I thought as I left the shop, peeling back the leaf.

Nothing yet, my familiar sent back. Relax. You'd think you were impatient or something, boss.

Leaning against the wall of the old fur trade building I took a big bite of my tart, and it wasn't until that honey-sweet taste hit my tongue that I remembered that I don't like eithnar berries or the gooey tarts made from them.

I pulled the tart away from my mouth and stared down at it, confused. Why had I asked for this? Why was I eating it?

After a moment I realized that my hip felt sheepish. And if you think that's weird, you should try realizing that your hip wants you to take another bite.

"A moment on the lips," I muttered, and forced myself to let Lady Teldra have another bite.