Steph Swainston - No Present Like Time

What platters and plates and bowls of food! There were sugared almonds, edible stars, spiced wine, iced wine, spring water, wheat beer and cream liqueur. There were flambéed swordfish, sliced lengthways on silver trenchers.

There were packets of Cobalt cigarillos on the table for those who wanted them. Boar pies-speciality of Cathee, charcoal-roast mushrooms, fat onions, saffron rice from Litanee, steak that juices up your mouth. There was peppered asparagus and kale from the Fescue fields; squash, tomatoes, baked potatoes cracked and oozing butter, Shivel cheeses like crumbly drums with fat blue veins. There was fruit: glazed, glacé, covered in cream.

There were warm loaves, soft inside and smelling sensual, lobster claws pickled from the Peregrine coast, poached pike from the river. Northern exotics like pinnacle rabbits spirited in from Carniss, eels from Brandoch, Awndyn salmon and sundry seafood.

East into Awia, the spices were wilder-fenugreek and turmeric dhal, moist cake with nutmeg and cinnamon sultanas. The best coffee from Micawater, prime grapes plump with juice, olives like slick jewels, floury chorizo sausages in net bags, artichokes you had to be Awian to understand, pizza, prosciutto, ciabatta and more olives.

Tanager crispy duck, all kinds of little birds, larks in pastry, magglepies, dumstruks and starlings caught on lime and cooked on the branch because Awians consider falconry insulting. There were peacocks couchant looking haughty with their skin and fantails replaced. There were crackling hogs with grafted wings and bemused expressions. Bustards were stuffed with turkeys stuffed with pheasant stuffed with partridge stuffed with quails stuffed with chestnut-cutting into it revealed layers of meat like tree rings and was more than I can face. A swan glided up the high table, by gingerbread with silver metallic icing that the Emperor quite ignored.

Eat, eat, eat. Immortality in gluttony. Watch out for checkmate on the marzipan cake!

Lightning noticed us and remarked to Serein, who was gorging on sliced beef and fruit sauce in a wood bowl. His chest was broad and his arms well-defined muscle. He held himself tensely, trying not to dissipate under the tide of strange things, expressive people. Serein’s regime of training had not prepared him for the duel’s aftermath-he was the center of attention but he still felt alone. If he wished himself back in Summerday now, he would feel much worse when he bore the responsibility of command on the battlefield.

Aside from his skill in archery Lightning has cultivated many social talents. It was said of him that if he was in the building no woman would ever have to open a door. He was dapper in black tie and a raised-and-slashed celadon silk shirt, his wings sticking out the back. Some people say that wings have become smaller over millennia because they can’t be used and as Awians, especially non-aristocratic ones, intermarry with humans. Whatever the truth, Lightning’s wings were distinctly larger than Wrenn’s.

“Serein Wrenn,” Lightning said, “may I introduce you to our Messenger and Lady Tern? Comet can fly; I think that’s because he takes things too lightly. He will carry your letters anywhere in the Fourlands, and will help if you need translations, so don’t hesitate to ask.”

The frontier boy bowed, steering back his sword hanger with his left hand and staring at me. I tolerated the usual scrutiny. People don’t notice the subtleties straight away but they find my leggy proportions jarring. I shook his hand. “I’m impressed-nobody can be taught to fight like that.”

“Comet Jant Shira. Lady Tern. It’s an honor to meet you,” he said, looking as if he meant every word of it. His eyes were so wide I could see all the whites around the blue irises. He was wired on anxiety. He could not put a foot outside the narrow sphere of etiquette for fear that he would say or do something dreadful and be rejected from his hard-won place in the Circle, without ever knowing why. His fear was unfounded because only another Challenger could replace him, but he was almost frozen by the manners he imposed on himself.

A servant passed by, carrying a salver of champagne flutes. I took the whole tray from her, balanced it on one hand. I swept it low in front of Serein. “Take a drink.”

He declined, uncomfortably.

“Go on,” said Tern.

“I don’t drink,” he said, reddening.

“No, really? Tonight of all nights!” I pushed the tray toward him. “One glass of champers to celebrate?”

“Sorry, no, Shira-I’m not used to it. If I took a drink now, I could never rise at six to practice.”

After a duel like that, who would anyway? “Sleep till midday,” I said. “Your first day as an Eszai. That’s what I did. I sprayed champagne everywhere; I love being soaked to the skin in it.”

Lightning was enjoying this. “The Swordsman doesn’t drink alcohol, so leave him alone.”

“Shira, if I slip up and lose my edge a Challenger will get the better of me.”

Every time he said “Shira” I bit my teeth together and they were starting to hurt. I said, “Call me Jant. The name Shira really signifies I belong in the lower caste among the Rhydanne. It means ‘Born out of wedlock’-I can’t translate it better than that.” Well actually I can, because it means “bastard,” but I’m not putting ideas in his head.

Wrenn had caused offense already and he was appalled. His face moved awkwardly; he was overaware of its every feature. “I’m sorry.”

“Worry not.” I waved a hand. I make my body language expressive to compensate for the difficulty most people have in reading my cat eyes.

Wrenn shuffled his feet as if they took up too much space on the carpet. I wanted to tell him, I understand how daunting this is, but lighten up, you won’t be out on the street tomorrow. You’ll still be here, immortal, staring at the backs of your hands like a fool.

He was frantically searching for something to say. Every word sounded loud and momentous to him; he picked them carefully, knowing they would be permanently impressed on his memory. I remember when I was in his position, in my reception when I was surrounded by Eszai-I had heard of every single one before through tales or monuments to their work. They were all here, in one place, and they talked to each other! I had been a novelty to them. I tried to get to know them all in one night, but the Eszai I most wanted to speak to was the Comet I had displaced. I practically pinned Rayne against a column and gabbled to her excitedly about chemistry and the latest research into Insect behavior. I told her far too much about my past, without realizing she understood, and that in describing the slums of Hacilith I had reminded her too much of hers.

I could offer Wrenn advice and he might bring something new and interesting to the Castle. I began to understand why Lightning took newcomers rapidly under his wing. I said, “Serein is your stage name; you’ll be grateful for it. You can make Serein whoever you want and Wrenn, your real self, will be safe.”

Serein glanced across the hall and suddenly gaped at a gossipy cluster of extremely beautiful girls. They saw him watching and wafted their plumed fans, parading themselves. They were mortals-Zascai-only fleeting names; they stood on the outside smiling, craving to be chosen and drawn in. Tern eyed them stonily. “That’s just the beginning. Next time, when word gets around, there’ll be crowds.”

“Look,” said Lightning urgently. “Be careful of those ladies. You need to learn how to discourage them.”

“Have fun,” I said vaguely. He could choose a different gold digger every night; no need for whores.

Tern snorted. “Seduction’s their job, Wrenn,” she warned. “They’ve studied it. If you give them an opportunity they’ll eat you alive. They will try anything to marry into the Circle.”