The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [64]
“Oex,” he answered, and then he proceeded to make some explanation in Vitellian.
The woman nodded, made various hand gestures, and then looked pointedly at Neil.
“Pan tio nomes, me dello?” she asked.
“I am sorry, my lady,” Neil said, “I do not understand you.”
The woman shot a mock-angry look at Sir Chenzo. “You’ve allowed me to be rude to a guest,” she told him in the king’s tongue. “You should have told me right away that he doesn’t understand our tongue.”
She turned back to Neil. “I only asked your name, my dello,” she said.
“Lady, my name is Etein MeqMerlem, and I am at your service.”
“I am the countess Orchaevia, and this is my house you’ve been brought to.” She smiled again. “My. So many guests.”
“I regret the lack of notice,” Sir Chenzo rushed to say, “but we met them just now, near the ruins of the coven. My order will of course reimburse—”
“Nonsense,” the woman said. “Do not become vulgar, Sir Chenzo. The countess Orchaevia does not need to be plied with Church silver to persuade her to host travelers.” Her gaze settled on Neil. “Especially such a handsome young dello as this.” Then she smiled at Sir Quinte. “Or one with the reputation of Sir Quinte.”
Sir Quinte bowed. “Countess Orchaevia, the pleasure is mine. I had a mind to pay you a call, being in the region, even before these gentlemen escorted us here.”
Neil bowed, too. He was reminded of the Duchess Elyoner of Loiyes, though physically there was no resemblance. The duchess was dainty, almost a child in size. Yet the countess Orchaevia had something of her flirting manner.
She set as lavish a table, as well. Fruit came out first, and a dark sweet wine, followed by an earthy yellow soup Neil did not recognize, roasted hare, tender flanks of kid stuffed with parsley, roasted pork with sour green sauce, and pasties filled with wild mushrooms. Next came partridge and capon served with dumplings of ground meat shaped and gilded so as to resemble eggs, then a pie of unlaid eggs and cheese and quail glazed with red honey and garlic.
By the time the fish course arrived, Neil was nearly too full to eat any more, but he persevered, not wishing to insult his host.
“Sir Etein is in search of his true love, Countess,” Sir Quinte said as he plucked out the eyeball of a trout and popped it into his mouth.
“How delicious,” the countess said. “I am an authority on true love. Do you have someone specific in mind, Sir Etein, or is the girl still unknown to you?”
“She—,” Neil began, but Sir Quinte interrupted him.
“We believe she was in the coven,” Sir Quinte explained.
“Oh,” the countess said, her face falling. “So many girls, so young. What a horrible thing. And just after the Fiussanal, too. They had just been here, you know.”
“Here?” Neil asked.
“Oh, indeed. The sisters of the coven are—were—my neighbors. I held a feast for the girls each Fiussanal. It was that very night—”
“The night of the purple moon?” Neil blurted before he could think better. Again he saw poor Elseny, her throat cut ear to ear. He felt Fastia in his arms, her heartbeat no stronger than a bird’s. He saw again the greffyn and the Briar King.
He realized that everyone at the table was watching him.
“Yes,” the countess said, “the night of the purple moon.” Her eyebrows descended, and she shook her head. “I hope you are mistaken, Sir Etein. I hope your love was not one of the girls in the coven.”
“Is it possible—if they were here—that they did not all return?”
“I do not think so,” Orchaevia said softly. “The sisters were quite strict about such things, and the attack came hours after the party had ended.”
“Bless the saints that their attackers did not come here,” Sir Quinte said, quaffing from a cup of dry red wine.
“Yes,” Orchaevia said. “Thank the saints, indeed. What was your lady’s name, Sir Etein? If she was here, I might have met her.”
“Muerven de Selrete,” he replied.
“Of course they did not go by their given names in the coven,” Orchaevia said. “Can you describe her?”
Neil closed his eyes, still remembering