We all begin to dig into our meals, the room falling eerily quiet with only small scrapes and taps of metal forks hitting plates. I glance up at the chair across the table from me. Empty. Where Aelia had sat just earlier.
From my first impression, I rather liked her. Especially compared to Marcella, who’s on my left. Intense even in her silence. As I glance at her from the corner of my eye, watching her long fingers flirt with the rim of her wine glass, her tracing stops. Her brown eyes flick to me like thrown daggers. Rather than ducking to avoid the cut, I focus back on the plate in front of me. Shoveling a bite into my mouth to keep myself looking occupied.
After a few minutes, once voices slowly begin to pick up around the table, I ask quietly to stir a conversation, “Do you think they’re eating the same thing?”
“No,” Marcella answers, so plainly. Quickly.
Have I done something to upset her? Or is she normally this…standoffish?
I take another bite, and after I swallow, toss out another attempt. “This food is…incredible. I’m not sure if I’ve ever eaten fish.”Foolish. What kind of conversation starter is that, Lyra?
“Well, you’re from Kilamber, right?” Marcella mutters warily. When I glance back at her, she lifts her wine to her lips and takes a sip before continuing in a monotonous tone, “The closest body of water to you is Vathstone.”
“Yes…Kilamber.” The word is a distant memory. Like staring out beyond the horizon and knowing something is there in the distance, yet still not being able to see it. “Where are you from?”
She pauses from twirling her wine, still not looking my way. “When I was presented, Millton. But I’m not certain that’s true.”
She takes another drink.
I toss glances around us, surveying how close the guards and servers are.Where Lady Bethany’s attention is. Ducking my head subtly, I whisper, “Don’t you find it a bit odd that our memories have been wiped? How could they even do such a thing?”
“Not sure.” She shrugs, still not looking my way.
Narrowing my eyes at her blatant disregard for the situation, I press on. “Is this not concerning to you? Are you…are you not scared?”
“Scared?” Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead, and she finally turns to look at me. “I’m not scared, nor do I get scared. Perplexed? Curious? A little angry that I’m stuck here for potentially months when my family needs me? Yes.”
“Devin said we?—”
“Who?” Her eyebrows bunch up.
“Devin? The…main guard in golden amour?”
“Ahh…” She takes another drink. “I hadn’t caught his name quite yet.”
She hasn’t even touched her food. But almost three quarters of her wine is gone. Not that I’m judging—only hyper aware of the fact that at her pace I would already be dulled under the consumption.
I lean a little closer to her. “Okay…so…you remembered you have a family. But you don’t remember anything else? Not how you got here? Or your last name? Anything?”
If she already remembers she has a family, perhaps it means my memories returning are just around the corner, if I’ve been the last to wake.
She guzzles the rest of the wine with a satisfied hiss and slumps back into her chair, her arm holding the empty wine glass slung over the back. Lifting the glass, she directs her attention to a server expectantly.
The server scurries off and returns with a bottle of wine before pouring her another glass. Lifting a lazy grin at the server, she takes another hearty drink. When she sets it down, it’s half empty already.
Before I can stop myself, I stutter, “M-maybe you should…slow down a little?”
When she turns her brown eyes onto me, piercing and deadly, I freeze. Her eyes do not move from mine as she says, “Excuse you?”
Holding up my hands as I inch away, I blurt, “Sorry. I’m not trying to be rude or judgmental. I only wish to convey my concern for this…” I toss a quick glance at the guards, “…situation we find ourselves in. If we don’t know what wiped our memories, what’s to say it isn’t the wine?”
She leans forward until the scent of her soap washes over me. “I thinkyou need to relax a little.” She pushes her wine glass into my hand, and I take it to keep the liquid from spilling out onto my light blue dress. “Take the edge off.”
“Marcella Briarstone,” Devin calls out from the top of the stair landing.
She retreats from my personal space and turns her head, her earrings glimmering in the light as she does so. “Yes?”
“Come with me,” Devin commands, motioning to the double doors leading out of the dining room.
