The formulaic response caught in her throat-and before she could force it out, Oraan was at her elbow. “Lady Ashi,” he said, “we should find your seat. Lhesh Tariic is about to enter.”
Ashi looked back to Dagii, but he had already turned to head to the high table. She curled a hand into a fist and let Oraan lead her away. The entire crowd was in motion as people looked for their places. Fortunately, they already knew where Ashi would be sitting-Oraan had found that out a few days ago. In fact, it was key to how they would be able to both attend Tariic’s feast and use the opportunity to break into his chambers.
Razu appeared on the dais and rapped her staff against the floor. “Lhesh Tariic Kurar’taarn comes!”
The voices of the crowd rose as Tariic entered, striking in tigerskin cloak and spiked crown. He gestured with the rod, acknowledging the crowd and silencing it. “On this night,” he called out, “we celebrate the night that Haruuc of Rhukaan Taash met with his closest allies to plan a grand strategy that would carve out a homeland for the dar. Because of that night, Haruuc of Rhukaan Taash became Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor. Because of that night, we stand as Darguuls.” He raised the rod as if in blessing. “Eat, drink, and celebrate the birth of Darguun!”
Once again, voices rose. Tariic let the adulation of the crowd wash over him briefly, then turned and took his place behind the high table. At that signal, servants entered the throne room carrying dishes and platters, bowls and tall pitchers. The feasters took their places on long benches, chatting with those around them and helping themselves as food was placed on the table. Unlike the feasts and formal dinners of the Five Nations, there was no waiting until everyone had been served.
Ashi’s nearby table companions were people she knew only in passing: a couple of lesser warlords, the chief of a small but disciplined clan, another human who was an apprentice to the viceroy of House Cannith, a goblin with one eye who had served as a scout under Haruuc. She recognized the choice of seating as a deliberate slight. By rights, she should have been seated closer to the high table or at least with people of higher standing. It was easy to imagine that at other tables, people would be gossiping about her.
She didn’t care. It didn’t really matter where she was sitting because she wouldn’t be there long. Ashi fell into the small talk of the table with an ease instilled by Vounn’s training. She knew several warriors from the chief’s clan had been placed with Deneith mercenary units, and praised them accordingly. She discussed hunting with the goblin scout, weapons with the warlords, and events across Khorvaire-such as she was aware of them-with the Cannith apprentice. All the while, servants brought their burdens to the table. Pale, slightly sour hobgoblin wine. Small cups of korluaat. Starchy noon prepared in a variety of ways, from small balls in sauce to big steamed dumplings stuffed with bits of meat. Chewy sausages pickled with bitter herbs. Meat and fowl of various kinds, roasted and stewed and smoked.
Ashi ate-and especially drank-sparingly. Vounn had shown her the art of making it seem like she was keeping up with those around her, when in fact very little was passing her lips. She didn’t feel a particular need to gorge herself on Tariic’s bounty. For one thing, she had, as Oraan had confirmed, already eaten well and wasn’t hungry. For another, she was watching for a particular dish to make it to the table.
It was good that she was watching, too, because when the dish appeared, the clan chief’s eyes lit up, and he reached for the bowl. “Black noon with mushrooms and braak greens! Lhesh Tariic feeds us well.”
Ashi beat him to the bowl. “Allow me,” she said and scooped a generous helping of noon balls threaded with black mold, pale straw mushrooms, and limp, dark green leaves onto his plate before taking some for herself. It looked unpleasant at best, but she had to admit that it did smell very appetizing. She offered the bowl to the Cannith apprentice, who looked at it dubiously but relented when Ashi insisted it was a Darguul delicacy.
The goblin scout declined to partake, but the two warlords finished off most of the bowl before it made its way farther down the table. Ashi glanced at Oraan. If he noticed her, he gave no sign of it. Bracing herself, Ashi picked up her spoon and dug into the mess.
It didn’t take long before the Cannith apprentice started looking distinctly pale. Ashi felt it too-a nauseating roiling in her belly accompanied by an uncomfortable swollen sensation. A belch forced its way up her throat and escaped from her mouth to leave a foul taste on her tongue and a pungent odor in the air. A light sweat shone on the face of the clan chief. He pushed his plate away and started to rise. “Miin eshoora,” he said in Goblin, excusing himself from the table.
It was someone else from farther down the table, one of the last to eat the black noon, who vomited first, however. A goblin in merchant’s robes turned suddenly away from the table and, without even rising, was noisily sick on the floor. The clan chief made a noise halfway between a burp and a gurgle, and fled. It was too much for the Cannith apprentice. She jumped up from the table and ran for the wall, huddling down to try and conceal her shame. Ashi might have grinned at the way Oraan leaped to get out of her way if she hadn’t been concentrating on not throwing up herself.
Heads all over the throne room were turning to look at their table as feasters cleared away from those being sick. Another feaster down the table fled for the door, though he didn’t make it quite so far as the clan chief had. The two warlords looked at each other in alarm. Both of them were starting to sweat. Ashi clamped down on her teeth, trying hard to keep her stomach from rising as servants raced in with empty buckets.
The goblin scout pulled the Cannith apprentice’s plate over and inspected what was left of her meal. He sniffed at it, then pushed it back. “The black noon is off,” he said calmly.
Across the throne room, plates scraped as feasters shoved them away. A servant reached Ashi with an empty bucket that smelled like it had recently held mop water. She ignored the smell and buried her head in it.
When she looked up, Tariic’s eyes were on her. She nodded at him politely. One of the seats at the high table was empty. Tariic’s lackey Daavn was down on the throne room floor talking to the viceroy of House Medani. The half-elf rose and came over to her table. He held out his hand, and the dragonmark that patterned the back of it seemed to flash brighter for a moment. He swept his hand across the table, pausing over the Cannith apprentice’s plate.
“There’s no poison,” he said. “The noon in this dish was simply spoiled.”
The goblin scout muttered something under his breath as the Medani walked away. Tariic gave Ashi another long look, then made a dismissive gesture. Razu came trotting over to the table. “Those who are ill may leave the feast.”
Ashi cleared her mouth and spit into the reeking bucket once more, then handed it back to the servant. She rose, nodded again to Tariic, and, along with the others who’d eaten the tainted dish, walked out of the throne room with all the dignity she could manage. The noise of the feast returned, and the last she saw of Tariic, he had turned back to his conversation.
As soon as they were alone on the stairs leading back to the upper floors of Khaar Mbar’ost, Oraan slipped a vial into her hand. Ashi pulled the cork from it and swallowed the liquid inside in a single gulp.
Her queasiness vanished instantly. Her stomach settled, and even the bad taste in her mouth vanished, replaced with a sweet flavor vaguely reminiscent of cherries. “Rond betch,” she said. “That was unpleasant.”