Finn was astonished he didn’t know the answer to this question.
Marigold savored her bite, then spoke. “I’m from the fire kingdom,” she said. “My parents are no longer living, but their lineage there goes back many generations.”
“What were their names?” Melinda asked.
Marigold paused for a moment, as if unsure what to say.
“My mother was called Solar,” she said, “and my father was Sirius. I am their only child.”
Melinda looked shocked, then collected herself.
“Are those names common in your kingdom?”
Marigold shook her head.
“I only ever knew one woman called Solar, and one many called Sirius, and they were my parents.”
“Strange, memorable names, to those of us unused to magic and healers and dragons.”
Marigold nodded kindly.
“I understand,” she said.
“Those are not names one forgets,” Melinda added.
Marigold set down her utensils and looked seriously at Melinda.
“Are you saying you knew my parents?” she asked.
“I am saying I have met people by that name before.”
“But how?” Marigold asked.
“Do you want to come by our house tomorrow?” Melinda asked. “We could talk then. I did a portrait involving people of those names–but they never came to fetch it–and I’d like you to look at it.”
Marigold looked around to see others watching her and seemed grateful for Melinda’s discretion.
Finn wondered if, whatever Marigold was looking for, it had to do with her parents–who had apparently come to this small town sometime before Marigold’s memory. He also wondered if her appointment with the Hummels meant that Marigold would stay a second day…and thus plague his mind with strange, possibly unhealthy, thoughts.
The centrepiece of the main course came from the deer Finn had killed yesterday. It was roasted with a savory rhubarb sauce. This was served alongside with raw beef heart covered in a savory, green garlic sauce on toasted bread. All around were fresh vegetables to balance the heavy mains. There were crisp, sweet snap peas and more of the radishes Rosemary, and evidently, Marigold, liked. There was soft, salty butter slabbed on a plate and passed around. Roasted carrots with dried flowers on top. Finn reminded himself to eat slowly. To drink in the candlelight. As Marigold seemed to be doing.
Rosemary, the consummate host, knew that, after a few hours sitting around the table, people liked to get up, carry their glasses and go to their different corners of the room–which Rosemary had long since decorated with plush seating. This created different, more intimate groups that were ever shifting. Normally, Finn would have been looking toward the door every so often to see if his father had arrived, but tonight his mind had been stirred up. At the conclusion of dinner, his father was there, standing in the doorway with his old and wizened aspect. He welcomed his guests, kissed Rosemary on the cheek, and sat down to eat his dinner.
Before Finn knew it, Hestia was at his side.
“Take me to your father,” she said. “I must know that he approves of me.”
Finn did as he was bid, but with a longing look at William, who had lingered behind to talk to Marigold.
Of course, lots of guests had surrounded his father, whom he was named after. Finn Sr was a well-known man, thought of by many as a genius, but also a story-teller who could entertain a crowd. He had travelled far and wide before settling this farm, once called Lousy Thorn, and bringing it to wild success. Finn wondered if, by asking to talk with his father, Hestia was making some kind of power move.
She would have the attention of the most sought after man in the room; it was her way.
Meanwhile, Marigold and William were deep in conversation.
Finn grew impatient with this charade.
“Father,” he said a little too bluntly and loudly, so that heads turned. “Hestia would like to speak with you.”
