Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [29]
Sarene nodded slightly. Part of her was happy to hear she hadn’t misjudged Raoden by his letters; the other half thought it would have been easier to continue thinking that he was like his father.
“Enough talk about dead princes!” a small but insistent voice decided from the table. “If we don’t eat soon, Father will have to stop complaining about me because I’ll be dead.”
“Yes, Kiin,” Daora agreed, “you should probably go to the kitchen and make sure your feast isn’t burning.”
Kiin snorted. “I have each dish cooking on a precise schedule. It would be impossible for one to …” The large man trailed off, sniffing the air. Then he swore and barreled out of the room.
“Uncle Kiin is cooking dinner?” Sarene asked with amazement.
“Your uncle is one of the best chefs in this town, dear,” Daora said.
“Uncle Kiin?” Sarene repeated. “Cook?”
Daora nodded, as if it were an everyday occurrence. “Kiin has traveled more places in this world than anyone in Arelon, and he brought back recipes from each one. I believe tonight he’s fixing something he learned in Jindo.”
“Does this mean we’re going to eat?” Kaise asked pointedly.
“I hate Jindoeese food,” Daorn complained, his voice almost indistinguishable from that of his sister. “It’s too spicy.”
“You don’t like anything unless it has a handful of sugar mixed in,” Lukel teased, mussing his half brother’s hair.
“Daorn, go run and get Adien.”
“Another one?” Sarene asked.
Daora nodded. “The last. Lukel’s full brother.”
“He’s probably sleeping,” Kaise said. “Adien’s always sleeping. I think it’s because his mind is only half awake.”
“Kaise, little girls who say such things about their brothers often end up in bed without supper,” Daora informed. “Daorn, get moving.”
“You don’t look like a princess,” Kaise said. The girl sat primly on her chair beside Sarene. The dining room had a homey, studylike feel, filled with dark wood paneling and relics from Kiin’s traveling days.
“What do you mean?” Sarene asked, trying to figure out how to use the odd Jindoeese dining utensils. There were two of them, one with a sharp pointed end and the other with a flat shoveled end. Everyone else was eating with them as if it were second nature, and Sarene was determined not to say anything. She would figure them out on her own or she wouldn’t get much to eat. The latter was looking much more likely.
“Well, for one thing you’re way too tall,” Kaise said.
“Kaise,” her mother warned in a threatening tone.
“Well it’s true. All of the books say princesses are petite. I’m not exactly sure what petite means, but I don’t think she’s it.”
“I’m Teoish,” Sarene said, successfully spearing something that looked like a marinated piece of shrimp. “We’re all this tall.”
“Father’s Teoish too, Kaise,” Daorn said. “And you know how tall he is.”
“But father’s fat,” Kaise pointed out. “Why aren’t you fat too, Sarene?”
Kiin, who had just appeared out of the kitchen doors, absently rapped his daughter on the head with the bottom of a serving tray as he passed. “Just as I thought,” he mumbled, listening to the ringing sound created by the metal pan, “your head is completely hollow. I guess that explains a lot.”
Kaise rubbed her head petulantly before turning back to her meal, muttering, “I still think princesses should be smaller. Besides, princesses are supposed to have good table manners; cousin Sarene’s dropped about half of her meal on the floor. Who ever heard of a princess that didn’t know how to use MaiPon sticks?”
Sarene blushed, looking down at the foreign utensils.
“Don’t listen to her, ’Ene,” Kiin laughed, setting another succulent-smelling dish on the table. “This is Jindoeese food—it’s made with so much grease that if half of it doesn’t end up on the floor, then something’s wrong. You’ll get the hang of those sticks eventually.”
“You can use a spoon, if you want,” Daorn said helpfully. “Adien always does.”
Sarene’s eyes were immediately drawn to the fourth child. Adien was a thin-faced boy in his late teens. He had a pale white complexion and a strange,