Cora watched Gavin cut his beet into four quarters. He ate one of them. He flinched when he put it in his mouth. Cora could see the pain on his face.
He moved the errant triangle in between the other two, then spaced them so that they looked like a pinwheel around the goat cheese. Gavin sat his fork down.
Cora sliced her beet in rough sections and ate them one by one. She held her fork in her right hand and her knife in her left. Gavin did not make eye contact the entire time. She did not let that stop her, and she ate every morsel.
The maids cleared the plates. They each returned with a bottle of wine.
Cora said, “Ah, we each get a bottle. Generous.”
“This is only for the second course. The effervescence is supposed to elevate the cucumber.”
“Let it rise.”
The maids poured in synchronicity. A finger of the amber fluid bubbled at the bottom of a tall glass. Gallian sparkling.
“The prisoners we captured in Terndowns say that the plague had been cured.”
“Your sister, your maid, and I climbed to the very top of the world to find the mushroom which cures the Plague of Roses.” Cora took a sip from her glass.
“Is it true, then? You cured the plague?” He sniffed his wine, but he did not drink it. “Why were there so many sick still in the city?”
The maid slipped in through the curtains. Silver plates lying on on silver chargers bore green discs.
A single slice of cucumber and a single slice of quail egg? That hunk of bread is looking pretty good.
Their dirty cutlery was removed. Three forks and three knives remained.
Cora said, “The tincture preparation took two weeks of distillation and the mushrooms took four weeks to sprout. The operation was scaling up with time.”
“And it prevents reinfection?”
“It does not.” She watched his face with her eyes narrowed. “It saves the infected. Reverses the illness.”
Gavin picked up his knife and fork. He stared at the end of the knife. “Then it changes nothing.”
One of her eyebrows twitched. “It does for those who drink the concoction.”
“They’ll just get sick again.” His eyes never left the tip of the knife.
“Is life meaningless because people will just die later?”
“I often think so.” He put the tip of his knife to his lip.
Cora pressed her lips together and picked up the cucumber slice between her thumb and forefinger. She held it to him for a moment and popped it into her mouth.
Gavin held the knife over the candle’s flame. “Fire remains our only option.”
Cora chewed, working her jaw. The cucumber crunched delightfully between her teeth. Nothing green had been served to her in her month’s captivity. She did not respond to him and focused on the flavor.
The knife bobbed, dipping in and out of the flame. It blackened, then glowed. “I had hoped—” He started. “That is to say, the Dragon had hoped—” He cut himself off again.
“Cora, the plague has reached Kaldenval. It is no longer the only plague. The people are fleeing on ships. I don’t know if it has left our borders.”
She propped her face on her two hands and looked plaintive. “That sounds very scary for a ruler.”
Gavin scoffed, “He doesn’t rule.”
She put her hand on the table toward him. “I meant for you.”
He moved the knife from the flame and from her perspective, it appeared to touch his lip. “My father taught me to command. You were in the classes. My mother taught me to rule. This is not an easy situation. Someone must save the people.” He plunged his knife into the quail egg. It sizzled. “The ones that can be saved.”
“What do you imagine when you think of success?”
“A clean land. We will burn all the bodies. We will hunt down any who have ran and destroy those who are harboring them.” It sounded rote.
“That sounds lonely.” She breathed the words. Her pulse rang steadily in her ears.
He gestured to the maids. “You may clear this course.”
The plates were removed. Cora reached for her glass and swallowed the wine before handing it to the maid. She refused to take it. Cora sat down the glass. The maids took both in harmony.
Gavin sat across from her with his eyes closed.
Cora muttered, “Heavy is the head which wears the crown.”
His lips flickered, but he did not open his eyes. She controlled her face, keeping her eyes wide and dreamy.
Another glass in front of them was filled with a single finger of white wine. A single scallop as big around as her index finger sat at the center of the plate.
Gavin’s scallop rolled as the maid sat it down. Both of the maids gasped and his eyes flew open.
Gavin stared. The scallop was near the rim. Cora saw the tremble in the maids. She stood, and switched the plates for each other.
Saving two lives by trading a plate. Let him see me take that which he cannot look upon.
Gavin picked up his knife and fork. “These are from the Bandinette.”
“A taste of home.” Her sleeve rode up her forearm and she did not straighten it.
“Trade with Gallia has stopped.” He cut a paper-thin wedge from the scallop. “L’Marc said they would continue to send ships. When they did not send the ships, the Dragon put him in an oubliette.” He cut another wedge from the opposite side of the scallop.
“I do miss the fat seafood from the Gallian coast.” She speared the scallop on her fork and gestured with it.
“It’s not the seafood. Silk. Oil. Dyes.” He sat his fork on the plate.
“I suppose without their mordant your black grays quickly.”
He plucked at his sleeve with the tip of his knife. “It doesn’t matter. There are no textiles coming in from Terndowns. There is nothing to dye.” He pushed the fork around on his plate with the tip of his knife.
“You hope that the artisans of my home would work for me.”
“Would they not?” He flicked the knife and the fork flew off the table. It hit the curtain with a thud and slid to the floor.
“I worry that there is something I need to do for you here.”
“The weapons?” He threw the knife at the curtain.
She ate the scallop from her fork and sat it down. “I would happily make you one.”
He laughed. “Yes, let me bring you the materials to make a weapon.” He turned to the maid. “You may clear the course and the wine.”
She let the wine be taken untouched.
I shall starve alongside him if need be.
“Cora, I don’t care about the weapons. The Dragon cares about the weapons.”
She knit her brow. “What do you need?”
“I need to fix this city! This duchy. This kingdom.” He stood up as he spoke and fumbled for the baton on his back.
Cora stood and said, “May I?” She held out her hand.
He turned his back to her.
She lifted the shining rod out of its loop. Cora held it for a heartbeat, dazed by the glittering black shards. She held it out to him, touching his shoulder with the handle.
He turned and took it from her. His fingers grazed hers.
Her heart rose in elation.
He trusts me.
He took a step back from her and said, “One.” He pointed the baton at her. “There are only two options. You get your people to return. They help us rebuild. Or you meet with the Dragon.” His fingers flexed over the baton. “When you are ready to discuss the weapons he wants.” He turned to leave.
“After my gracious welcome, it would be impolite not to discuss what I am here to say.” Cora spoke to his retreating back.
He counted his way through the curtain and then doubled back.
“So be it. You will meet with the Dragon. May the Sun have mercy on you. You may have both desserts.”
The maids cleared away the plates and brought one back with two blueberries.