‘Can we speak of something more uplifting?’ Borin said.
Lyndal smiled. ‘Of course. How’s Lady Kendra?’ she asked her uncle, picking up her cup and finishing what was left in it.
‘Very well, given the circumstances.’ He said that last part so only she would hear it.
Lyndal reached for the tray of roasted vegetables in front of her, only to have the food taster appear beside her again. With a sigh, she said, ‘We’re all eating from the same trays, are we not?’
Thomas tutted, then said, ‘I gather from this you are not making a lot of friends here.’
Astin imagined all the things he might do to the man under a dark sky with no witnesses around.
‘It is simply a precaution,’ Fayre said, replying on Lyndal’s behalf.
‘No one else has died on their plates,’ Lyndal said, shooing the young man away. ‘So I’ll take that as a sign all is safe, thank you.’ The second he was gone, she reached for the wine and filled her own cup this time.
Lady Henley leaned over the table and whispered, ‘Perhaps you should have some food.’
Lyndal nodded. ‘Excellent advice.’ Then she drank instead.
‘It is good to see pork and mutton returning to the nobility borough, Your Majesty,’ Lord Wilfred said, sitting up straight in his chair. ‘Any idea when we can expect to see some beef?’
The smile fell from Lyndal’s face, and her eyes snapped to Astin. He shook his head ever so slightly.
Borin shifted, visibly uncomfortable. ‘Two months, the farmers are telling me.’
Astin and Lyndal stared at one another, a realisation settling between them. The remaining thirty-nine head of cattle had not gone to the nobility borough, which raised a much bigger question.
‘Do eat up,’ Queen Fayre told Lyndal. ‘I imagine you are famished.’
‘I would skip the chicken, however. It is a little dry,’ Borin said, poking at his plate.
‘My niece will not notice,’ Thomas said, waving his fork. ‘Merchants have a different palate.’
Lyndal closed her eyes, and Astin fought to keep his feet still and his face neutral.
Lady Victoria placed her knife carefully on her plate and cleared her throat. ‘Did anyone catch the break in the clouds a few nights back? Some reported seeing stars.’
Lyndal’s eyes opened. Slowly, she reached for the jar of wine and refilled her cup, drinking the entire thing before turning to her uncle. ‘How is our palate different?’
Everyone stopped talking and looked in their direction.
‘He meant no offence,’ Victoria said, playing the peacekeeper.
Lyndal’s eyes never left her uncle. ‘I’m simply curious. It’s clear to all that the nobility have better clothes and houses, more wealth and food, greater health, and more promising futures. But how is it that your palate is also superior?’
Queen Fayre glanced in Astin’s direction. ‘Lord Thomas did not say superior.’
Lyndal emptied her cup yet again and reached for the jar.
‘I think you have had enough,’ Thomas said, moving it out of reach.
She laughed, but it was not her usual pretty laugh. It was venomous. ‘You people. Always deciding when we’ve had enough. Enough wine, enough food, enough freedom. I’m always surprised when I enter the merchant borough and find no wall around the well.’
‘That is enough,’ Borin said, throwing down his fork.
Thomas looked up at the high table. ‘I must apologise on behalf of my niece, Your Majesty. I believe she was attempting humour and it fell flat.’
Lyndal stared at him, tapping one finger on the table. ‘I wonder if that’s because you have a more sophisticated sense of humour than I do.’
