To Bind in Blood

Chapter 16

Jurion had never felt more uncomfortable than he did now. Surrounded by ministers and military officials, he remembered just how suffocating dinners like this could be and recalled the days when this was Gaelin's problem and not his. Real military meetings were much more to his liking, and even those he rarely enjoyed.

Lifting a cloth napkin to his mouth, he dabbed at the crumbs that were in reality not there, the action more for keeping his hands busy than anything else.

A stranger sat at the empress's left today; the meal had begun and Jurion still did not know the man's name. Nadeina nor anyone else had bothered with an introduction. General Aelider was cold and stiff standing at the empress's shoulder, while Nadeina at the head remained tight-lipped as usual, surveying the table with a hawkish gaze.

Jurion glanced at the person seated on his right-General Haska, who looked just as peeved as the rest of them to be here. The woman seemed out of place among the ministers, possessing an edge to her that told Jurion she could be dangerous despite her quietness. Her gaze was on the plate in front of her loaded with all the delicacies Sardin had to offer, but she hadn't taken a single bite of food.

Jurion's gaze traveled from the Haska to the man seated across the table. Minister Yerbus, or whatever his name was.

Yervin. That was the name. The man was practically swimming in his robes, and he hadn't said much more than a few words to Jurion, as if afraid he might have his head bitten off.

Repressing a sigh, Jurion picked at the strange, crab-like thing on his plate. Some delicacy, he assumed. What he would give for a decent cut of elk. The woods around Black Vale were full of them. But he did not voice his complaint aloud, for he was in enough control of his faculties to do that. He was well-fed here, and that was more than what he had been accustomed to as a general on duty.

He nudged the strange food with his knife, deciding to attempt conversation. "If I may ask, Minister Yervin, what exactly is this? I'm afraid I'm ill-acquainted with Sardinian food."

The Minister of Rites's brows rose as he scrutinized Jurion's plate without leaning over. Either approaching middle-age or already there, he had a thin, pale face that looked perpetually alarmed. "That would be steamed helm, my lord. A popular delicacy here. The name comes from the shell's resemblance to a helmet."

"Ah, and how does one . . . eat it?"

"You must remove the shell. It is a tedious process, especially for the unpracticed. Helm shells are notorious for either splintering into hundreds of tiny pieces or not cracking at all."

"Why don't you do it for him, Minister Yervin?" said General Haska. "I hear you are quite the expert."

Yervin gave a short laugh. "What am I, a servant?" he said, but his glance toward Jurion showed he was joking. He inclined his head, the image of politeness, though there was something anxious in his expression. "I would be honored to assist you, Great Lord."

Jurion shook his head. "No need. I am not very hungry."

"I do not think we have been introduced, Great Lord," said the man who had spoken to Yervin, "and we have been sitting across from each other this whole time." He set down his knife and fork, bowing his head, blue-gray eyes still raising to meet Jurion's. "Please pardon my lack of manners. I am Dalit Iorr, Fifth Prince of Turel, here on behalf of my country to serve Her Imperial Majesty."

"Turel?" Jurion said. "You have come a long way from the land of the giants, Your Highness."

The prince chuckled. "Giants, yes. I see the stories have not gone away."

"Just stories?" Yervin said.

Iorr laughed. "Of course they are, Minister. Though my family is said to have giant-blood running through our veins. But again, they are just stories. I am sure you of all people would understand that, Great Lord."