Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [47]
The crust on the pastry was exquisitely light and flaky. I let a forkful melt on my tongue, digging up a bite of the meat below. It was tender and savory beyond belief. I wondered what game House Shahrizai was playing with us. Whatever it was, Bao seemed to be enjoying himself. I watched him banter blithely with Josephine under the matriarch Celestine’s keen gaze.
“You’re suspicious,” Balthasar observed.
I laughed. “Wouldn’t you be?”
“Quite.” He grinned. “I promise you, our motives may not be pure, but they’re not bad, either. Enjoy yourself.” He gave another discreet nod. “The gentleman in the blue doublet at the far table? Mercer Trevalion, Comte de Fourcay. Not one you ought to seek to engage. Claire Fourcay was his niece.”
“Duly noted.”
As the night wore on, dish after dish was served to us by attendants in spotless white linen aprons. Each one was truly delicious. There was a rich, dense venison broth, followed by a haunch of venison, ground mustard seed, roasted pheasants, a variety of pates and terrines, fine white bread to sop up the meat juices. There were dishes of bitter winter greens that reminded me of home in their simplicity, and sauces so complex I couldn’t begin to guess what I tasted in them. All of it was washed down with copious amounts of wine.
It was pleasant… and strange. The Shahrizai were at ease with one another, but I felt a prickly quality to their company. They were descendants of Kushiel, and his gift carried sharp edges.
Once, it had made me nervous. Although I wasn’t easy with it, I wasn’t troubled by it anymore, either. But I did wonder what they were after, and what I’d gotten myself into. The other diners were curious, too, most especially, the Marquise de Perigord’s table.
“Everyone is looking at us,” Gamaliel murmured in my ear, leaning in closer than I liked.
“Do you enjoy that?” I inquired.
He chuckled. “I suppose I do.”
“Do you, my lady?” I asked, looking past him at his wife. Mariette Shahrizai flushed, and did not answer.
Gamaliel laid a possessive hand over his wife’s. “She enjoys it for my sake, don’t you, love?”
Her flush deepened. “As you say, my lord.”
I glanced at Bao, who shrugged.
At last, the dessert courses were served: apple tarts spiced with clove, a creamy flan custard, sweet jams, and tart cheeses, accompanied by perry brandy. One by one, the other tables began to depart. The last to leave save ours was that of the Marquise de Perigord. She approached our table, trailing her retinue of suitors.
“Balthasar Shahrizai!” she said in a light, teasing tone. “You’ve been keeping secrets. Do introduce us, will you?”
“But of course, lovely one.” Balthasar rose, bowing to her. “You know my uncle and aunt, of course; my cousin Josephine, and my great-aunt Celestine. I am pleased to present Lady Moirin mac Fainche and Messire Bao.”
All of us rose and exchanged polite greetings.
“How very… interesting,” the Marquise said thoughtfully. “You Shahrizai do like to defy expectations, don’t you?”
“It seems we do,” Balthasar agreed with a lazy smile. “But we always have our reasons for it.”
“And the rest of us can but wonder at them, you gorgeous, secretive creature,” she said in turn, kissing his cheek. “Anon, then!” I watched her sweep out of the supper-club, suitors in tow. Marc de Thibideau cast an uncertain look over his shoulder at me as they went.
It left our table alone in the dining room.
“Mayhap we should depart, too,” I suggested. “The hour must be passing late, and the servants weary.”
The members of House Shahrizai glanced at one another; and then at their matriarch, Celestine.
She gave a decisive nod. “I like them.” She patted Bao’s hand. “Especially this one.”
“So be it,” Balthasar agreed. Fishing in a velvet purse at his waist, he drew forth an ornate iron key, placing it on the damask-covered table before me. “Here. This is for you.”
I stared at the key, uncomprehending. “I don’t understand.”
He took a deep breath. “Not so long ago, we spoke of ancestors,