guinea fowl roasted and then stewed in spicy gravy—she was thoroughly confused. From what she could tell so far, the Kai royal chefs were superior cooks and the food outstanding. She could grow fat on such tasty meals.
The fifth and final tray proved how terribly wrong her assumptions were. Brishen lifted the lid with a flourish, revealing a dinner pie large enough to feed two people. The savory smoke rising from its top teased Ildiko’s nose with the scents of herbs and pepper. The crust was perfectly golden and buttery with a braided edge and fanciful dough cut-outs that revealed the cook was as much artist as baker. Her mouth watered in anticipation of cutting into it.
And then the pie breathed.
Ildiko gasped and half rose from her seat, her sanap tumbling to the floor. “My gods, did you see that?”
Brishen’s stoic expression didn’t change, and he motioned for her to sit down. “You can’t run from this one, Ildiko. It’s served at every high feast and celebration. A delicacy among the Kai. It’s a surety we’ll be served one later. Newly married couples share it as a symbol of fortune and prosperity in the marriage.”
Ildiko did as he bid and sat but scooted her chair a little further away from the table. “What is in that pie?” Whatever it was, it was still alive. Fortune and prosperity be damned. Her throat closed up in protest at the thought of having to swallow something alive and still wriggling.
Brishen picked up his dagger. “Watch closely because at some point, you’ll have to do this yourself.” He stared at the pie, as focused as a hawk on a branch watching a mouse in the field below it. The pie’s crust rippled, creating cracks across its smooth surface. A black spine poked through the crust, and Brishen pounced.
He slammed the knifepoint into the pie hard enough to make the plates bounce on the table and splash wine from the goblets. An insectile screech pierced the quiet. Brishen twisted the knife. It made a cracking noise, and the pie abruptly ruptured, sending pieces of crust splattered in a black slime across the table.
This time Ildiko leapt over her chair to crouch behind it, wide-eyed and horrified as Brishen pried his knife out of the destroyed pie. It came free with a sucking sound, revealing a twitching scarpatine impaled on the knife’s point. Ildiko clapped a hand over her mouth and prayed she wouldn’t be sick.
Brishen placed the scarpatine on his plate, careful to avoid the venomous barb on the end of its lashing tail. The knife had pierced the creature’s hard shell to hold it in place. Brishen lifted a second knife and made short work of chopping off the lethal tail and then the head with its multiple eye stalks and curved fangs. What remained were the claws and the thick body of the carcass.
Brishen cracked the rest of the shell in the same way Ildiko had watched sailors split the shells of lobsters. He peeled back the segments, exposing gray flesh. He sliced that away from the main body, leaving a layer of thick, yellow fat and a mottled black vein that ran down its center. Below that, another layer of the gray flesh.
Ildiko slowly stood and watched as Brishen placed the first layer of scarpatine meat on her plate and spooned some of the oily dark liquid over it. He scraped away the fat layer and the vein and carved out the rest of the flesh from the shell to put on his plate.
He started and completed the process without once looking at her. Brishen’s focus shifted to Ildiko finally, and his voice held both sympathy and a kind of dark humor. “I’m glad you wore black, wife. No one will see the stains.”
She stared at him, sitting calmly amongst the ruin of exploded pie and the remains of dead and gutted scarpatine. Her serving of the Kai delicacy sat on her plate, a pale gray slab glossy with a black ooze that dribbled down the sides. It twitched once.
Ildiko’s stomach went
The fifth and final tray proved how terribly wrong her assumptions were. Brishen lifted the lid with a flourish, revealing a dinner pie large enough to feed two people. The savory smoke rising from its top teased Ildiko’s nose with the scents of herbs and pepper. The crust was perfectly golden and buttery with a braided edge and fanciful dough cut-outs that revealed the cook was as much artist as baker. Her mouth watered in anticipation of cutting into it.
And then the pie breathed.
Ildiko gasped and half rose from her seat, her sanap tumbling to the floor. “My gods, did you see that?”
Brishen’s stoic expression didn’t change, and he motioned for her to sit down. “You can’t run from this one, Ildiko. It’s served at every high feast and celebration. A delicacy among the Kai. It’s a surety we’ll be served one later. Newly married couples share it as a symbol of fortune and prosperity in the marriage.”
Ildiko did as he bid and sat but scooted her chair a little further away from the table. “What is in that pie?” Whatever it was, it was still alive. Fortune and prosperity be damned. Her throat closed up in protest at the thought of having to swallow something alive and still wriggling.
Brishen picked up his dagger. “Watch closely because at some point, you’ll have to do this yourself.” He stared at the pie, as focused as a hawk on a branch watching a mouse in the field below it. The pie’s crust rippled, creating cracks across its smooth surface. A black spine poked through the crust, and Brishen pounced.
He slammed the knifepoint into the pie hard enough to make the plates bounce on the table and splash wine from the goblets. An insectile screech pierced the quiet. Brishen twisted the knife. It made a cracking noise, and the pie abruptly ruptured, sending pieces of crust splattered in a black slime across the table.
This time Ildiko leapt over her chair to crouch behind it, wide-eyed and horrified as Brishen pried his knife out of the destroyed pie. It came free with a sucking sound, revealing a twitching scarpatine impaled on the knife’s point. Ildiko clapped a hand over her mouth and prayed she wouldn’t be sick.
Brishen placed the scarpatine on his plate, careful to avoid the venomous barb on the end of its lashing tail. The knife had pierced the creature’s hard shell to hold it in place. Brishen lifted a second knife and made short work of chopping off the lethal tail and then the head with its multiple eye stalks and curved fangs. What remained were the claws and the thick body of the carcass.
Brishen cracked the rest of the shell in the same way Ildiko had watched sailors split the shells of lobsters. He peeled back the segments, exposing gray flesh. He sliced that away from the main body, leaving a layer of thick, yellow fat and a mottled black vein that ran down its center. Below that, another layer of the gray flesh.
Ildiko slowly stood and watched as Brishen placed the first layer of scarpatine meat on her plate and spooned some of the oily dark liquid over it. He scraped away the fat layer and the vein and carved out the rest of the flesh from the shell to put on his plate.
He started and completed the process without once looking at her. Brishen’s focus shifted to Ildiko finally, and his voice held both sympathy and a kind of dark humor. “I’m glad you wore black, wife. No one will see the stains.”
She stared at him, sitting calmly amongst the ruin of exploded pie and the remains of dead and gutted scarpatine. Her serving of the Kai delicacy sat on her plate, a pale gray slab glossy with a black ooze that dribbled down the sides. It twitched once.
Ildiko’s stomach went
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