The Desert Prince by Peter V. Brett

Author:Peter V. Brett [Brett, Peter V.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2021-08-03T00:00:00+00:00

30

GREENBLOODS

I smell the cookpots as we return to the barracks at dawn, but it isn’t gruel Tikka has over the fires. I inhale, and my dry mouth begins to water.

“You did the work of men last night,” Chikga says, “and so you will eat like men. Soft couscous, piled with vegetables and spiced meat dripping with fat, as much as you can eat.”

There is a moment of stunned hesitation, and then we are all hurrying to take a bowl, with the swiftest feet determining order, rather than rank. For perhaps the first time in his life, Faseek eats first.

“There will be no family visits today,” Chikga announces. “It will be back to the walltops tonight. For now, eat and sleep. Those who wish a few hours of liberty can leave the grounds this afternoon.”

Tikka fills my bowl, thrusting a pair of eating sticks to stand upright in the couscous. The sticks remind me of home, of Krasian Studies and Micha’s cooking. I pick them up expertly, taking a precise portion of couscous and bringing it to my mouth without spilling a grain.

The flavor is like nothing I’ve ever tasted. Perhaps the weeks of gruel play a part, but the food seems to come alive in my mouth, salt and fat and filling starch, rich with hava. I take a bit of meat, lifting it to take a delicate bite.

“You won’t do your princess reputation any good eating like that,” Chadan says, coming to join me. I look around and see he’s right. The other boys hold the tilted bowls right to their lips, using the sticks to simply shovel the food into their mouths.

Chadan smiles, deftly spinning the sticks in his hand before lifting his own bowl to his lips and using them like a blunt instrument. I’m so hungry I don’t argue, joining the others in savaging the meal.

Gorvan is the first to finish his bowl. The burly boy could break Tikka in half, but he approaches her as warily as he would a sand demon. We all watch, half expecting such largesse to be snatched away, but when Tikka wordlessly refills his bowl, a second line quickly forms.

We retreat inside as the sun begins to heat the yard. My mind is still racing with the events of the previous night. The air is already warming as I lie on the stone floor. I think sleep will be difficult to find, but I am so tired, and my belly so blessedly full, that it comes as soon as I rest my head on my arms.

In my dreams, I again see the sand demon turn its head to stare at me in recognition. This time I flee, racing along the walltops, but the coreling gives chase, calling my name.

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