Praise the Thunderer, he’d found his true love!
His legs refused to move. Bess bumped into him and muttered an apology, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from those enthralling green eyes.
The girl held out one hand as she limped closer. “Haven’t we met somewhere? At the Kerovi embassy, perhaps?”
Lorel snorted. “I’ve been accused of being Kerovi lots of times, but I ain’t never heard nobody call the kid that.”
Hey, Trevor said lots of Setoyan Outcasts wound up at Kerovi embassies. Outcasts often married the almost-as-tall Kerovi and had embarrassingly tall, red-haired children. And most of them were as dark-skinned as his turybird.
Tsai’dona punched Lorel in the ribs. “Shut up, slime-eater. Bodyguards don’t talk.”
“Bodyguards?” The girl glanced dismissively at his warriors. “How intriguing to see you need guards.”
Blood rushed into his face. He may not look like much, but he was an independent businessman. One with no immediate business, regrettably. How could he get to know this girl without being able to talk about weapons, gemstones, or magic?
Lorel’s stomach growled.
That would do for an opening. “Can you recommend a place to get a meal? Preferably before my guards eat someone.”
The girl smiled. “I’m fond of the Fattened Duck.” She gestured at the building he’d just written off. “I would be honored if you would dine with me.”
His heart twirled higher than a dragon chasing the moon. Surely he had the coinage on him to pay for a few classy meals, even in a overpriced place like this one. “I would be flattered.” He held out his hand.
The girl rested her fingers on his wrist.
Shivers tingled from his fingertips to his toes. He’d never been this lucky in his life.
He led her into the marble-walled foyer. Serpentine pillars stood sentinel along the walls and separated the entrance from the dining area. On the floor, painted hexagonal tiles precisely matched the colors of the stones.
A sandcrab pinched his throat. This place might be more expensive than he’d feared.
“This joint’s prettier than City Hall,” Lorel declared.
Tsai’dona elbowed the turybird’s hip. The girl needed boots with foot-tall heels for her elbow to reach Lorel’s lowest ribs. So did he, for that matter.
A round man with a snooty face charged toward them, but hesitated when he noticed the entrancing girl.
She smiled and shook her head. “I have a guest today, Maitredeh.”
The man bowed. “A table for two is ready for you.”
Thunderer! He desperately wanted to share supper with this girl. But: “I can’t leave my bodyguards behind.” He glanced up at Lorel’s frown. “They get upset if they aren’t right with me.” And who knew what his turybird would do if she had to wait another minute for something to chew on.
The girl’s delicate eyebrows rose, but she didn’t comment, praise the Wind Dancer.
“A table for four, sir?”
“Five.” He stared at the floor and wished the tiles would spread apart and swallow him. What an awful first impression he was making. But he wouldn’t abandon Bess. “My financial advisor is with me.”
The room was so hot he could barely breathe. He forced himself to look up.
Bess winked at him.
The beautiful girl smiled at him. “You are prepared to do business in our lovely city. I am quite pleased.”
Maybe he had a chance to talk with her after all. He started breathing again.
“I have seating for five available.” Maitredeh bowed and led them to a large table in a shadowed, romantic corner.
Three waiters, all of whom were dressed in clothing far more expensive than his own new suit, hastily rearranged chairs and silverware. Enough silverware to furnish a table for fifty guests. Was he supposed to know what to do with all those knives, forks, and spoons? Not to mention picks and implements he had no names for?
Lorel studied the table as if she wondered if the silver was decorative or useful, but she didn’t speak. She simply frowned at the array of wine glasses.
Tsai’dona watched the servers as if they might attack someone.
The men snuck glances at Viper as if they couldn’t believe their eyes.
Sandblast it, he didn’t look that odd. Though he must be the shortest Setoyan they’d ever seen. Few of his people were shorter than eight feet tall, and he was barely more than half that. And he looked even shorter standing next to seven-foot-tall Lorel.
Maybe it was Lorel they were staring at. She was magnificent when she got annoyed. And she looked deathwind-scorched at the moment.
The headwaiter silently held a chair for the girl, and another for Bess.
Viper snagged the chair to the girl’s right. He was incredibly lucky to get to sit next to her.
The headwaiter didn’t bother seating the warriors. Probably just as well. Lorel might have yanked the chair out of his hand and bashed him with it on the assumption he was being fresh.
She didn’t seem to notice the slight, praise the Thunderer, and dropped into the seat to his right.
Tsai’dona snortled and smothered a grin, but she frowned when she noticed the only empty chair was next to Bess. “Bog-sunk twin,” she muttered in Duremen-Lor before she scooted her chair closer to Lorel’s.
Bess raised one eyebrow and shrugged.
A waiter rushed over with a short-legged chair. He tapped Lorel on the shoulder. “This one might suit you better, Madam.”
Lorel blinked at him. Eventually she stood and let him swap out the chairs. “This gotta be the weirdest joint we ever ate in.” She lowered herself gingerly into the seat. “Hey, the table’s the same level it was at home!”
Given the height of her whole family, it didn’t surprise him they had lower chairs. Or a taller table. Maybe the reminder would encourage her to use better table etiquette.
Wishful thinking. She’d complained for years how her mother scolded daily about her manners.
His turybird glared at the headwaiter. “So what’s to eat in this joint? Can I get a bowl of Zedisti pepper beans?”
Tsai’dona sighed. “Or a bowl of plain rice?”
The headwaiter’s eyes bugged. His face turned bright red.
The beautiful girl cleared her throat. “Bring the first course, Maitredeh.”
He bowed and stalked away. His gait was so stiff it was a wonder he could put one foot in front of the other.
The girl smiled at Lorel. “One doesn’t order here. The chef decides what to create, and what will be served.”
Tsai’dona whistled silently.
Bess whispered, “We are completely out of our league.”
Viper agreed with both of them.
Lorel’s jaw dropped. “I thought only stinky slop joints cooked just one thing.”
The girl’s warm green eyes grew bigger than a dragon’s.
It was past time to change the subject. He pointed to his turybird. “That’s Lorel. And Tsai’dona, and Bess. I’m called Viper.”
The girl’s eyes got even bigger.
Blast. He hadn’t meant to mislead her. “I’m not a wizard. I didn’t know about naming conventions when I chose a Zedisti name. People thought it was funny, and it stuck.” No need to tell her he was an Outcast.
The girl relaxed and smiled, although she looked disappointed. “My name is Jroduikil. Please call me Jroduin. All my friends do.”
“And it’s Loom-warping a lot easier to say,” Lorel muttered.
Viper frowned at her.
She shrugged. “How long does it take to get fed in this joint?”
Waiters dashed in and placed a delicate ceramic bowl of scented water in front of each of them.
“About time. Rose water?” Lorel scooped up her bowl and swigged down the contents. “Not bad. Can I have some more?”
Jroduin and the waiters gawked at her.
Bess coughed. “It was for rinsing your hands. It’s called a finger bowl.�
�
This was worse than getting pushed into a sinkhole full of ghosts and ghouls. He’d read about finger bowls, but he’d never seen one before.
Obviously neither had Lorel. She stared blankly at Bess. “I’m thirsty. And my hands are plenty clean.”
Everyone glanced at her dust-covered fingers and looked away.
In all fairness, she had carried several boxes for him that day. She had reason to be dusty. And it hadn’t occurred to him to wash, either.
“We’ve been living rough lately.” Heat crept up his neck. “For over a year. We’re out of the habit of social niceties.”
Jroduin nodded. She glanced at the outraged waiters.
All three men scurried away.
The stories they’d be telling in the kitchen. Praise the Thunderer, his team would never eat here again. Most likely, they’d never be allowed into the neighborhood again. He was a little surprised they hadn’t been thrown out yet.
Lorel pouted while the four of them rinsed their fingers.
He had to admit, the rose water did smell good enough to drink.
More servers swooped in and whisked the bowls away. How many people did the restaurant employ? He’d counted twelve different men thus far. But no women. He’d read somewhere it was one sign of a classy establishment.
Four new waiters dashed to their table, three with tiny plates of vellum-thin ice-white bread, and one with a bottle of white wine.
“No beer?” Lorel asked mournfully. “No butter?”
No one bothered to answer her.
The fourth waiter (the wine steward, if Viper remembered correctly) poured a dribble of wine into one of Jroduin’s wine glasses.
Lorel frowned and hissed in a breath.
Tsai’dona elbowed her, hard. “Bodyguards don’t talk,” she whispered.
Please, Thunderer, strike his turybird mute for a few hours. He couldn’t explain upper-class customs to her right now, especially since he’d only read about them in unreliable sources. He was pretty sure adventure novels weren’t trustworthy informants for this sort of thing.
The steward seemed to hold his breath.
Jroduin smelled her wine, sipped a tiny bit of it, thought about it – or about something weighty, given her distant expression – and finally nodded.
The man exhaled and filled her glass first, before moving around the table to pour for each of them.
Viper leaned close to Lorel. “Don’t guzzle it,” he whispered. “This one glass might need to last the whole meal.” He hoped so, anyway. He wasn’t sure he had enough money on him to pay for two or three bottles of wine in this place.
Lorel frowned at him, but only sipped at her wine before cramming her piece of bread into her mouth.
In honesty, cramming was the wrong word. The whole slice was smaller than one of her normal bites.
He slid his bread onto her plate.
Bess grinned at him, but, praise the Thunderer, nobody else noticed.
The wine tasted sour. He passed his glass to Lorel, who drained it without seeming to taste it, and handed it back to him.
More attendants whisked the plates and used wine glasses away. That made nineteen different men. What did they charge for this kind of service?
His stomach hurt. He might need to leave one of his crew as hostage while he went back to the wagon for more gold.
Three waiters – faces he recognized, praise the Wind Dancer – carried out normal dinner plates and sat one in front of each of them.
A single cube of something orangey and coated in crystals sat in the middle of the plate.
Jroduin clasped her hands. “Sugar-coated ginger. My favorite appetizer.” She picked up a tiny fork and a thin-bladed knife, and carved off a minuscule slice.
Bess and Tsai’dona imitated her. Bess sampled her sliver and fought unsuccessfully against gagging
Tsai’dona chewed thoughtfully. “You might like this,” she whispered to Lorel.
“I wouldn’t never taste nothing that small.” Lorel speared the whole chunk on the little knife and popped it into her mouth. Huge drops of sweat broke out on her face. “Hey, this is good!”
Viper tipped his untouched ginger onto her plate. His stomach hurt too much to enjoy it. She may as well have it.
Bess passed her plate across, too.
Lorel chewed happily. All three pieces were gone long before Jroduin or Tsai’dona finished with theirs.
Waiters dashed in, but hesitated.
Jroduin cleared her throat. “Leave your used silverware on the plate.”
Viper leaned closer to the nearest server. “Could you please help us survive this travesty?”
The man’s eyebrows lifted a hair, but he nodded infinitesimally and gathered up stray silverware. He murmured to the other waiters as the three marched away with the empty plates.
The next course arrived, again on normal-sized plates. Each plate held two small strawberries and a single apple slice, all drizzled with what smelled like heavily-spiced sugar.
The wine steward brought out a new bottle and offered a sip to Jroduin, who approved it.
A bottle with every course? He was in so much trouble. He’d have to sell off most of his gemstones to pay for this meal. But the wine tasted much sweeter than the last batch. Even Lorel perked up after she tasted it.
Jroduin picked up the outermost knife and fork and proceeded to cut up the fruit.
Bess and Tsai’dona, looking resigned, did the same.
Lorel sat staring at her plate as if she’d been served a dollop of bahtdor droppings.
He had to eat something or Jroduin would be insulted. He carved off a chunk of strawberry and eased it into his mouth.
Fire soared through his sinuses. Tears poured from his eyes. He tried to breathe through his mouth to put out the flames.
Lorel pouted at her now-empty plate.
He leaned toward her. “Trade with me,” he whispered hoarsely.
She blinked, but switched their plates and gobbled the fruit – daintily, for her. She polished his former plate clean with half of the apple slice. “I could get to liking Nasty cooking if it was all this good.”
Tsai’dona elbowed her.
He furtively tried to wipe the tears flowing down his face.
Jroduin sniffled. A waiter dashed in and offered her a handkerchief. She passed the hankie to Viper and resumed cutting up her fruit.
How embarrassing. And what a relief. He mopped his face and stealthily blew his runny nose.
“That little blow ain’t gonna do no good, kid.”
Tsai’dona punched Lorel in the ribs, hard.
His turybird went back to sulking.
Jroduin cleared her throat and set her silverware on her empty plate.
Three attendants swooped in, gathered up used tableware, forcibly removing the fork from Lorel’s fist (with Tsai’dona’s help; her elbow must be getting sore) and carried off their plates.
More servers carried out tiny plates with tiny bowls. Hadn’t they just done that one? But these bowls held a normal-sized chicken egg. Except something was wrong with it. The top was chopped off, and inside was a teaspoonful of minuscule reddish-orange dots, and a glob of even smaller yellowy-green dots in green paste.
“Flying fish roe, sir.” The waiter set the plate down reverently before moving to Lorel’s side.
Fish eggs? He glanced at Jroduin and mimicked her fork selection. If he could call it a fork. It looked more like a three-pronged toothpick.
He tasted the orangey roe first. Salty. Smoky. Crunchy. Strange, but he’d eaten worse.
Bess took one look at his face and put her fork down.
Tsai’dona chewed thoughtfully. “It’s pretty good,” she whispered to Lorel.
Lorel sniffed it, shook her head, and passed her egg bowl to Tsai’dona. “Ain’t nothing there to bother with,” she whispered back.
He tasted a larger bite of the green eggs.
A volcano erupted out of the top of his head. Flames exploded
from his nose. A waterfall spewed from his eyes. He couldn’t get the handkerchief to his face fast enough.
Jroduin glanced at him, concern in her lovely green eyes.
Lorel grabbed his eggshell and tipped it into her mouth. “Hey, the green stuff is pretty good.”
Bess passed her eggshell across the table to Lorel.
Jroduin cleared her throat and sipped her wine. “Try some of this Sedali white. It may remove some of the heat. I apologize I didn’t think to warn you.”
He gulped a large swallow of wine. It helped. A little. He needed a whole bucket of snow-fed spring water to ease the pain. But the wine did help.
Bess sipped from her glass.
Lorel belted hers in a single gulp.
Tsai’dona hadn’t touched hers. Any of her wines. Lorel’d downed them all.
He mopped tears from his face and blew into a dryish corner. The friendly waiter brought him a fresh handkerchief and carried the wet one off on a lacquered tray.
A horde of attendants swooped in and carried off the plates and bowls. Others brought in the next course, a thumb-sized serving of antelope in carrot broth. His thumb size, not Lorel’s. He passed his plate to her before she had time to whine.
A waiter presented a bottle of pale red wine.
Thunderer’s dice! He’d need to mortgage the wagon to pay off the wine bill! How was Jroduin drinking so much? He was feeling light-headed, even though he’d only tasted each glass, and Bess looked sozzled. Lorel didn’t show it yet, but she’d guzzled most of his and all of Tsai’dona’s. Getting her home would be… interesting. Cutting her off would be embarrassing. For him, not for her.
The next course arrived, a tablespoon-sized tart filled with salmon mixed with green stuff. And the next, a small lamb chop (he thought; he was afraid to guess at this point, and the waiter didn’t say) drizzled with green sauce.
He handed each plate to Lorel. If it had a speck of green on it, he wasn’t about to taste it.
The table was cleared and a new bottle of red wine was approved.
Viper swallowed a groan.
The next course was announced as suckling pig with pears and chestnuts in a honey vinegar sauce. Lorel’s portion was twice as large as all the others. She attacked it as if she hadn’t eaten in a lunar.
Alchemy's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 5) Page 16
