It was Vercha who eventually changed the subject. “You will find this an excellent situation for service. I told Father we simplyhadto have you for the evening, to get to know you better. I take an interest, you see. We treat our set well, and they, in turn, do well by us.” She smiled. “You know we pay better wages than nearly all the other Coastal Dozen?”
But still a pittance,I thought, staring around at the heavy silver, the golden candelabras, the meats piled on china plates. There were fish in sweet spices, a whole roasted crab. Tureens of sauces and gravies and cream.
The crystal goblets were finely engraved, and I wondered if they were Tresteny glass. Zennia had told me about her mother’s glassmaking business, the best in Nemestra, beloved by the Hundred. It was how Zennia had found herself in their company so often: Her mother visited the Houses, and the Houses came to her.
And Zennia had whispered to me, too, about the Sparkmouths working her mother’s glass furnaces, paid a nominal few coins for their hazardous work. Fires had ripped through the furnaces often. No one cared enough to make it safer.
“I only wish,” Vercha continued in a wistful tone, “we had more engagements in our social calendar we could take you to. Alas, we are a little too isolated out here. We visit the nearest city, Breawr, whenever we can, and we host friends and parties and even balls on occasion. But if you were imagining a life like the Hundreds’ Orha in, say, Pen Aryn, I worry you may be a little disappointed.” She darted a glance ather father under her lashes. I got the impression there was resentment simmering there.
“Just wait, Verch,” said Catua, her eyes still on her book. “When Father wins the Chamber Seat, it’ll be balls and soirées and theater trips all day. So many you’ll get bored of them.”
“I highly doubt she will,” said Llir.
“Now, now,” Rexim admonished as he tucked into a glazed pie. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. And remember, Vercha, we have the luncheon next week.” He flicked a glance at me over his raised cutlery. “But in any case, no politics at the table, remember?”
“Quite right,” said Vercha. “We don’t want to start Cattie off on one of her lectures.”
As Catua rolled her eyes, my gaze snagged on Rexim’s face.
A Chamber Seat?
The Chamber of Regents effectively ruled Nenamor. Queen Annig was only nine years old and, the rumors said, chronically sickly. There were five Seats in the Chamber, so that votes on policy were never tied, and the nobles who held them wielded immense power, especially the Queen’s uncle, Regent Shrike: the man they called the Puppeteer. Zennia said Annig’s reign had seen a lot of upheaval—more skirmishing, more jostling for influence, for patronage—and that lately things were coming to a head. I remembered the headline of the pamphlet I saw:Dying Dunlin.The Hundred would be voting for his replacement, and Rexim must be in the running for that Seat…
Thoughts whirling, I tried to cover my surprise by reaching to serve myself from the nearest platter. Some rich meat dish, braised in heavy cream. We’d never had anything like this at Arbenhaw. Though I was still taut with nerves, my gown sticking to my back, I took mouthful after mouthful, savoring the exquisite taste.
The rest of the dinner passed with little attention paid to me; itseemed Rexim and Vercha had decided to stop prying. But that didn’t make the evening any less agonizing, didn’t stop me from feeling acutely out of place, as the family spoke of inconsequential matters, like what shade of drapes they would install in the ballroom to replace those too gnawed by moths to repair.
After a dessert of pears in ginger syrup—sweeter than anything I’d tasted before in my life—Vercha ushered me through a side door to a parlor, where a footman waited with a tray of more wine.
“We call this our snug,” Vercha said, draping herself on a couch. “A bit pokey, and it doesn’t get much light, but it was Grandmother Velda’s favorite room.”
The “snug” was little smaller than our practice chambers at Arbenhaw, with a high, plastered ceiling crisscrossed by beams and another great hearth, above which hung a portrait of a frightening-looking matriarch with the same grayish, calculating gaze as her descendants.
Vercha patted the couch next to her, smiling, and I forced myself to perch beside her, hands clasped.
“My,” she said, moving a copper braid behind my shoulder. “You could be very pretty if you tried.”
Llir had come in behind us, the wolfhounds at his heels, and his gaze caught mine fleetingly as he rounded the couch.
I remembered Mawre’s warning:“If you’re not careful, she’ll make you her latest…project.”But what choice did I have? I needed to stay here, impress in this placement, keep all of them on side, if I was going to get to my meeting in Port Rhorstin.
And so, as Vercha wondered aloud whether my hair would clash with the Shearwater livery, I said nothing, merely sat straight-backed and listened, occasionally nodding when she paused to draw breath.
Later, when even Vercha had run out of things to say, I was dismissed, Rexim waving a hand at me from his chair. “Do ensure youget enough rest, Miss Fraine, for you’re likely to rouse early tomorrow. The Waking Tide can be merciless in the mornings.”
“Not to mention the bloody birds,” muttered Catua.
The Brigant had spent most of the evening settled by the fire, surveying me silently and a little unnervingly. Catua’s head had been bent over her periodical, and Llir had seemed restless, stalking the bookshelves.
Now, as I stepped out into the empty banqueting hall, I heard murmurs behind me. An admonishment from Vercha.
I paused. The remnants of the feast had been cleared away. There were no servants about; it must have been past midnight.
Turning, I sidled back toward the door, keeping far enough away to be out of range of their laconite but close enough that I could just about hear their voices. My ears still rang with an after-echo from the stone.
“—like a hare being chased down by the hounds.” Rexim’s voice.
Vercha: “Oh, stop. I like her. I’ll make something of her.”
