by Grace Draven
More gasps, and Ildiko caught sight of the two maids gaping at them slack-jawed at the exchange of insults.
The sudden knock at the door made both women jump. Kirgipa was the first to answer and held the door open as a procession of servants carrying a small table and covered trays entered. They set the table near the hearth and placed their burdens on its surface. Plates, knives and linen sanaps were set on the smaller table between the two chairs facing the hearth, and one poured more wine into the goblets she and Brishen had drank from earlier.
The servants filed out as quickly and quietly as they entered, leaving Ildiko glancing first at the trays from which savory smells wafted into the room and then at Brishen who dismissed Sinhue and Kirgipa with a nod.
Ildiko peered at the various trays. “What is this? I thought we were to attend the feast?” She rather liked the idea of skipping that trial and eating in here with just Brishen for company, even if they were terribly overdressed for a quiet dinner between them.
Brishen gestured to one of the chairs. “Take a seat. This is a practice try beforehand.” He spread one of the linen sanaps in her lap when she sat. “You’ll have the weight of every stare on you at the feast, Ildiko, and you’ll be served things you’ve never eaten before. I’d rather you weren’t surprised by what’s put on your plate.”
Ildiko flinched a little with guilt. Brishen had bravely eaten everything served to him at the Gauri banquet following their wedding. She’d been unable to determine his expressions as he spooned his food into his mouth and chewed, but the tension quivering throughout his body had told her enough to know that dinner had been its own particular torture.
“I’m sorry about the potato, Brishen,” she said.
His lips thinned and he took a swallow of wine from his goblet before taking a seat next to her. “No need to apologize, though I’ll never understand how the Gauri willingly eat such foul, disgusting food.”
Ildiko feared she’d soon echo that sentiment.
Brishen slid the first tray onto the table and removed the lid. The dish was a medley of fresh fruit and herbs drizzled in a sweet sauce. Brishen cautioned her to take only a small portion so she wouldn’t be too full to eat later.
Ildiko liked the dish and recognized some of the fruits used in the dish. While prepared a little differently than what she was used to, it tasted good, and she looked forward to the next dish with less trepidation.
By the fourth dish--slivers of 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 into open revolt, and she bolted for the basin on the table at her bedside. A strong arm slid around her waist, supporting her as she retched into the bowl. Brishen’s hand smoothed her hair. He held her until she emptied her stomach and offered her a glass of water to rinse her mouth.
Afterwards, she gazed at Brishen, bleary-eyed but resolved. Ildiko had faced down a woman far more venomous than a scarpatine. She would not be defeated by dinner. “At least tell me it tastes like chicken.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Though his mother might be planning Ildiko’s murder for her unforgiveable refusal to be cowed, Brishen couldn’t fault the queen for the feast she ordered prepared to officially welcome him and his wife home.
The dining hall was lavishly decorated. Flowers from the royal gardens hung in garlands over the windows and spilled in lush bouquets on the tables, their opalescent petals glowing beneath the flickering light of candles and hanging lamps. The tables were covered in cloths of finely woven linen and silk, the benches upon which the nobility sat, lined with velvet cushions.
The high table was even more appointed, set to emphasize the royal house’s wealth and power. An army of liveried servants lined the walls behind the tables, ready to serve.
It was all grand, even majestic—fit for a royal herceges and his hercegesé. Brishen wished fiercely he could grab Ildiko’s hand and escape back to her chamber—or his—and share a meal in relative solitude. If not there, then with the soldiers under his command. Even road rations tasted delectable when shared with good company. Ildiko could avoid another serving of scarpatine and he, his parents’ poisonous interactions. As it was, escape was not an option, and he prayed for a quick end to the celebration.
He approached the high table, Ildiko by his side and the recipient of countless curious stares from the nobles gathered i
She wore her mask well, but Brishen sensed her fear. Her hand rested in the crook of his elbow, fingers buried in the folds of his sleeve. Were she Kai instead of human and possessed the same sharp nails, she would have sliced through the fabric and scored his forearm bloody. Luckily, her tight grip only managed to slow the flow of blood to his fingers.
Ildiko might not reciprocate the feeling, but Brishen considered himself fortunate to have such a wife. She was shrewd and insightful. Raised amidst another royal court, she understood its machinations and manipulations; its subtle messages conveyed in something as innocuous as the cut of a tunic or its color. He’d shield her as much as possible from the criticisms of the Kai, which would focus on her homely appearance and spread from there, but he suspected she’d manage to hold her own with even the most acerbic Kai aristocrat. They’d witnessed Ildiko stand against Secmis’s barbed comments and the implied threat in her pointed questions. Only a few dimwitted Kai would still assume that she was cowardly because she was human.
The nobles bowed as he and Ildiko passed them. Brishen ignored their stares as he always did and leaned closer to Ildiko. “How is your stomach?”
She stared straight ahead, but her fingers flexed on his arm. “It’s there,” she said softly.
He smothered a smile at her noncommittal answer. The idea to introduce her to the delicacy of baked scarpatine before the dinner had been a strategic one. Even some of the Kai found the dish revolting, and it represented a much more challenging entree to serve as well as eat than the passive, foul-tasting potato.
Her reaction hadn’t surprised him. Her determination to eat the gray flesh still squirming on her plate did. Ildiko had rinsed her mouth with wine and water while he set the basin outside her door. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep this in here for now?” Guilt rode him hard at the memory of holding her while she emptied her belly of its contents.
She shook her head. “I’m sure.”
“What if you’re sick again?” It was entirely possible. Cutting the pie and butchering the scarpatine wasn’t the worst part.
Ildiko’s chin rose, and she marched back to her chair. “I won’t be.” Before Brishen said anything else, she sat down, grabbed her dagger, sliced off a piece of scarpatine and popped it in her mouth.
Brishen’s eyebrows rose. He hovered by the door, ready to snatch the basin back and race to his wife’s side. Ildiko chewed slowly, her brow furrowed in concentration. She swallowed and drank her wine.
“Well?” he said.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye before slicing off another piece. The gray mass twitched between her fingers, and she slapped it against the edge of her plate to subdue it. “It doesn’t taste like chicken.” She bit and chewed again.
Brishen laughed, delighted and relieved. “No, it doesn’t.” Assured he wouldn’t have to grab the basin, he joined her at the table. His portion of scarpatine had grown cold; he suspected hers had as well. “What does it taste like to you?” he asked between bites.
Ildiko studied the small portion impaled on her dagger’s tip. “A little muddy. A little briny. Mostly like someone took a fish, packed it in dirt and let it cook inside a sweaty boot.”
He winced at the vivid, albeit accurate, description. “You’d reduce the royal cook to fits of melancholy if he heard you say that.”
She shrugged. “He’s reduced me to retching with his repulsive pie. I suffer no guilt.” She lowered her dagger with the scarpatine still on it and pushed her plate away, a shudder wracking her slim frame. “I won’t lie, Brishen. It’s beyond foul, but I’m glad we did this now. I would have humiliated us both at the feast.”
Brishen shoved his half-eaten portion aside as well and reached for Ildiko’s hand. Her fingers notched with his, the skin of her hand so pale, he could trace the filigree of blue veins that ran beneath it with his thumb. “I don’t think that’s possible, wife.”
Her cheeks flushed an unsightly red. Three days earlier her response would have alarmed him into thinking she was ill. He’d since learned such coloration was similar to a Kai’s own darkening blush—an expression of anger, embarrassment or pleasure. The tightening of her hand on his assured him hers was one of pleasure at his words.
“You’ve a stronger stomach than I credited you with if you could eat the scarpatine without gagging.” It still surprised him. She’d been violently ill after watching him carve up the creature; he’d had no hope of her being able to eat it without growing sick a second time.
Ildiko untangled her fingers from his and patted his hand. “I doubt the Gauri court is that much different from the Kai one. If the nobility aren’t spying on each other, they’re maligning each other. Everything is fodder for gossip and ridicule. Unless you want to be the topic of conversation among bored lords and ladies waiting to sink their claws into you, you eat what’s served to you and act as if it pleases you. I learned early to hold my breath when I chewed and breathe through my nose when I swallowed. And I always made sure my goblet was full.”
She winked at him and lifted her dagger to poke at the now still slab of scarpatine. “This is one of the most horrendous things I’ve ever eaten, but it’s nothing compared to King Sangur’s favorite dish—a pea soup I will swear until I’m dead was made of and prepared by packs of rotting demons. The kitchens served it to us once a week without fail, though I don’t ever recall anyone having to battle a vicious pod of attacking peas just to gulp down the soup.”
With her words, the lingering concerns Brishen had about her ability to withstand another round of Kai food vanished completely, along with any doubts he harbored about her adjusting to this new life. She stood beside him now in the dining hall, frightened but resolved. Not only would this Gauri woman survive in the Kai world, she’d thrive.
A herald announced the king and queen’s arrival. The chatter in the hall ceased abruptly, and as one, the guests bowed. Ildiko pressed against Brishen’s side. “I hope the queen doesn’t decide to roast me for a pie.” Amusement colored her voice, but Brishen heard the thread of fear as well.
He pressed her hand to his side with his elbow. “I’ll skewer her if she tries, wife.”
A soft giggle teased his ear. “You can’t skewer her. She’s your mother, Brishen.”
“And a deadlier adversary I have yet to face,” he replied.
They straightened as the monarchs passed, and Brishen’s skin prickled under the weight of Secmis’s stare as she leveled a narrow look on him and then Ildiko before taking her place next to her husband at the high table. Brishen’s brother Harkuf and his wife Tiye followed, taking their places to the right of the king.
Brishen nudged Ildiko into step behind the heir apparent. “We sit on the queen’s side,” he said.
Ildiko’s grip tightened on his arm. “Lovely,” she muttered.
The feast began as most feasts like it did—bloated with ritual and artifice. The nobility maneuvered amongst themselves for the choicest seats, arguing over whose rank and family ties entitled them to a spot closest to the high table. Brishen sighed and fiddled with his eating dagger. This happened at every state dinner and celebration and was one of the things he didn’t miss when he escaped court to his isolated estate.
Ildiko sat on one side of him, rigid and silent, staring straight ahead. Secmis sat on his other side, her claws drumming a beat on the tabletop as everyone waited for Djedor to start the feast with an official welcome of Brishen’s wife.
This time Djedor omitted any insults regarding Ildiko’s appearance, and kept his formal acceptance of her into the Kai royal family mercifully brief. Brishen guessed his father was hungry and didn’t want to waste any more time on the niceties when there was hot food waiting to be served.
His formal declaration of recognition, however abbreviated, bequeathed power to Ildiko she didn’t previously possess. She might be Gauri human in appearance, but she’d just become Kai where it truly counted—court ranking. She was officially a hercegesé now, a true duchess. Brishen relaxed in his seat, relieved. Now they just had to get through the interminable dinner and whatever nastiness Secmis decided to throw at them.
They didn’t have to wait long. The queen fired her first volley just as the servants set down bowls of soup. “You humans are very pale,” she said in Common. “Only our diseased sport that shade.”
Those sitting closest to the high table to hear the remark tittered amongst themselves and passed the comment down to those seated out of earshot. Brishen opened his mouth to snarl at his mother. Ildiko’s hand on his leg under the table stopped him.
She sipped soup from her spoon, offering no indication that either the soup’s taste or Secmis’s comment bothered her. She dabbed at her lips with her sanap before answering. “You’re right, your Majesty; we are quite pale by comparison. The Kai are very gray. Only our dead are that color.”
Secmis’s lips thinned until they drew back, exposing the tips of her fangs. More whispers and a few muffled snorts of amusement drifted up from the lower tables. The queen’s hand curled around her eating dagger. Brishen shifted sideways in his chair toward her, prepared to act as shield for Ildiko in case Secmis decided to attack.
The glow of her eyes flared hot. She changed tactics. “Your bast-Kai is very clumsy,” she said in the same tongue.
“My Common is far more proficient,” Ildiko agreed in smooth, flawless bast-Kai.
Brishen hid a smile and started on his own soup. He was intuitive enough to know any interference on his part would not be welcomed by either woman. He suffered the sudden, uncomfortable sensation of sitting between two large cats, both protracting and retracting their claws as they faced off against each other.
The queen continued with her barrage of acerbic observations that touched on everything from the way Ildiko wore her hair to how she held her spoon. She was restricted on what insults she threw out. Ildiko’s lineage was off-limits since Brishen’s parents considered it acceptable enough for their younger son, but she didn’t spare her contempt in other matters. Ildiko remained polite and utterly indomitable in the face of Secmis’s obvious disdain.
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