14.9
Jewel had come to realize that for her last two visits to the Capital the evening feasts had been somewhat restrained. Not so now, for every day since her Triumph the foods had been outlandishly extravagant! There was of course no saffron, but in every other way that Jewel could conceive Mathias had called on decadence to celebrate her victory!
Spices and strange goods from what she presumed was across the realm were prominent! But alongside things she had never even thought to eat!
Jewel had never eaten peacock before! But nearly every other night Mathias had several served to his guests! And the way they were served was a wonder! The roast bird seasoned in butter and boar fat, roasted and then every feather was replaced, its head and neck placed as if the animal was merely sleeping upon the table.
To her daughter-selves’ eyes the illusion was nearly perfect! And though they appeared well rooted to casual observation, the actual feathers came free easily once portions were cut off the birds.
The meat had a pleasantly rich taste, honestly not much different from other game birds still well cooked in olive oil and fine salts alongside the things of boar, but the sheer extravagance of these centrepieces was a delight for the eyes even if the tongue was merely soothed.
There were also delicate hooks of fat cooked dough with every single meal, intricately woven in all manner of sculptures and flourishes, Jewel was thankful that all of her selves could feast close enough to share the flavors from each of their tongues or otherwise she feared Gem might throttle her sister-selves later out of jealousy.
Day after day the decadence was poured upon her, so many sweets, so many herb packed pies, so much fine fluffy white dough crisped and sprinkled in some new foreign spice called nutmeg!
Yet there were also dishes that fit closer to her preference, the simple chicken and pheasant her household had shared with Mathias in her home. Encrusted in black pepper it might be, it seemed unintrusive in comparison to the bouquet of seasonings present in other dishes.
Also honey candied pork was available for Gem, although she saw quite a number of Mathias’ guests try it out of propriety before after little jolts of surprise snatching up every scrap of the candied meats they could reach with decorum.
And of course her own favorite stew had its place on the tables each night.
Dariusz was quietly proud that despite all the fanciful offerings on display, that the delicate little portions of his stew given to each guest never left Mathias’ table uneaten. Although he’d found a particularly wondrous variation for the table to help bring the attention of noble tongues and eyes!
Little dishes of fine bread filled with deep, rich, puddings of flavor and meat for the occasion. The same nuance and delight of his family recipe, but concentrated strongly enough to stand against the tongue-deadening spices of the High King’s table, yet smooth and gentle on the mouth such that it left one satisfied and heavy in the belly.
Well it did for Jewel’s spawn so, the wyrm herself had an appetite that was vast beyond all reckoning, not unrelentingly so as it was after she performed a sorcerous workings, but with a capacity that meant it was more a restraint that meant she ceased eating then any kind of fullness.
With a stomach big enough to hold all the offerings on the table with room to spare this was her responsibility. Even when the number of Nobles at the High King’s table grew to thirty guests the feast would have failed to satiate the appetite of a wyrm.
Jewel did not suffer though, there were no hunger pangs, just an abundance of room should she choose to fill it. Perhaps as a boast she would have Mathias roast three full oxen for one of her meals? She out of curiosity more than any hunger had not deigned to remove the feathers from her peacock roast on the second time it was placed before her.
The new flavor was interesting, and the crunch an enjoyable distraction, but she honestly kept eating the feathers more out of a desire for extra roughage than any preference of flavor. She also tried it with one of the twins, but concluded that although they shared much more with her wyrm self then Gem did, the ability to enjoy eating raw feathers was not among them.
Today’s extravagance was much like the others, although perhaps in one of the higher peaks of such. Dariusz had told her via Gem that the cadence was more for the staff and the effort of the Palace staff than a lack of birds or supplies. Even with nearly a thousand working on them the feasts were incredibly time consuming, the Peacocks especially requiring a great number of skilled hands to stick the feathers back into place before the meat over cooled.
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It was a coordinated effort of Kitchen masters and assistants that honestly grew ever more impressive the more she knew of how it was achieved!
She supposed the extra effort was deserved.
Joining them that night were the three highest priests of the Pantheon of Cantor, and rather peculiar for the group, a fourth member that they had deemed worthy of sitting at a table for the highest nobility and immediate guests of Mathias Stein, High King of the Realm.
“Thank you again, most esteemed majesty! It is a heaven’s sent blessing to be here before you again, and sharing a table as your guest this time!”
The High King leaned forward over his meal, Jewel could feel the way his muscles were trembling, she had seen how his portions were smaller than any of his guests. The way even the relatively light circlet of his office seemed to weigh on his neck.
“Is that so?”
The man who somehow looked even more aged and wracked by his years then Mathias nodded with a motion of enthusiasm at odds with his aged appearance. Every single move of his body was a slicing storm of heavenly contact upon his limbs, running over bones, wrapped up and down sinew, even curdling and twisting inside his viscera.
It made the man somewhat distracting to her Wyrmish senses, even the Highest priests of the pantheon were less riddled with miracles than this man.
“Just so your highness! I am Peter Bulchava, I once presented one of my enterprises’ first workings in this very hall! just past twelve years ago now by my reckoning”
That lit recognition in Mathias’s eyes, but more so it Jolted Jewel’s memory even harder, framed passage with its strange little garden of far too fresh and youthful stones. The twisting wrenching in the world that had taken the efforts of a dozen men?
The water that nobles had gladly drank which felt too fresh, too new.
“Ah yes! How strange a fortune! Lady Jewel look, it is the man who was presenting that curious piece of sorcery at your first welcoming feast at my table!”
Jewel turned to face the man, her wyrmish senses all but blinded by the miracles that cut and recut over his features, having to spare glances of the actual flesh and blood man via Gem and the twins.
But time had wrought so much change upon him she saw nothing she could properly recognize of the man between now and the figure she recalled a decade ago.
“Just so, it was a truly impressive working, something I’ve never since seen the like in all the years after that night.”
She could not see it in his face or the world of his features clearly at all due to the heaven’s touch all over and through the man.
But Gem caught the stillness in the man’s expression, the intensity with which he fixed his gaze to Jewel. Eunika caught the way his lip quivered towards a sneer, Jadwiga saw a shift in his left shoulder that suggested a hand moving for something hidden on his person, like a footman reaching for a dagger at his belt.
Then the moment was gone, a smile with perfectly gleaming teeth shined past his lips and his eyes crinkled with all the joy Jewel was uncertain he was feeling in his heart.
“Splendid to hear that the esteemed Countess Jewel of Rochford thinks so highly of the humble efforts of my Enterprise, to be held up against the might of the war wizards of the realm and the powers of the High Kingdom of Magarska both and considered to excel?! My most heartfelt thanks to you!”
Jewel did not react, her face remained a serene smiling mask. But the way that voice said Rochford, that he knew of her well enough to recognize that such was her preferred family of association?!
The desire to draw back her neck and flare her wings was sudden and strong.
Something stuck in her nostrils, a whiff of familiarity coming from his breath, beneath the beer, spices and faint rot of age that miracles had not stalled.
She could not recognize his face, barely even see it with her senses clouded by divine miracles but as the conversation was taken over by others commenting on her praise among all the crowd of nobles and other well to do guests of Mathias she mulled on the itching memory.
Who was this Peter Bulchava?
Why did his scent tickle her so with vague recognition?