Page 23 of Wayfinder
I let my hand travel from her wrist to her shoulder in a comforting gesture. “When my Vaktaire brethren rescued your friends, we discovered what we suspect is a plot by Duke Ako’s son Nansar against humans.”
“What kind of plot?” The flicker of fear that crossed her face made me want to find Nansar and rip him limb from limb.
“We do not know yet. All we have are smaller pieces to a bigger puzzle.”
“And you think rigging the contest is part of the puzzle? Not just Baron Oappo cheating to win the wager?”
“I do. That’s why you can’t quit. We need to find out what’s going on, and the best way to do that is to pretend we haven’t discovered the tampering.”
“I’ve never cheated in my life,” Pearl grumbled, casting a side eye around the landscape like she expected to find someone listening.
I suspected we were being watched as well. But thankfully the type of drone the Chancellor might use was only good for visual surveillance at a distance.
“You’re not cheating now,” I reassured her, watching the corner of her full lips tick faintly upward. “Think of it more like spying.”
“Well, now you’ve got me,” she chuckled. I felt the tension leave her in an exhale. “I always loved James Bond. Fine. I’ll keep on with the contest.”
I bristled at her words. Who exactly was thisJames Bond,and why did her mention of him make me feel... jealous?
Our eyes met and locked, faltering only when we both realized how my fingers moved up and down her arm in a slow massage. A deep pink blush crept upon Pearl’s cheeks, and she pulled away awkwardly, turning her attention to the struzzi.
“We better head back to the skiff,” I said, to break the silence. My voice was thick, hard to push past the lump in my throat.
Pearl glanced at the bird. “Okay. I think I have what I need.” She picked up a hank of meat, studying the striations of fat within the flesh before relegating it to the pack.
“Do you know what you will cook?” I asked, not wanting silence to linger between us. The absence of sound felt strangely promising, as if a single word could change the course of... everything.
Pearl shrugged, relegating a cut of meat to the discard pile. “It’s an alien chicken. With all the vegetables we found yesterday, I think I’ll go with my tried-and-true Coq au Vin.”
Great.
My stomach rolled queasily. I glanced at the bird, then back at Pearl, realizing she didn’t have the precise cut of meat needed for the dish.
While Pearl packed away the rest of our supplies, I kicked the struzzi onto its back. It took me a few minutes. I wasn’t the universal expert on struzzi sex organs, but I found the bird’s member hidden in a pouch between its legs. With a grunt of disgust, I reached inside, extending the flaccid length and lopping it off with my blade.
“Here, you will need this.” I tossed the cock atop the pile of meat Pearl was wrapping.
Her gaze darted downwards, widening in shock before a blood-curdling screech escaped her lips. Her body jolted backward, and she landed with a thud on the ground, her backside cushioning the impact.
“What the hell is that thing?” The hand she used to gesture trembled.
“The struzzi cock.” I told her, using a container of water to rinse my hands. “You said you were cookingcock a vanagain. Don’t you need the cock for that?”
Pearl blinked at me with wide, bright eyes. “Cock? You thought....” Her entire body began shaking.
For a moment, I feared she was ill until I noticed the sound of her laughter filling the air with a joyous melody that seemed to echo through the rocks. Her face was flushed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she bent over, clutching her stomach, her whole body shaking uncontrollably.
“What’s so funny?”
Pearl only laughed harder. She fell over, laying in the moss as she cackled and wheezed.
I stared at her, curious at the impetus for her condition. Granted, the struzzi cock looked like a pale pink serpent, but I didn’t see why Pearl would find that funny. I didn’t mind it, though. She was beautiful when she laughed, and the sound floated along my skin like a caress.
“Oh God, oh God,” she moaned, finally seeming to gather herself. When her gaze found mine, she giggled, then drew a deep breath. “It’scoq au vin, notcock a van. The words are French, not English.”
“French?” I considered and translated. “Rooster with wine?”
Pearl nodded, giggling.
