Thank God. Thomas sniffed the wine, swirling it in his glass. His mouth watered at the thought of consuming anything, but he paused with the thought that it could be enchanted. What was the rule? If you ate the food in a fairy land you’d be trapped there forever?
He eyed the pies in front of him, and the beautiful russet-haired woman to his right. Sod it. They’re not really fairies, and being trapped here wouldn’t be so bad anyway. He lifted his glass, taking a long slug of the wine—a fruity and delicious red. This was the first thing he’d ingested in days, and he had to force himself to put down the glass. He didn’t want to end up under the King’s table before the night was through.
The gauze-clad servants moved around the table, cutting off chunks of duck and rabbit to serve onto people’s plates. When a large chunk of rabbit landed on Thomas’s, he tore into it with the ferocity of a wild dog. I’ve never been this hungry before, not even after a two-day bender through Soho.
A scoop of a meat pie landed on his plate, followed by corn bread, stewed pumpkin flavored with nutmeg and butter, and stuffed quahogs. The bread was fresh and hot, and he dipped it into the pumpkin before taking another bite of rabbit. The meat dripped with a rich cranberry and plum sauce.
He closed his eyes, ecstatic in the rich and savory flavors. This was heaven. Maybe they don’t need to send me home. Maybe I can stay here under the stars and wildflowers eating wild rabbit, even if I have to dress like an absolute twat.
“I see you like the food, Thomas Malcolm.” The King stared at him, a hint of amusement on his florid face.
Thomas looked around the room. Everyone was staring at him, apart from Celia, who jabbed at her food with a finger. Asmodeus sat inches from her. To Thomas’s right, the woman in a bright yellow gown laughed into her hand. Her hair was the color of the burnt-orange sunset above them, and it tumbled over her cleavage. Blue phlox flowers were threaded through her hair.
Thomas swallowed a large bite of meat, and nodded. “It’s delicious. Of course, I haven’t eaten in two days.”
The King tilted his head. “An oversight on the part of our guards. They’ve been reprimanded.” He leaned forward. “And what do you think of our fine city?”
“It’s beautiful.” Thomas stared at the open arches above, the sky darkening to a deep coral. “In fact, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Pleased, the King nodded, taking a large bite of cornbread. Under the food smells, the air was thick and sweet with the scent of honeysuckle blossoms.
“I’ve been enjoying the city myself,” Caspar grinned at the woman in yellow. “Very beautiful, indeed.”
Thomas tried to catch Celia’s eye. She broke of a large piece of cornbread and shoved it in her mouth, staring at the sky.
Asmodeus lifted his gaze from Celia’s cleavage and cleared his throat. “I take it you’ve recovered from your criminal episode?”
Thomas’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “The criminal episode in which I tried to prevent the mutilation of a small child?”
Bathsheba’s laughter was like the tinkling of bells. “Oh! He knows better than we do. Let’s hear what the learned gentleman has to say.”
Maybe he’d misspoken. His mind swirled with academic debates on cultural relativism. But they were going to cut a little girl’s hands off. “I realize that you have your own laws and customs here—”
Sir Caspar scowled. “Laws and customs that stem from thousand-year-old traditions. And to what ancient societies do you belong?”
Arsehole. “None.” A slug of wine. It was going to his head. Sod it. I hate these people. “Though now that you mention it, I come from a culture where we provide medical care to anyone who needs it, even if they can’t afford it. We don’t let children die in the streets from curable diseases.”
Asmodeus reddened. “Because you fools don’t know any better—”
The King held up a hand. “Let him speak.”
Thomas took another long sip of wine. “Look, the Tatters in Maremount can’t afford the treatments. Children are among the most susceptible to the plague, and it wouldn’t be any good for your economy if the young people died off, leaving you with an elderly population past their working years. Why not make the spells available to the public? You won’t have any Tatters left to buy your cures if they all die at the age of four. And then where would you be, Asmodeus?” He spat out the name like an insult.
Asmodeus sniffed, folding his long fingers in front of him.