“
Arin was in the still room, trying to soothe the anxiety of a woman who was saying that she had just preserved the jams, and must all of them be used for the banquet, every last one? She didn’t think the Dacrans appreciated ilea fruit. Why serve something they wouldn’t love as much as the Herrani did? It would be best, surely, to keep at least those jars for winter.
Trying to explain the politics of such lavish consumption tangled Arin up in frustrated half sentences, because it didn’t make much sense to him, either, to consume every edible thing in one night.
And then he heard Roshar’s accented voice in Herrani drifting down the hall from the ktichens.
“…you don’t understand. The piece of meat must be the finest, cut from the loin, seasoned with this spice, not that one…”
Arin excused himself, told the woman he’d discuss jams later, and followed the prince’s voice.
“…and it must be well roasted on the outside, almost charred, yet bloody inside. Bright pink. Listen. This is crucial. If anything goes wrong, the banquet will be ruined.”
Arin entered the main kitchen to find the prince haranguing the head cook, who slid a half-lidded look of annoyed sufferance at Arin.
“There you are.” Roshar beamed. “I need your help, Arin.”
“For the preparation of meat?”
“It’s very important. You must impress this importance upon your cook here. The fate of political relations between my country and yours hangs in the balance.”
“Because of meat.”
“It’s for his tiger,” said the cook.
Arin palmed his face, eyes squeezed shut. “Your tiger.”
“He’s very particular,” said Roshar.
“You can’t bring the tiger to the banquet.”
“Little Arin has missed me. I will not be parted from him.”
“Would you consider changing his name?”
“No.”
“What if I begged?”
“Not a chance.”
“Roshar, the tiger has grown.”
“And what a sweet big boy he is.”
“You can’t bring him into a dining hall filled with hundreds of people.”
“He’ll behave. He has the mien and manners of a prince.”
“Oh, like you?”
“I resent your tone.”
“I’m not sure you can control him.”
“Has he ever been aught but the gentlest of creatures? Would you deny your namesake the chance to bear witness to our victorious celebration? And, of course, to the vision of you and Kestrel: side by side, Herrani and Valorian, a love for the ages. The stuff of songs, Arin! How you’ll get married, and make babies--”
“Gods, Roshar, shut up.
”
”