Series: Charmaine Pauls
Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Ew. I hope she doesn’t mean that literally.
She removes the woven basket covers from the stone platters one by one, releasing delicious aromas that waft into the space with ribbons of steam.
On cue, my stomach growls.
Now that I’m no longer permanently nauseated, my appetite is back with a vengeance. Those lizards—the Phaelix—fed me not so long ago. Or maybe it was days ago. I have no idea how long I’ve been out.
“How long have I been unconscious?” I ask.
“Just a few hours. It was necessary for you to recover.” Gaia drops her gaze to the sheet that I tug awkwardly around myself. “My brother has already sent for clothes. We’ll get you out of that bedsheet soon. But first, you must eat. Aruan was most adamant about that.” Sitting down opposite me, she motions at the spread on the table. “You can try a bit of everything and tell me which dishes you prefer. Aruan will order those in the future and avoid the ones you don’t like.” She reaches over the table, picks up a small, forked spike, and hands it to me. “Use this. You don’t want to burn your fingers.”
I study the weird utensil before spearing a bright pink, juicy cube that looks like the meat of a fruit or vegetable. Chewing slowly, I enjoy the crunchy texture and sweetness that explodes on my tongue.
Yum.
It tastes like a cross between a strawberry and lychee.
The second cube I try, which is bright yellow, tastes like salty licorice.
I pull a face, at which Gaia giggles.
“That’s sagi,” she says. “It’s a rare fruit that grows in the salty moors of the northern kingdom. By the look on your face, this one is definitely off the list.” Pushing a dish with green, spongy stew toward me, she says, “Try this one. It’s a local specialty.”
I’m doubtful as I take a bite. The color and consistency aren’t promising, but I’m pleasantly surprised by the rich, meaty flavor.
“It’s a stew made with the flowers and succulent leaves of water lilies.” Gaia leans her elbow on the table and rests her chin on her palm. “They grow wild on the lakes, but it’s difficult to harvest them because the dragons lay their eggs in that area. Men will risk their lives for a bag of pond lilies. That’s why the flowers are worth their weight in black opal, the most precious stone on Zerra.”
I eat a few more bites of the stew to show my gratitude for the expensive meal before trying a little of everything. My favorite dish is the paper-thin, butter-yellow flowers deep-fried in a thin batter, which Gaia tells me are yitaki.
When I assure her that I can’t eat another bite, she pulls the carafe closer and pours a goblet full of golden liquid.
“It’s honey wine.” She hands it to me. “It will refresh you.”
Feeling thirsty, I down the whole goblet in one go. The wine is quite sugary, so I refill my goblet with water from a terracotta jar and drink that too.
“Now for the important part,” she says, clapping her hands as she stands.
“Wait.” When she pauses to look at me, I continue quickly, “I was hoping you could tell me more about this place.”
“About Zerra?”
“Yes.” I nod vigorously. “And about how your powers work. For example, how did your brother manage to heal me? Oh, hold on. You must have a power too, right? What’s your power?”
“My specialty is creating portals.”
I sit up straighter. That may be my ticket out of here. “Portals to Earth?”
“You’re out of luck,” she says, crushing my hope with a rueful smile. “That requires a much stronger power than mine. I can open and close portals repeatedly but not across worlds. That’s how Aruan found you. The minute he sensed your presence on Zerra, he made me open portals until we discovered the right one.”
“Oh.” I sink back in my seat. “Who can open a portal to Earth?” Or is it done via a technology of some kind?
“I’m afraid your questions will have to wait. We’d better get started, or we’ll be late.”
“Late for what?”
Our exchange is interrupted when four women enter the bedroom with decorative boxes in their arms. The hems of their long gauzy dresses sweep their flat sandals. The one in the back of the line carries a shimmery gown that she lays out on the trunk while the others put the boxes on a rectangular slab of shiny black stone next to the part of the wall that shines like a mirror.
“Come.” Gaia takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s make you pretty.”
“For what?” I ask again, starting to feel a bit drowsy from all the food.
She guides me toward the boxes from which the women are retrieving decanters of oils, pots of creams, and gemstone-encrusted brushes. “For the banquet.”