* * *
That evening I walked into the dining salon, hardly able to believe the change. How had Mother managed to pull this off? We always took every meal in the “morning” room where we usually spent all of our time, leaving the much larger room closed and draped. One never would have realized that looking at it now.
Candlelight glowed from elaborate candelabras on every surface, including the massive table that dominated the center of the room, stretching from one end all the way to the other. It could easily have sat a party of fifty guests, perhaps even more. I’d never taken the time to count the chairs. This room, like so many others, had been off-limits. And while I made the effort to sneak into the library whenever I could, to slip a book or two beneath my skirts, spiriting them away to hide beneath my bed until I dared to read them, this one had held no allure to me. There was such an air of sadness to rooms like this one; those meant to host laughter and music, tables heavy with food and drink, and instead left desolate, dusty, and forgotten. Abandoned.
Just like we had been.
But now, the cloths riddled with moth holes covering all the furniture had disappeared, and the wooden surfaces gleamed in the flickering candlelight. I glanced at the one nearest me, almost fancying I would be able to see my own reflection in the dark wood.
“Zuhra, at last.” My mother’s voice carried through the dining salon with a bit of an echo, emphasizing the size—and emptiness—of the room. “Please join us. Mahsami has been waiting to serve us until you arrived.”
I ignored the barb in her words and forced my legs to carry me forward to where she sat at the head of the table. By all accounts, Mother should have been dwarfed by the table and the rows of empty chairs running along either side of it, like sad, diminished sentinels standing at attention to a day long gone. But instead, she looked like a queen, reigning over her kingdom, however small it might be. Especially in the dress she’d chosen to wear. It was made of a rich purple brocade accentuated with flounces of white lace, which had somehow been kept from yellowing.
I didn’t think I’d ever seen it before, but then with a suddenness that made me halt, a flash of memory rose unbidden. Little more than a glimpse; of Mother standing in the courtyard, a smaller version of the hedge behind her, wearing that dress, her dark hair long and free, blowing in a breeze, her arms stretched out toward me, and smiling. A true smile, beautiful and warm. And the man beside her—tall, broad, with hair like sun-drenched wheat, and his eyes—
“Zuhra.”
I blinked and realized both Mother and Halvor were staring at me.
My father. Seeing Mother in that dress had given me a memory not only of her, but of Adelric—whose face I had lost until now. The Paladin who had the same glowing blue eyes as Inara.
The chair scraped against the stone floor when I pulled it back, echoed by Halvor’s as he stood when I reached the table. He gave me a slight bow while I quickly took my seat. I flushed, unused to not only the presence of a boy, but also having him bow to me, as if I were someone of importance—someone worthy of deference.
But I didn’t miss the way his gaze flashed past me to the door then back again before he sat down once more, a trace of disappointment crossing his face.
Mother nodded with a flick of her wrist and Mahsami materialized as if summoned from the darkness itself beyond the reach of the candlelight, pushing a cart heavy with serving dishes. I couldn’t begin to fathom what she had scrounged up to put together such a feast. Certainly not our usual thin soup, accompanied by whatever vegetables Inara had managed to grow for us.
“Your dinner, Madam.”
Madam?
She might have noticed my look of incredulity, but her gaze was respectfully—and abnormally—lowered to the serving platters she quickly set out on the table. I shifted uncomfortably.
First came a plate of roasted potatoes drizzled with a fragrant sauce, followed by a dish of salted pork (Sami had been practically gleeful when the hedge allowed a pig through a month earlier), a tureen of vegetable stew, a slab of fresh, crusty bread that still steamed—the delicious scent wafting toward me, making my stomach growl in response—and finally a pitcher of fresh water from the well.
I stared at the largesse with wide eyes. Mahsami must have emptied the larder to prepare a meal this size. What would we eat after this night’s waste? For there was no possible way we could consume everything she’d prepared and put before us. She’d used a week’s worth of food on this one dinner.
“That will be all. Thank you.” Mother nodded imperiously at Mahsami, who curtsied in response and backed away, taking the now empty cart with her. One wheel squeaked, the only sound in the entire salon.
Mother had been desperate to make Halvor leave only a few hours ago but now she seemed to be doing everything in her power to present him with the appearance of a life in the citadel that didn’t truly exist. The life of a noblewoman.
“Shall we say a blessing over this food?”
Mother clasped her hands and bowed her head without waiting for a response.
Attempting to mask my disbelief, I followed suit. Apparently she was a pious noblewoman. An interesting turn for someone who had often told me she couldn’t believe in a god that would allow her to be trapped here.
“Oh, Gracious God, we give thanks for the food we are about to eat. And also for our unexpected but welcome guest. May he be blessed in his endeavors and for the duration of his stay.”
I couldn’t help but open my eyes at that even more surprising sentiment. When I lifted my gaze Halvor was also looking up, his forehead creased. What? You didn’t think yourself a welcome guest after she tried to physically drag you away from here? I had to smother a sudden urge to giggle as I quickly bowed my head again.
“We pray for thy blessings. Amen.”
“Amen,” we echoed simultaneously. When I looked up, I caught Halvor watching me, but he quickly glanced away, toward the food.
“So, Mr. Roskery, where do you call home?” The clang of the silver serving spoons against the china Sami usually only used for birthdays was a tinkling counterpoint to Mother’s pointed question.
“Please, call me Halvor.” He reached for a piece of bread. “Originally, I was from Segara. But Master Barloc and I traveled here from the Libraries of Mercarum.”
“All the way from Mercarum, Mr. Roskery? That is quite a distance, indeed.”
I took a bite of my food, but barely tasted it. My attention was wholly riveted on the boy across from me.
“What could have possibly induced you to leave such a grand city for this dismal place?”
Halvor paused with a spoon of stew partway to his mouth. “Are you familiar with Mercarum, Madam?”
“Both cities, actually. But we are not discussing me,” Mother pushed, ignoring my noise of surprise. She’d never told me where she lived before Gateskeep and the citadel, and Sami didn’t know. Only that they’d traveled quite a distance, mostly at night, to get to the citadel. “What has brought you from the warm, bustling coast to our rain-soaked mountains?”
“It hasn’t rained yet…”
“A rarity, I assure you.” Mother’s friendly tone turned cool, her attempt at polite conversation barbed heavily with intent. If Halvor didn’t respond to her directly soon, I was afraid he would be witness to her wrath. A prospect that could possibly induce him to take his chances with the poisonous hedge.