A tense dinner

The dining room was exquisite. Three crystal chandeliers hung over a shorter table than I would have expected, but the room could easily have fit one three times the size. Tall windows lined one wall, curtained in white to match the tablecloth. I saw intricate, gold and ruby embroidery around the edges of the cloth, and the chair cushions matched the deep, saturated red.

Gold-dipped candlesticks were placed regularly, burning the expensive pure-white candles impossible to find far from a noble House – the common folk could never afford them, so chandlers didn’t bother trying to sell.

There were countless small bowls around the table filled with nuts, dried fruits, vegetables, olives, lesser salts, garlic, small peppers, and others.

I noticed there was no salt cellar. My mind flashed to Tiziano’s teaching and wondered at my uncle’s tactic – by leaving the main salt off the table, he refused to admit his allegiance to either Renaud or myself, as the cellar was always placed before the highest-ranking member of the table. He was refusing to acknowledge favor to either of us outright. But it would only last as far as the fish course.

My uncle stood at the head of the table, no chair for him until we were all seated, as tradition dictated. Marchese Saverio Cirocco stood behind the chair at my uncle’s right – he was the honored guest. I led the Marchesa to her place on her husband’s right and pulled out her seat as Tiziano had taught me so many years ago, helping her to sit. Paulo was performing the same dance for Prevot across the table.

I passed behind Renaud to stand at my chair to my uncle’s left while a servant finished seating Sofia Elena. Once the women were seated, the rest of us sat and the head servant brought Eduardo’s chair from the kitchen.

Prevot touched my leg under the table with a delicate finger and I leaned toward her. “Smile at me lovingly, Pietro, as if I’ve said something very clever and interesting.”

I did as she instructed. She’d already told the Marchesa that we were married, and that Tiago was my son, so I had little choice but to follow the tracks she had laid, or risk losing face.

“Lady Emeline, yes?” Renaud asked politely as our plates were laid by a host of servants. “From what House do you hail?”

Prevot smiled softly. “No House at all, Marchese.”

Renaud sent an elaborate look of surprise to Eduardo for confirmation, but my uncle did not deign to meet his eyes. “No House? Are you then… of common blood?”

“A curious expression.” Prevot smiled at the servant who placed her napkin. “I find that there is nothing in the world so common as blood, found in all the peoples of our land. But I hear your question, Marchese. And yes, my family is not so high as yours has risen since your founding, but I would argue to be anything but ‘common’.”

“Do you then believe yourself equal to the Great Houses?” Renaud looked genuinely curious, but I felt there was a touch of unnecessary performance to his expressions.

“Is the wheat greater than the sugar beets?” she countered. At his narrowed eyes, she continued, “One must rotate crops to keep the soil strong, or risk starvation for the people who rely on it. When certain… undesirable traits weaken a bloodline, is it not the duty of those who protect those lines to ‘rotate the crop’, Marchese?”

I knew she was referring to Vito, whose deformities were rarely spoken of. All of the Great Houses had children like Vito at some point or another, however, and Prevot certainly had a point.

Renaud didn’t answer, but Prevot had one final point to make, “Unless you think a man’s blood so weak it could be somehow tainted in his children?”

Renaud smiled then, barely, and only in the corner of his mouth. House Renaud had two more children at home, and a second set of twins Tiago’s age, both boys. Twins were seen as both a blessing and a curse – children were always a blessing, but an unexpected heir was a concern many nobles faced, and an unexpected mouth to feed was a fear shared by the working people. Renaud’s marriage to Marchesa Irene Valeria had been a gamble, since her family history bore many twins, and it was rumored that a significant portion of her dowry was paid after she had the first heirs – owed because she’d borne twins.

The conversation stalled then as servants brought the first dish – a cold soup that tasted more floral than I liked, but I sipped politely. The Marchese asked questions of Eduardo’s lands and holdings and I listened closely. When I looked to Prevot, I saw her eyes studying each person at table in turn, and she gave me a tender smile, but said nothing else.

As the fish course was placed, I watched my uncle’s expressions for any hint of favoritism. When the dishes were laid, the sauce ladled, and the utensils presented for selection, two servants of identical rank emerged from the kitchens.

I stifled a groan to see they each bore an ornate, glass salt cellar, and placed one before Renaud and myself before disappearing once more. As the butler poured the wine, Renaud helped himself to a pinch of salt and passed the dish to his wife.

I mirrored his movements, irritated with my uncle’s refusal to make his stance known. Still, it didn’t do any favors to his standing with Renaud.

The Marchesa did her best to keep conversation moving, enlisting Prevot’s help as my ‘wife’ explained the difficulties various towns and villages faced across the country. Paulo Angelo occasionally asked a question and ruminated on the answer, but the women carried the brunt of the conversational load.

“How is your son?” Renaud asked.

My eyes darted up from my plate of thinly sliced venison. “He is doing well, thank you.”

“You must have borne him quite young,” he reflected.

“There is little reason to wait, when the needs of a kingdom depend on a competent heir,” I answered smoothly.

“Certainly – he does have your coloring. What is his name, again?”

“Tiago Ricci.”

Renaud’s eyebrows rose. “Still quite young, then, not to have his second name.”

“He is nearly of age,” Prevot smiled at me, “but we thought it best to wait until he can kiss the stones of his true home in the capital.”

“And you’ll perform your own naming ceremony at the same time?” he asked her.

Prevot’s eyes narrowed. “You know I cannot, Marchese. I do not own land, and neither did my father’s father.”

“Ah, yes, I forget – do forgive me.”

“A shame when ones memory indulges the spite of his tongue,” I said lightly and sipped my wine. Renaud went pale and then red with anger, but I turned to Eduardo and said, “I’ll have work for you, Uncle, after my coronation: your son will be elevated to Marchese and yourself to Duca. The responsibilities are great, but I think you will be up to the task.”

Eduardo’s eyebrows rose – my father had refused to name his family as Duca or Duchessa, insisting the role was unnecessary.

“I plan to take at least one ward from each House, as well – it’s time we rebuild the youth of the court.” I smiled at Paulo Angelo and he smiled uncertainly back, eyes darting to his father, who still had yet to speak.

“My youngers are already contracted to ward with other Houses,” Sofia Elena said. She had offered only minimal commentary during the meal.

I smiled. “Certainly – I would never deign to come between House contracts, but I find it important that the next generation knows its peers, and can use the found commonalities to make stronger alliances. As my wife suggests, crops thrive through rotation.” I lifted a forkful of salad at her in a mock salute.

By the time dessert was served (a decadent, layered cake and cream concoction), I was flying high with confidence.

Prevot’s face lit at the first spoonful of her serving and she asked Eduardo, “Would it be too bold of me to ask for a serving of this to bring Tiago? I expect it would lift his spirits after the days abed.”

Eduardo’s tense features softened. “The children are enjoying a similar treat, but it would be my pleasure to have an extra sent to your boy.”

“We can bring it to him,” Prevot said, smiling at me. “If it would not be rude of us to be excused so quickly?”

“Of course not,” Eduardo said, motioning to a servant, who disappeared into the kitchen.

When we were all finished, Eduardo stood and the men rose with him, helping the women with their chairs. Sofia Elena didn’t wait for a servant, but stood quickly, bowed to Eduardo and her father, and left without a word.

Renaud threw me a measured glance before bowing to Eduardo, saying vague words of compliment, and excusing himself, his wife, and son from the room.

“Be careful, Pietro,” Eduardo said as he passed me.

Prevot’s perfect posture relaxed for a moment and she rubbed her palm with a thumb a few times before the mask returned. We followed the servant bearing the special dessert through a set of corridors I’d not yet seen – it was time to visit Tiago.