Free The Enchanted Castle (Shioni of Sheba Book 1) by Marc Secchia Page A

chopping onions, peeling garlic and washing sweet potatoes by the bucket-load. Mmm–just smell that garlic, cardamom, sweet cloves and hot berbere, Mama’s own special blend of eighteen spices! Her step quickened. It was going to be a wonderful feast!
    But as she crossed the courtyard, a group of older slave-girls who were setting up long trestle tables for the feast, saw her coming and quickly blocked her path.
    “Hsst, ferengi! Where you going?”
    “Hyena-breath! Wait up!”
    One of the girls grabbed her shoulder . “Too high and mighty to talk to us, are we? Well, working for the Princess doesn’t make you any less a slave!”
    “Where’s your holiday dress, slave-girl?”
    Dismay stole her tongue. Princess Annakiya hadn’t given her anything to wear for the feast, not even an old cast-off. And Yeshi, her least favourite of the older slave-girls, knew that as well as everyone else.
    “Only these old rags?” teased the bigger girl. “Obviously the Princess likes to keep her little ferengi beggar in rags.” Cruelly, she yanked at the neckline of Shioni’s tunic until the cloth ripped. “There. Now you look like a proper beggar.”
    Before she knew it, Shioni’s dagger was in her fist . The girls shrieked.
    “She’s got a knife! Watch out!”
    “SHIONI!” Mama Nomuula’s bellow silenced them all. “Come and stir pots! You girls–are those tables laid yet?”
    “ Get you later!” hissed Yeshi.
    Shioni tucked the dagger into her belt almost as quickly as it had appeared, feeling mutinous and ashamed at having risen to the bait. Now Mama Nomuula was mad at her too. And not even the prospect of a half-day holiday after the feasting would mend that. She stamped off to the kitchen, where she stirred the pots so ferociously that Mama Nomuula had to chide her again.

Cha pter 11: The Captain’s Coffee
    L ater that evening, after the first day of feasting had wound to its conclusion, Shioni knocked on the doorpost of Prince Bekele’s quarters.
    “ Enter!”
    Picking up a small coal stove by the handles, she pushed aside the heavily-brocaded hangings with her shoulder and stepped sideways into his room.
    The Prince, Annakiya’s older brother and next in line for the throne, was lounging in a comfortable leather chair, talking to someone whose back was to the door. She was to perform the coffee ceremony for him and his guest.
    Shioni set the stove down in a corner, and set about preparing the coffee. A low table held six tiny porcelain cups, a pot of honey, a mound of green coffee beans of the finest quality, a tiny bowl of frankincense, and a long-necked clay jebena for heating water. She touched the jebena and burned the tip of her finger. Perfect. Shioni sprinkled incense on the red-hot coals, releasing a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. Kneeling, she picked up a small iron skillet, emptied the green beans into it, and carefully settled it onto the coals. She fanned the stove to encourage the beans to roast quickly.
    Then Prince Bekele’s gue st spoke for the first time, and she had to grit her teeth to stop a groan from escaping. Captain Dabir! Thank heavens the dim corner hid her burning cheeks. Fancy having to run into him again, after so memorably inscribing herself on his scroll of slave-girls he would most like to kick given the chance…
    Presently , as she shook the skillet repetitively, the beans began to hiss and spit and turn a lovely dark brown on all sides. The rich aroma of roasting coffee mingled with the incense to fill the room with a heady scent. Shioni lifted the hot skillet with a practised hand and brought it before the men so that they could inhale the coffee aromas.
    “Slave,” said the Prince, “why are you not properly dressed for the coffee ceremony?”
    Shioni was trying not to wrinkle her nose in disgust. One of the men must have stepped in manure, she thought. “My Lord Prince… these are my only clothes,” she said.
    “ Is it too much,” he asked scornfully, “to ask