Page 29 of Prince of the Sun

“You’ll thank me later.” He digs out another handful of pecans and offers them to us. Cara picks one out and tosses it into her mouth. Daerios does too. “Kallister?” Berendir asks, stretching his palm out to me.

“I’m good.”

The three of them exchange glances.Stubborn Quinn.

“You know what?” I drain the rest of myniruwith one gulp. “I will have a pecan.” I plunge my hand into Berendir’s pocket and dig out a handful. I shove them into my mouth all at once. “Yummy,” I say, the word mushy and garbled.

Daerios looks at me like I’ve gone insane. And maybe I have. What else would explain my presence here, in the very belly of the beast I so despise? What would explain the lightness, the fizzing at the pit of my stomach, a feeling at once familiar and foreign, one that feels oddly like days on the playground, nights on our bikes in the back streets, running about the backstreets of small-town Minnesota with Michael, before he was—

I squeeze my empty cup twice and say, “Excuse me. I need another.”

Before I can escape to the nearest bar, Daerios grabs my arm. I flinch away, but he holds fast. “What are you doing?” I demand.

“A fistful of pecans isn’t enough,” he says. “If we’re going to drink, we need to eat too.”

“I told you, I already—”

“I. Don’t. Believe you.”

I glare at him. He glares at me. The sugar dances atop my tongue. The niru shimmers at the edges of my vision. We’ve reached an impasse—Daerios has thrown down a challenge, the same way I did on the bus ride here. And maybe it’s the wine. Maybe my inhibitions are lowered. But the fear that clutched at my chest earlier when I thought about eating—it’s quiet. Subdued. A mere whisper compared to the voice telling me todo this.To pick his challenge up and shove it somewhere that hurts.

One slice ofvaaskawon’t kill me.

“Fine.” I rip my arm away from him and gesture to the tables. “Lead the way.”

When we reach the table, I fiddle with the hem of my skirt. Even though I put on a brave face, I’m still nervous to eat. I’m not even entirely sure why. Am I having a worse flare-up than I realized? Or is it because the food is elvish?

That would be silly—it’s made of Earthly ingredients, after all, nothing from Elaërion—but not necessarily surprising. It’s the principle of the thing. It’s what the food represents. PuttinganythingElvish into my body?

The idea has always made me sick.

But as I survey the table, an idea occurs to me. “You know what?” I say, turning to Daerios. “Let’s play a game.”

“A game?” The edge of Daerios’s mouth quirks up. “I like games.”

“These are the rules.” I pick up a slice ofvaaska—a nutrient-dense flatbread sprinkled with thyme and sea salt—and hold it before him.“For every bite I take, you answer one of my questions.”

His lips purse. He doesn’t like this idea. Of course, he doesn’t. What notoriously secretive creature wants to play question-and-answer? But something tells me that the ale is working its magic, and that his competitive side will win out.

I’m right.

“All right.” He gestures to my hand. “Go right ahead.”

I look down at the vaaska. Crumbs and bits of dried thyme have fallen off, into my cupped palm. In every one, I see a glimmer of the species I detest. The beings who severed half my family away.

I take a deep breath. I lift the vaaska toward my mouth and take one tentative bite.

Whoa. For being little more than a slice of bread, the vaaska is delicious. It tastes homey, like something that’s just come out of a wood-fired oven.

I swallow and look up at Daerios. “My turn.”

“Fire away.”

I start with an easy one. “Why did you check out the linguistics book every morning if you never even used it?”

At least, Ithoughtit would be easy. But Daerios looks away, his already shuttered expression growing even more closed off. “New question,” he says.

“Oh, come on. Just answer the—”