2.8
Jewel was expecting more from the high king of the entire realm of Cantor Reborn.
But she supposed that there had yet to be a noble man with stature to match her Father’s.
They had to use one of the larger mustering halls of Fort Rochford and lay out three tables to contain both the entourages from Arva and the High King of the Realm.
The entire assembly was made up into two tables facing one another, with the third longwise between them.
Count Thurzó was set to the High King’s right, at the table opposite Father.
On Father’s right was Mother, and to his left was Jewel, with her coils looping behind them.
On Mother’s right was Tsulogothulan. And then on Jewel’s left was Sir Kraok.
Alexander, Smithson and Thurzó’s household were mingled among the central table between the two heads, along with a few men that Jewel judged must be lesser nobles from the King’s party.
The meal was a joint effort by both the Rochford, Arva and High King’s staff. Jewel had heard some vicious rows between the attendant cooks of each party clear across the manor from the kitchen, and it was not because of her superior hearing.
That had gone on from morning to noon, because the King’s head cook had arrived nearly a full day ahead of his main party with three Hackneys burdened in supplies. Thurzó’s cook had mostly submitted to the High King’s own kitchen master, but Jewel took some pride that the Rochford staff did not bend like sodden reeds in a winter storm.
The meal that had been settled on was a mélange of good Rochford seasoned pork sausage with the exotic pheasant apparently favored by the High King. For seasonings, there was a surfeit of honey glazing as befitted any proper feast by Jewel’s house since their acquisition of the Temple of the Silver Lady.
Likewise was the hall lit with only their best and whitest candles.
Cracked peppercorn was also prominent, with just a hint of sharp herb and a grinding of dried berry that had been pressed with the rest into the brine soaked birds.
But completely absent was even a whiff of Saffron. It was over this that Jewel had heard the greatest contention from the High King’s cook and near blows from Rochford's head of cooking.
But the battle of words, and brandished spoons (possibly also meat cleavers if gossip among the staff was to be believed) and the cajoling by the cook from Arva eventually had won the day.
Jewel had already told Father and Mother that all the kitchen staff were due a great boon for standing firm for her honor.
Having to muscle the despised flavor of saffron down her throat in her own home?
Not even for the High King did Jewel wish to suffer such.
To go along with the meat dishes was also a wonderful approximation of Jewel’s favorite stew.
Although it was yet not the same as Jewel’s favorite from Hożanka Masondottir, she had hopes that her overtures to hire the innkeeper’s third son as kitchenmaster of the Valasect Manor would be fruitful.
She had been willing to accept his service as a freeman or servile, whichever was his preference. And she would uphold whatever he chose with all the backing of her rank as a Lady and eventually Countess.
And of course, to complete the meal was the best and palest flour bread, molded into golden baked rounds.
Served with some of the best available of the many Rochford sheep’s cheeses.
It was a wonderful feast and to Jewel’s eye, almost everyone present was enjoying it.
Imre had settled in to talk with Alexander, part of her brother’s ongoing effort to try and gentle the heir of Arva’s impression of her. Her brother had finished speaking of her valor and prowess on the second day.
In the time since, they had moved onto other topics.
Of late Jewel tried to not pay attention as her brother had of late chosen the stories that befuddled or even amused Imre. If only those stories were not so horrifically embarrassing for Jewel.
At least the way that they shared common ground in discussing the so-called foolishness of sisters seemed to be letting them bond.
Although on more than one occasion Imre had gotten incredibly pointed glares from his elder sisters. She considered the daughters of Thurzó, sadly Jewel’s own embarrassment for her brother’s gossip seemed to fail to kindle camaraderie when they suffered their own.
Unlike their brother, none of the girls were quite so utterly terrified of Jewel.
But they also seemed to have closed ranks on the position that Jewel was not welcome to their circle when they pursued the more feminine arts.
Lady she might be but apparently in Arva Jewel’s status as a Martial Lady who served in War set her apart far more then her status as a Wyrm.
Which was terribly unfair in Jewel’s opinion. It’s not like Jewel had any say in whether she went to war. Refusing the call to battle when Jewel wielded the might of a wyrm would be treason and dishonor for all her family!
But no! In Arva, Jewel (and Muriel too apparently) were exiled from all circles and places of womanhood! Worse than men the transgression made them out to be. Or so the whispers Jewel heard amongst the daughters and their attendants said.
Jewel had settled for ignoring the infuriating foreign strangeness. Sure Muriel was less practiced in womanly duties but that did not mean she should be forbidden from even attending in conversation!
And Jewel?! She could spin and weave better than the lot of Thurzó’s immediate household combined.
It had been frustrating and she focused on the food before her, eating with the proper amount of vigor for meat and dishes well liked. Showing the staff that they should have pride in the quality of the meal they had prepared for her.
Mother, Father and the rest of the Rochford household ate similarly.
But as had come to be the pattern over the ten days they were with them the Arva party was far less polite. They cut their food and picked at it in sparse portions and small bites. Not so badly that they didn't at least finish their plates, but if you didn't watch for the smiles on their faces or the warmth in their eyes?
You’d think they hated the fare presented before them.
But the worst of them now was the High King himself.
Who sniffed, picked and frowned at his dish.
He took a bite and, though he swallowed the excellently cooked bird, crisp skinned just this side of golden brown and rich with its own fats beneath, he did not relish it.
Never mind how well dusted with the pepper, salt, herbs and glazed in honey it was, he seemed in great discomfort over it.
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At last Count Thurzó spoke up to the High King.
“Is there a problem with the meal my liege?”
High King Matthias The Second of Honorable House Stein, Liege of Father’s Liege. Someday to be her own Liege looked down at the cooked bird with open dismay.
“Hmmm, does it not taste a bit... Strange to you? The color is also off, has the seasoning spoiled since our last feast?”
Thurzó seemed perplexed at the statement then shook his head.
“Not at all, I confirmed its quality and color upon its arrival this morning. But now that you mention it-”
Jewel spoke, taking care to not be overly a burden to poor Imre’s strength of spirit but still taking upon her tongue a cutting tone.
“It does not taste of Saffron because there is not a single mote of Saffron anywhere in this room. Your grace”
That brought up her friend and the High King short. Jewel had just interrupted the highest voice in the Realm.
Four years ago Jewel would have found it unthinkable.
But that was before the war.
That was before she had met and spoken in confidence with the Countess Bathory.
That was before she was heir to Viznove.
And betrothed to the fortune-damned son of a woman she despised.
Jewel stared across the tables at the High King, meeting his eyes, even though she kept her head respectfully lower than his (which was almost a full foot below Father’s).
Thurzó’s voice was ever so slightly strained.
“Ah, why is that, O Shining Wyrm of Viznove?”
Jewel took up a whole pheasant of the two remaining on her plate, grasping it with her right fore claw, then ever so slowly laid it on her tongue and closed her jaws over it.
Slowly and audibly crushing bone, meat, impeccably cooked crispy skin, succulent marrow and a stuffing of honeyed breads, goat’s cheese and herb spice.
She shifted it to the back of her jaws, to teeth that were honestly very ill suited to the task of grinding and crushing as a man’s would.
Too sharp and far too thin and uniform her teeth were.
Mostly made too shred and slice.
Not crush or grind.
But Jewel had over a decade of practice eating properly like her parents and brother.
If she worked her jaws just right and did not fully close them there was just enough clearance in the gaps between the rearmost fangs that they could be delicately slipped between each other while she swiveled her jaw from side to side.
And with the muscle and force of a dragon and a slight application of her own wyrm flame to reinforce the teeth Jewel could imitate the usual chewing manner of a man or cow.
If a bit more noisily than either.
Finally she swallowed audibly and loudly. Shreds of meat and shards of bone running through her neck and cracking just as audible as she constricted and twisted the inside of her neck.
Jewel had learned at a young age she could chew all the way down her prodigious throat.
She offered a warm smile of enjoyment and a little dip of her head once enough of her throat was clear to speak.
“Apologies to your grace, but I absolutely detest the taste of Saffron. This is well known to the Rochford staff and to spare you the dishonor of me refusing to share a meal with you in my family home accommodations were made.”
Everyone was eyeing her, Imre with a look that Jewel was not sure was a good one. It was not terror, but it had a disturbing quality very similar to the mein Alexander tended to get right before he attempted something stupendously foolish.
The High King glared at her, eyes to eyes.
Jewel did not bend or bow, she did not even lower her head an inch more than was necessary for due respect to his station.
His words were as hard as his face.
“Might I ask the Shining Wyrm and Heir of the county of Viznove what a quite expensive and honorable spice could have possibly done to bring such wroth?”
Jewel offered a smile she had been practicing since she first laid eyes upon it.
Cruel, yet entirely polite. Laced with malice, wroth and terrible threat of violence most cruel without overtly offering such.
The lips that first showed her that smile might be hated, but she could not deny the power of the expression.
And then she spoke, as softly as she possibly could for Imre’s sake but still striving to fit every single drop of hate she bore for that terrible monster of a woman.
“Honey and Saffron Glazed Pork is the Countess Bathory’s Favorite, your grace.”
The High King of the Realm of Cantor’s brows raised in surprise, and then a smile broke across his face so wide it twisted the curled ends of his blond mustache nearly to the point Jewel feared he might put out his eyes.
A glittering was present in his gaze that had not been there before.
With a sudden motion of relish and every expression of incredibly messy gusto he tore a leg off his own pheasant and bit half a drum stick off with a single hearty chew.
The King gnashed so hungrily that specks of herb, pepper and grease sprayed over both his and the joining table before him.
Bits of spice and flecks of skin and fat ended up in his beard and mustache.
Droplets of honey were dangling from the left curl of his mustache.
Jewel had not seen someone manage to get food so far from their mouth while eating since Alexander was twelve.
The Man grinned wide at Jewel with bits of meat stuck in his teeth and laughed hearty and loud. More a roar really or a humored bellow. It made a few of Thurzó’s daughters jump in surprise.
Shaken from the frozen statues Jewel only just realized they had become.
The High King Matthias The Second of House Stein laughed with her and offered delighted praise.
“Well that sounds like an absolutely fine reason! A Wonderful Feast and my compliments to our gracious hosts!”
He grabbed a cup of the new honeyed wine that Rochford had begun keeping since they vassalized the silver lady’s temple and its bounty of honey just south of them.
Jewel answered the toast along with all others present.
But she and the High King did not break their gaze on one another until both of their chalices had been drained.
Jewel was for once feeling hopeful for a visit with the Countess.