The Apothecary Diaries Book 9

Anan's Banquet

Even when you spoke the same language, cultural differences could still be massive. Ananese banquets turned out to look very different from Linese ones.

Being situated to the south of Li, it was quite warm in Anan—hot, in fact. The sound of drums and flutes filled the air, a lighter and more cheerful noise than the music of Li. Carpets were laid out outdoors, and people sat on them—there were no chairs, but instead shiny cushions were supplied on which to sit. The food, likewise, was served not on a table, but atop a carpet, and instead of each person being served individually, everyone ate from large communal plates. The alcohol came in uniquely shaped jars, and was distinctive for its bright color.

The food was prepared by women, all of them scantily clad. They wore skirts that were hardly more than gaudily colored cloth wrapped around their waists, while their tops were short-sleeved. The sinuous alcohol jars almost seemed designed to complement the women's shapely bodies.

There was a lot of black hair around, but not much of it was straight. Skin tones ranged from ivory to honey colored, and many of the people had rugged faces. Maomao recalled that Fuyou, the former middle consort, had had facial features very much like those of someone from Li. Perhaps she'd been sent to the rear palace exactly for that reason.

The soldiers who had been summoned to attend the banquet couldn't stop ogling the alluring dancers and servers.

"They just walk different, don't they!" Chue said to Maomao, swinging her hips demonstratively. No one saw her—the food tasters worked behind a curtain. "I think I'll buy one of those outfits tomorrow and give my husband a little temptation."

"Does he like that sort of thing?" Maomao asked, picturing Baryou, who looked like a pale, scrawny version of Basen. She had to admit, she couldn't help but wonder what their married life was like.

"Not at all," Chue said bluntly. She just wanted to wear it, it seemed.

Events like this in Anan were evidently less highly formal dinner than friendly banquet; still, the people important enough to need food tasters sat on a raised dais with a lovely low table and footed trays. Maomao's job was to take food off a tray one piece at a time and taste it to make sure there it wasn't poisoned. The curtain seemed intended to conceal the fact that she was doing this, but it also conveniently concealed that the food tasters were chatting together.

"There's a lot of undistinguished faces in the royal family here," Chue remarked impertinently. "I guess it's only natural. All those political marriages were bound to introduce a lot of foreign blood."

That answered Maomao's question—Fuyou looked relatively Linese, it seemed, because she had a fair amount of Li heritage. Such matches were a common way for two countries to forge a stronger bond, by making themselves family. Alternatively, a ruling country might seek to thin out the bloodline of a vassal state with such a tactic.

Everything looks peaceful here, but I'm starting to wonder if maybe Anan doesn't like Li very much.

She couldn't stop the thought. After all, the people of Anan knew that the very name Li had given their country was meant to mock them.

Maomao peeked out from a gap in the curtain at the person who seemed overwhelmingly the most likely target of any such resentment. Jinshi sat holding a cup of alcohol and smiling. From behind, she could only see his face in profile, but the scar in his right cheek looked redder and more prominent than usual, maybe because of the heat.

Jinshi had his diplomatic smile on. He had been poured a hefty serving of alcohol, but there was scant sign that he had drunk any of it. Maomao could see servers at the edge of her vision, hovering and keeping a sharp eye for any empty cups.