It hadn't occurred to Onainat that Captain Ulbarich hadn't spoken at all. How could she have missed something like that? The note he'd written at the castle was strange, but something she passed off as an attempt to be discreet in the face of the Prince's lacking hospitality. His silence never seemed like an uncomfortable thing; he wore the absence of sound as if it were part of him. Maybe that was why she hadn't thought to listen for his voice...
Onainat let the conversation rest between the two of them. Her curiosity was contented enough with her listening to what they were saying. Vedette knew Ulbarich somehow, though she never said how. Onainat was perfectly content to focus on her drink and her soup as Vedette sought her answers. It was always a great pleasure to eat soup that actually tasted like soup. Her soup never came out quite right. Her favorite kind of soups were always ones that had meat -- soft, thinly sliced red meat that had been cooked with carrots and celery and potatoes. Onainat found soup to be the best comfort in the world against cold. Even in the summer months she could find herself eating soup as she dried her clothes and skin from a bad rainstorm.
Onainat wondered, as she sat there slurping soup and pushing at her tankard with her free fingers, how a person could stay silent for many hours. She had met holy men who did that and tested their oaths by trying to surprise them -- which always made for a fun time, but proved their discipline in the end. Onainat supposed discipline or necessity was what such ability came down to. She couldn't have that sort of discipline. If she couldn't sing or shout or simply cause mischief with words, she wasn't quite sure what she'd do with herself. She was lost as it was in a world where she loosed her voice all the time.
The Captain must have had a fascinating story.
She dipped a piece of bread in her soup and ate it quickly. She was eating like a gypsy. Or a very fat man. Oh well. Who knew when she would get such good meals again?