Tarys was so terribly flat-footed about the whole thing, Vethrys thought. He might have said something witty to begin the feast, or ironic, or something. She busied herself skewering the best pieces of meat from her stew on the end of her eating knife, then went after the chunks of carrot. Some sort of cream tart came next, and she sat back, shredding the crust idly between two fingers while she watched the other revelers, and her brothers.
"Oh, just long enough to eat the Baron out of house and home," Vethrys said, nudging Tarys with one elbow and shoving the rest of her tart across to Ash, who looked like he wanted it more than she did.
She found herself distracted by a tumbler, who'd hopped onto the table, planting a foot between an arrangement of salad greens and a pitcher of wine, then turned a neat midair somersault and landed flatfoot in the space in the middle of the room. He tumbled up past the salt. He was small, skinny, dark-haired, and masked, wearing Stonesthrone colors, but in a ridiculously gaudy diamond-pattern, and had bells sewn into his sleeves, hems and boots. When he came closer, she saw he had a very red apple in one hand. He offered it to her, and then her brother, with a flourish, then pulled back, bowed, and ran one hand over the fruit, making a pulling gesture. The apple spiraled up as though it had been cut, furling into the red-edged shape of a unicorn's horn, until it ended in a fine point. Then he turned it over, waving a hand, and its empty base fountained with red wine.
Someone had begun playing the fife and some sort of twangy stringed instrument, she noticed. The sound wasn't entirely pleasant--maybe a little shrill, and its rhythms were purposefully uneven--but it added a note of anticipation to the entertainment.
The jester took a step back and took a long drink from the horn, throat moving ostentatiously. When he had finished, he held it out to their table and those surrounding with a flourish; it still brimmed with liquid. He passed his palm over the horn again and wiggled his fingers. A red rosebud appeared, coaxed from the liquid, and bloomed. Petals unfurled. Slowly, the red color drained from the flower; when he pulled it out of the horn of liquid, the green stem turned black. With a flourish, he offered the flower to Vethrys.
She took it with a grin and toasted him; he returned it with the rest of the horn of wine. Doubtless not Tarys's idea, but she liked the tumbler; she kept smiling at him and looked toward Sir Mirak over his shoulder. Then she handed the flower to her brother.
"Black and white becomes you," she told Tarys. "You look so very Thandryon tonight."