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  “Try it,” Lit’aal added. “It’s really good.”

  “I thought no one but a Khalla could eat this stuff,” Emily said.

  The little priestess blushed.

  “That is only the soup. This particular dish is not poison to non-Khalla’s. One of the chefs is a friend of mine and he let me try a little.”

  “I thought you just said we weren’t supposed to talk to the help.” Emily raised an eyebrow.

  “So we are not—or a Khalla is not, anyway. And it is doubtful whether her personal attendants should either.” Turra gave the other priestess a disapproving look.

  “I don’t mind,” Emily said quickly, not wanting to get Lit’aal, who seemed like the nicer of the two, into trouble. “It looks really great—I don’t blame you for trying some. In fact, would you two like to sit down and have some with me now?” She smiled at both of them. “I hate eating alone.”

  “Oh, no!” Turra looked even more shocked than when Emily had expressed a desire to go thank the chefs personally.

  “We cannot eat the Feast of Becoming with you, Khalla-to-be, as neither Turra or myself has any hope of becoming a Khalla,” Lit’aal explained gently. “But thank you for asking us. It shows a good heart.”

  “It shows an improper understanding of her status,” Turra sniffed. “But never fear, Khalla-to-be, we will educate you.”

  “Um, thanks, I guess,” Emily mumbled.

  “And now you should eat, before the Tureen grows cold.” Leaning forward, Turra took up a strangely carved wooden spoon and began ladling some of the cheesy, bubbling casserole onto a green metal plate.

  Emily watched carefully but to her immense relief, there didn’t appear to be any eyeballs in this particular dish. It consisted of long, thin, pinkish noodles covered in some kind of white and yellow sauce. On closer examination, Emily decided there wasn’t cheese in it after all—it still looked good, though.

  “Here, my Khalla-to-be,” Turra murmured, handing her the plate and a utensil that looked like four long chopsticks arranged in a claw configuration. “Partake of the Tureen of Oration and speak with the tongue of the Goddess.”

  “Thanks.” Emily took a minute to figure out how to work the chopstick claw but finally she succeeded in gripping a large bite of the long, pinkish noodles and getting them into her mouth. The sauce was scrumptious—savory and light at the same time but the noodles were firm and flat and very rubbery—almost tough.

  “How does it please you?” Lit’aal asked eagerly. “Is it not delightful?”

  Emily finished the first bite with some difficulty.

  “It’s delicious,” she said, not wanting to complain about how hard the noodles were to chew—though really they were so tough and fibrous she could barely get them down. “And very, uh, chewy.”

  “Oh, that’s the way Tisla tongues are supposed to taste,” Lit’aal assured her. “It’s their texture that makes them unique.”

  Emily paused with another bite of the long, pinkish noodles halfway to her lips. “I’m sorry, what did you say this is made of?”

  “Tisla tongues—they are an animal native to the northern reaches of our world,” Turra said. “They sing the most beautiful melodies—those who have heard them say you cannot help but weep.”

  Emily wanted to weep right now. Didn’t they have anything normal to eat? Anything that didn’t involve alien animal organs? She took another look at the long, slimy pink noodles—no, tongues—they’re freaking tongues—she reminded herself, in their coating of white and yellow sauce and knew she couldn’t eat any more.

  “They’re really good,” she said, as politely as she could, putting the four pronged chopstick utensil down. “But I’m getting really full.”

  Turra frowned. “You cannot be full yet—you still have many courses to go.”

  “Why don’t we save them for later?” Emily asked, smiling brightly. “Something to look forward to.”

  “Perhaps the Khalla-to-be would like the last course—a dessert the chefs labored over many hours,” Lit’aal suggested softly. “It is very special—the Cream of Courage.”

  “Really? The Cream of Courage?” Emily wondered why in the world every dish in this feast had to be named after some kind of virtue.

  “It’s quite delicious, Khalla-to-be. Truly it is.” Quickly Turra whisked away the tureen of tongue and Lit’aal brought out something that looked for all the world like a huge, puffy chocolate soufflé.

  “Wow,” Emily breathed. “I have to admit, that looks amazing.”

  “Oh, it is.” Lit’aal set the dish before her, beaming and Turra handed her a golden spoon shaped like a miniature shovel.

  “Please, Khalla-to-be, partake and be strengthened.”

  “Well…” Emily hesitated, the golden shovel-spoon hovering over the delicious looking dessert. “It’s not made of tongues or eyeballs, is it?” she asked, looking at Turra suspiciously.

  “On my honor, Khalla-to-be, no.” The priestess looked at her earnestly.

  “Well…in that case…” Emily dug her golden eating utensil into the puffy soufflé which immediately collapsed into a delicious looking heap of what looked like moist brownie crumbs and molten chocolate. Just like a chocolate lava cake… It was Emily’s favorite. She didn’t even stop to smell the bite she’d dug out of the dessert, she just put the whole spoonful into her mouth at once…

  She nearly choked.

  The flavor wasn’t at all what she’d expected. It was sweet—Emily would give it that—teeth-achingly sweet. But under the intense sweetness was a strange meaty flavor. And not just any meat—rotten meat. The texture was meat-like too—crumbly and chewy at the same time. It was like having a mouthful of super sweet rancid hamburger with slime on top.

  “Ew…urg,” she gasped, barely managing to swallow the awful mouthful. She glared at both of the priestesses who were watching her eagerly. “That wasn’t chocolate!” she exclaimed. “That was barely food at all!”

  “What is shokolat?” Lit’aal asked, frowning. “Is it a delicacy from Earth?”

  “It is,” confirmed Turra. “It is often sold on the Mother Ship—Earth females prefer it to almost any other confection.” She looked at Emily. “But Khalla-to-be, we never told you that the Cream of Courage was made of chocolate.”

  “Yes, but look at it!” Emily wished she could wash her mouth out—the cloyingly sweet and slimy rancid hamburger taste wouldn’t leave no matter how much she swallowed. “I mean, it looked just like a big, puffy chocolate soufflé and then after I poked it, it looked like crumbled brownies with hot fudge sauce. It looked so good!”

  “And did you not find it to your liking, Khalla-to-be?” Lit’aal asked anxiously. “Xenox heart is considered a great delicacy here on Rageron. It comes from a very ferocious beast and gives the eater enormous courage.”

  “Xenox heart?” Emily shook her head. “No wonder. Look, I don’t want to be rude but don’t you people serve anything that isn’t made of weird alien body parts around here?”

  “The Feast of Becoming is made up of cuisine that will bolster a Khalla-to-be’s natural strengths and help to free her Kit’tara,” Turra said stiffly.

  “Set my Kit’tara free?” Even as she spoke, Emily could feel the other shifting restlessly inside her. “Now I know I’m not eating any more.”

  “These foods will feed your inner goddess.” Turra frowned disapprovingly. “It is to your benefit to eat as much as you can of each dish.”

  “I have,” Emily said. “I can honestly say I couldn’t eat another bite.” She sighed. “Look, I’m really very tired. Do you think I could have a little time to myself to relax now?”

  “We are your attendants and so we cannot leave you alone,” Lit’aal explained quietly. “But if you are tired, why do you not take a bath in the Juice of Refreshment?” She nodded at the round, sunken pool covered in the floating white blossoms.

  “That does look wonderfully refreshing,” Emily said, hopping up quickly. From the look on