Xel snickers, preparing chicken, as Cesare checks himself. "Borgia-kun, if you could see those people eat who I was traveling with before I was brought to this town, you would be at ease. Not," he winks, "that I will be less than flattered should you wish to savor my humble efforts. I believe that the kingdom I know as Lyzeille will be on the same ground that is currently occupied by a country known as France, although of course it's impossible to be entirely certain, and Solara was--or rather, will be--one of its towns: the Solemnity of Laughing Radiance, a suburb of my own beloved city. And what I'm inferring is that, like a Lyzeillian, you prefer a touch of sweetness to your food, and that, like a Solaran, you prefer also enough in the way of spices and herbs to make a Seragracian like myself lunge with watering eyes for the nearest pitcher of chichicha."
"Oh, Cantharidin!" He's pleased. "That's a good one; you can always explain it away as aphrodisiacs and skin treatments." Curiously, "Did they mean it literally, about your blood? It seems the sort of thing people say to be poetic about other fears, but there are some whose blood might really have a bad effect."