“I look forward to it greatly. The culinary exploits here have always been… unique.” Sigis eyed Inkar as though she were a rotten smell under his nose. “Have you ever had fish?”
Her tone was politely incredulous. “I come from an island,” she said.
He laughed. It was a she’s endearingly stupid laugh, and by the look of things, Inkar recognized it, too. “I meant fish from Kylma. The fermented shark paste is my favorite.”
“Is he joking?” Inkar whispered to me.
“I’m afraid not.” I’d always been amused by visitors trying our delicacies for the first time. Part of me looked forward to Inkar’s reaction. Part of me hoped she’d enjoy every bite and wipe Sigis’s smug look off his face.
“You’ll hate it,” Sigis said with relish. “The jarls have such dull palates.”
Inkar straightened. I gestured for Aino. Maybe wine would keep Sigis occupied. As a servant filled Sigis’s and Inkar’s cups with bright, golden wine, Aino brought me cloudflower juice and a warning look. I’d be useless enough sober.
“Shall we toast your father, Ekata?” Sigis said. “The great man he was and the legacy he left?”
“He’s not dead,” I said. What would Sigis do if Father woke up in the middle of the coronation trials? What would I do? How would Father deal with the ministers who’d crowned me, with Aino who’d stolen Mother’s jewelry, with Inkar, the daughter of a former enemy?
Sigis looked at me as though I’d said something absurd.
Inkar investigated her cup. “From what do you make this wine? And why a wooden wine cup? Are you too poor to pay for silver?”
“We’d all love for you to freeze your lips off on a silver glass,” Sigis said before I could answer. “As for the wine, it’s made of apples. A special kind, all white. Do you remember playing in the orchards at the foot of the mountains, Ekata? We went not long after I first joined you.”
I remembered. I remembered Sigis throwing an unripe apple so hard at my brother Kevro’s head that he’d been concussed. An accident, Sigis claimed.
Inkar turned to him. “In my country, when I ask a question of one person, I do not expect it to be answered by another.”
Sigis smirked. “There’s so much more to the world than your little country, my dear.”
More servants began to bear down on us with plates. “Dinner,” I said without trying to mask my relief.
Dinner was served in the twelve longest courses of my life. We began with a broth of fish, which Inkar said tasted of the bottom of the sea. Sigis, on the other hand, stopped one of the servants and insisted she pay his compliments to the chef for remembering how well Sigis had loved it. From there we moved on to the dreaded shark paste, served on flat seaweed bread. Inkar prodded at the wobbling mass. “This is… celebratory food?”
I couldn’t tell whether she doubted the celebratory or the food aspect more. I opened my mouth to tell her that our full marriage feast would be finer, but then I remembered we weren’t supposed to have a full marriage feast. “It’s a famous delicacy.”
“Then you eat it, my wife.” She slid her plate toward me and reached for my cup. I was halfway through her bread before I noticed Eirhan glaring at me again. Father and Mother would never have shared the contents of their plates. I probably should have insisted she eat it. Instead, I focused on my food so I wouldn’t have to look at Eirhan’s face anymore.
After oyster and smoked-fish courses, we moved to the meat: fresh, raw caribou; roasted hare; deer with apple jelly; aspic; and goat sausage cured with spices from the South. Inkar enjoyed most of it, though she made a strange face at the aspic and pushed most of it around on her plate.
As we ate, Eirhan tried his best to engage Sigis. “Her Grace and I very much hope you will enjoy the evening of festivities.”
“I don’t doubt I will,” said Sigis in a voice that indicated the exact opposite. “Though I do hope she’s made some plans for my men. They get so restless when they’ve been on campaign. They have only one thing on their minds, and it’s nearly impossible to keep them under control.”
He’s only baiting me. Sigis wouldn’t dare have his men attack the city. I smiled and kept my mouth shut.
Inkar, though, hadn’t been told to court Sigis. “Are your men so undisciplined? My father would never let me lead the Emerald Order if he thought I could not control them.”
“Drysian soldiers are not your average men. They live for the fight and the spoils. They are like ravenous wolves.” He nodded at me. “Her Grace knows a thing or two about wolves.”
“Mostly how to keep them away from me,” I said without thinking. Sigis’s mouth curled in contempt.
Remember Eirhan’s advice. I smiled again.
Sigis switched tactics. “I’m sure everyone’s dying to know—do you intend to honor the Avythera agreement?”
The what? The glint in his eyes told me that he knew I didn’t know. As I fumbled for an answer, Eirhan stepped in. “Her Grace intends to study it in greater depth before officially moving forward. Her father spent years on the agreement, and I’m sure we all agree it would be unwise to push the matter so immediately.”
“And I know you’re concerned that your father might awaken,” Sigis added.
Eirhan, Sigis, and Inkar looked at me. I forced my smile wider.
“It is, of course, our dearest wish,” Eirhan said. “Regrettably, one requirement of being a grand duke or a prime minister is a certain attention to practicality.”
“Not to mention ambition.” Sigis shot a look around the table. “One that I feel many of your ministers lack.”
That had to be a threat. But whom was he talking about specifically? I leaned forward to scrutinize the ministers who were listening from up and down the table. Who had a red face? Who wouldn’t look up from their plate?
“Your Grace is leaning into her aspic,” Eirhan observed.
As I dabbed at my chest with a napkin and a servant removed the offending plate, Sigis said, “Amending the Avythera agreement would allow you to rebuild the eastern guard towers.”
“Rebuild? Why would we need to rebuild? Is there imminent threat of war?” Inkar asked. I did not miss her use of we.
“I sincerely hope not,” Sigis replied. His gaze met hers. Her smile dropped a fraction and became more like a sneer.
“Her Grace is overwhelmed with duties,” Eirhan cut in. “She hasn’t had time to look over her father’s unfinished business, much less agreements that have been all but cemented.”
“Yet she managed to get married… for now.” Sigis pitched his voice low enough that the other ministers, straining to make polite conversation through our awkward haze, couldn’t hear him. But he wanted me to hear. I was certain of that.
Eirhan, to his credit, changed the subject: gossip on the war between Khourzad and Alhatia, an analysis of the continental crop yield for the season and what that meant for trade, Sigis’s winter plans. Sigis’s poor temper oozed through every reply. He cut his meat with forceful movements that grated on the porcelain plates. He set his cup down so hard it cracked. His laughs were dark and angry, his orders unforgiving.