Spin the Dawn(54)

“I thought we should get to know each other,” I said. “It’s not like we have any alternatives for company.”

“Ah, you should have brought more books to read, then. Would you like one of mine?”

I was sorely tempted to take it and throw it at his head. “Look, if you’re going to protect me over the next two months, it might be helpful for me to know what you can do.”

He tilted his head, considering. “I don’t feel hot or cold, except in extreme conditions…My eyesight is exceptional for a human. My hearing is particularly sensitive, and my sense of smell is above average—highly astute when it comes to magic—but I have no use for taste. There, now you know more about enchanters than almost everyone in the world.”

I blinked. “That doesn’t tell me anything, really. Where are you from—”

“Nowhere and everywhere,” Edan interrupted, reaching into his saddlebag. He tossed his canteen to me. “Your voice is getting hoarse.”

It was the same gingery tea he had forced me to drink before. Only slightly stronger. I licked my lips clean and made a face. “You have no taste. No wonder you’re so fond of drinking foul-tasting tea.”

“Who said it was tea?” Edan rubbed his hands, reveling in my horrified expression. “Ginger’s often used in potions. Truth serums, love potions…”

I made a gasping sound. “What am I drinking?”

He reached for the canteen and took a sip. “Ginger tea.”

I gritted my teeth. “You’re impossible.”

“So gullible.” He laughed and put the canteen away. “I would never need to use a truth serum on you, Maia. You couldn’t tell a lie to save your life.”

“I can’t say the same for you.”

“Yes, well, that’s true to some extent.”

The way he said it sounded almost sad. I snuck a glance at him. Dark circles bloomed under his glassy blue eyes.

“You look tired,” I said.

“Most high enchanters have trouble sleeping. It’s nothing to worry yourself over.”

“What keeps you up at night?” I asked. “You’re never in your tent.”

A cloud passed over his face. “Demons and ghosts.” With a faint smile, he added, “And not having enough books to read.”

The winds grew stronger, stirring up desert sand until every inch of me itched with it. Even when I breathed, I inhaled more sand than air.

“This looks like a good place to make camp,” Edan said suddenly. He hopped off his camel. “There’s a sandstorm up ahead. If we stop now, we’ll avoid the worst of it.”

We raised our two tents and I crawled inside mine, certain I shed a pound of sand just taking off my cloak.

“Hungry?” Edan asked, following me inside. He unrolled what looked like a small tablecloth, barely larger than a chessboard. “We can’t use this too often—magic must be conserved. But I thought we should reward ourselves for a good day’s travel.” He sat cross-legged on the sand. “Imagine what you’d like to eat and clap your hands once.”

I stared at him with disbelief.

“Try it. I would do it myself, but I’m not a good cook, having little taste and all.”

Had it been Keton, I would have braced myself for a practical joke. My brother used to tease me relentlessly about my appetite, especially when we were poor and had little to eat. “If only you could spin all that thread into noodles, we’d never be hungry again.”

But Keton wasn’t here; he was back home with Baba. How I hoped he was doing better. How I hoped he would tease me again, if I ever made it home.

Edan was waiting, so I closed my eyes and imagined my mother’s chicken porridge, steaming with chives and ginger, Keton’s favorite dumplings with chili oil, and enough sweets to last me a week: steamed coconut buns, fried flatbread, sticky rice with nuts and sliced apricots. Oh, and water. Jugs and jugs of water.

I clapped. And waited.

My nose caught a whiff of ginger. Then I opened my eyes. My jaw dropped—everything I’d imagined appeared before me.

“You went a little overboard,” Edan said, with a hint of approval.

The food flowed off the cloth. “Is it…real?”

He passed me a bowl. “See for yourself.”

My hands curved over the bowl, and a sharp pang of hunger stirred inside me. I picked up a dumpling, bit at its skin, chewed, swallowed. My shoulders melted with contentment, and I ate ravenously, not bothering to ask any more questions.

Edan laughed at me.

“What’s so funny?”

“The way you look.” He reached for a handful of dates and currants. “I haven’t seen anyone so gluttonous since the end of the Great Famine. Maybe you should have become a palace taster instead of a tailor.”

“I can’t help it if you can’t taste anything.” I gulped a spoonful of porridge, then greedily turned for one of the coconut buns.

Edan wasn’t touching the chicken, I realized. He chewed the fruit slowly, as if he was ruminating on something.

I set down my coconut bun. “Did you grow up during the Great Famine?”

“A different sort of famine,” Edan said. “My stepmother was a terrible cook, my father a terrible farmer. I grew up half wild, on a diet of grass and sand. Yams, when I could find them.”