Unnerved, Demelza added: “Plus my dinner manners are, I am told, appalling. Edmea announced that she nearlyretched watching me eat and as I have no desire to ruin anyone’s appetite, I thought it would be best to spare them.”
Demelza waited for him to ask her what she had learned, but he only quietly pushed the plate forward. Demelza could fight it no longer. She seized the plate of pie as Arris began to say:
“It’s made with a custard of firebird eggs and soaked in morning violets, which I’m hoping will bring a balance of spicy and—”
Within three bites, the pie was demolished.
“—sweet,” said Arris.
He looked alarmed. Demelza belched a puff of hot steam. Then she coughed.
Arris winced. “Too spicy?”
“I liked it,” said Demelza, even though her eyes were watering. Aware that he was staring at her, she frowned. “What? Has my method of eating offended your refined appetite?”
“Yes,” said Arris.
Demelza refused to be embarrassed. “Well—”
“You don’t take the time to enjoy yourself,” he said.
“And waste my life extolling the virtues of a single berry?” Demelza sneered. She hated being told she was lacking and she felt all the more foolishly cornered because deep in her heart, she wanted to eat and walk as beautifully as her sisters. As elegantly as Edmea. But the act of even trying seemed a recipe for more shame, and so she continued to scoff: “Is this the part where you take pity on me and hand-feed me as if I am a chick and tell me how toeat and what to taste and then look at me pityingly since I imagine you’ll just assume I’m as in love with you as everyone else? Is that what this is?”
Arris grinned. “You really think they’re all in love with me?”
Demelza threw her hands in the air. Again, Arris spoke. This time his voice was softer.
“An abundance of time is a luxury that most assume only the richest may afford, but that is not true,” said Arris. “When one is impoverished of hours, days and years, the art of savoring becomes an act of defiance. I take the time to enjoy things not because I have the time but because I don’t. And you don’t have to do the same, but if it’s awkwardness you feel when you eat around others, then I assure you nothing is more off-putting to them than your own joy.”
He had not scolded her… but Demelza felt chastened all the same.
“For what it’s worth, I would never hand-feed you,” said Arris.
“Good,” said Demelza.
“You seem liable to bite and I’d like to keep my hand.”
Demelza laughed. Afterward, they spoke of the contestants and Arris left and Demelza figured that was that. There were more efficient ways he could get his reports from her and it was probably just coincidence that he had been experimenting in the kitchens and wished to have someone sample his concoction.
But the next evening when Demelza went into her room, there he was again. This time he had brought somethingsavory: “Rock quail in a sauce of almonds and snow cherries!” Arris paled. “Wrate above, do you even eat quail… I mean… you are a bit of a…”
“Bird?” answered Demelza.
Arris nodded.
“Well, only on my mother’s side,” said Demelza.
“Would this be considered cannibalism?”
“Hope not,” said Demelza, helping herself to the quail.
It wasn’t the first time she had eaten poultry. Her sister, Evadne, even enjoyed hunting game on the moors, which Prava happily encouraged, accompanying her in stalking about the property during the season. Though it had to be said that Araminta abstained from any entrée that had previously possessed feathers.
“I feel as though I have committed some awful sin in preparing this for you,” said Arris.
“It’s delicious,” said Demelza, not bothering to look up from her plate.
“Ah! Good!” said Arris. “Well, in that case… I suppose I feel absolved…”
