Blood Countess (Lady Slayers) by Lana Popovic

Author:Lana Popovic
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Abrams
Published: 2020-01-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

The Harp and the Switch

In Elizabeth’s company, and without Ferenc’s glowering presence, the great hall sheds the heavy pall of menace that I remember. Instead, the massive fire roars cheerfully, and the clusters of candles cast a mellow glow over the room. Even the great stag head mounted above the mantel seems to have lost its hollow-eyed, leering aspect.

Elizabeth has me take her seat at the table’s head with the hearth roasting my back, while she alights at my right hand. “And will Lady Sage enjoy some capon, fed on nectar and ambrosia until it expired of happiness, then brined in brandy for a thousand days to spice its flesh?” she japes, preparing to spear slices of golden-roasted meat onto my plate.

“Indeed,” I say haughtily, lifting my chin. “I feast only on ancient, drunk capon that has met its death by contentment.”

“Of course you do. It’s a mark of peerless taste. And what of boar goulash, braised in our humble homegrown peppers and fruit ferried from the Orient, so rare and exquisite it has yet to be named?” she continues, gesturing with a copper ladle.

I pretend to consider, then turn up my nose. “Perhaps later,” I decide. “When it’s aged to match the capon.”

She bows extravagantly over her arm like a dandy courtier. “As my lady pleases.”

I eat and drink until my head spins, indulging in a compote of spiced pears, crumbled apple cake, root vegetables glazed with honey and citron, and so much wine that the room seems to drip around me like tallow, softening at the edges.

“Do you think,” I muse between sumptuous bites, “that we could have some of this sent to the scullery, once we’re done?”

“The scullery?” she exclaims. “Why ever would we do that?”

“I lived with the sculls, is all,” I mumble, my cheeks heating. “I know they’ve never had better than plain bread and gruel, rarely anything fresh. And all this will . . . It will go to waste anyway . . .”

I falter, fearing I have overstepped. But she surveys me warmly, resting her chin in a cupped hand. “Of course we may, if it would please you. Though I admit I am a bit taken aback to find that my icy sage has such a generous heart for her inferiors. Tell me, what else would you have of me tonight?”

Elizabeth goads me into voicing my desires, and indulges my every whim. She shares mouthfuls of wine with me through kisses and feeds me pomegranate seeds by hand, holding out a plate for me to spit the husks when I’ve sucked off the dainty flesh.

“See?” she says, showing me the fruit’s glossy crimson rind. Something about it, its gleam and fleshy size, puts me in mind of poison apples from the tales my mother used to tell me as a child. “It is just as I once told you. The very same color as your cheeks when something stirs you to passion.”

“You stir me to passion,” I murmur, leaning toward her as if drawn by a compulsion, my face pounding with heat.

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