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I approach him, still seething beside the table, and pick up a piece of cheese. Then, as if demonstrating the appeal, I hold the cheese up elaborately, moving it into my mouth, and chewing it. It is pungent to the senses at first, but the texture is sublimely smooth, and it leaves the strong, acidic taste of frisse in my mouth.
I swallow it with satisfaction, then move the platter toward him.
“I know it smells weird,” I tell him. “But please try a piece.”
He shakes his head. His imitations of civilized behavior are improving.
“You couldn’t force me to eat that,” he says.
I look at him pleadingly, attempting to convey the gravity of the situation.
“You haven’t eaten in hours,” I say. “With how much energy you just exhausted, you’ve got to eat something, or you’re going to burn out.”
He growls, and I can see him starting to chuckle. I instantly know what thought has crossed his mind, because he’s mentioned it at least once.
“And our host is not on the table. I know he can be a bit abrasive, but you are not allowed to eat him.”
“Surely if I take a little nibble, nobody will notice?” he prods me. “Just a little bit off the shoulder?”
“Out of the question,” I say, holding the platter even closer to him.
He grumbles, taking a piece of cheese from the platter.
“Fine,” he says. He takes a piece, moving it to his mouth. Then I see him recoil, as though suppressing the urge to vomit.
He collects himself once more, moving the cheese quickly to his mouth and swallowing it in one swift motion.
Zyranth acts as if he’s swallowed something tremendously unpleasant.
“It tastes weird,” he says, doubled over.
I am reminded of some of the more disagreeable dark elf children I’ve seen, who strayed too close to the Dark Market, loudly protesting as their parents handed them bowls of fortisia from merchant stalls.
“No, it doesn’t,” I correct him. “Now eat. For your own good.”
He snarls at me before stuffing several pieces of cheese into his mouth at once.
“No, you’ve got to savor…” I stop myself, ultimately just glad that he’s eating now. He scowls at me, as though daring me to continue.
“Never mind,” I say.
Almost immediately, he devours the contents of the platter. I feel a sense of relief, glad that his hunger has been satisfied. I plop down on the canopy bed, briefly closing my eyes.
And then I hear his stomach gurgling loudly, demanding his next source of sustenance.
“You’re still hungry,” I say, my eyes opening back up to look at the cloth canopy overhead.
“Of course, I’m still hungry,” he growls. “That was barely an appetizer.”
I shake my head, sighing. I can feel days of filth catching up to me. I could complain for hours about the conditions in the Dark Market, but at least regular baths were on the itinerary.
Then a wicked thought crosses my mind.
I might not know how to appease his seemingly endless hunger, but at the very least, I can distract him from it.
The magically heated clawfoot tub in the adjacent room beckons me. Lifting my legs up and throwing myself forward, I step to my feet.
I catch his eye, a mischievous grin spreading across my face.
