CHAPTER SEVEN #2
“Please,” Father said, tearing his focus from the succulent hen whose juices ran clear into the vegetable gravy and freshly baked bread crowding the copper plate. He locked eyes with Linus, who managed to hold Father’s gaze only for the briefest moment. “Tell me… what Mother would say.”
Each agonizing syllable sent a shiver down my spine.
“I…” Linus’ words caught in his throat, and for the first time in a long while, I didn’t blame him.
When he bowed his head low, voice raising to a pathetic octave, I came perilously close to feeling sorry for the fool.
“I know better than to partake of wine before dinner is served. Forgive me, my lord.”
I sat there motionless, opposite emotions vying for my prioritization.
Although I was beyond grateful I’d not made a mess of supper, I also knew that no one was spared when Father’s temper ignited.
I pressed my thumb deep into my palm, grounding myself in the present moment and begging the energy that surged through my legs to subside.
“Pardon the interruption.” Petunia may as well have appeared out of thin air.
She stood at the foot of the table, small and proud, hands resting against her apron.
Her silver-brown hair peeked from beneath a linen cap, swirling about her aged face in delicate, sweaty wisps. “Is everything to your liking, Sire?”
“I wish I had an answer for you, Petunia.” Father heaved his chest—evidence of a laborious, audible sigh—before delicately retrieving his fork and knife.
Petunia inclined her head sympathetically before launching a knowing expression at both Linus and me; we were to behave ourselves for the rest of dinner, that look told us, or else our meals would be suspiciously saltless for a solid week.
With that, she spun on her heel and disappeared through the servant’s door that led to the kitchens.
As Father began deconstructing his hen with unnerving precision, I forced a slow, shaky breath through my lungs.
My heartbeat gradually reduced to a passably normal speed, so I chanced a glance at Linus.
He sat across from me, white-knuckling his cutlery and studying his plate much the way Father had.
To the casual observer, it might appear as though he’d recovered from the repercussions of his own idiocy, but as his sister, I knew better.
“Delicious,” Father said, pressing an orange, embroidered napkin to the corners of his lips. His eyes roamed over to me, and I clumsily grasped for my fork.
I pierced a potato chunk and took an enthusiastic bite, only to exhale sharply through a grimace as I suffered the consequences of piping hot food.
“Can’t you see the steam rising from your plate? Or do they not teach you basic observational skills as a pretend Sentinel?”
Of course, even a near-death experience with Father wouldn’t stop Linus from seizing an opportunity to mock me. If glares could cause injury, Linus would have been writhing on the floor instead of taunting me with that insufferable smirk.
“I am not a pretend Sentinel. I am a volunteer,” I corrected. I wished I could have held my head higher, but we all knew the truth.
“And how many other volunteer Sentinels are there?” Linus lazily chucked a bit of carrot into his mouth as if he hadn’t stepped in a heaping pile of manure two minutes ago.
I parted my lips to say something I probably would have regretted, but the unexpected shuffling of feet stilled my tongue.
“Persy!” Linus called, returning a broken-off piece of bread to his plate. “Do you come bearing news?” He must have, to be interrupting the King during supper.
I shifted in my seat to assess the dark-haired man making his way to the table.
Our eyes met, and recognition tightened my throat.
It was the Sentinel who had apprehended Vicar days prior.
He hadn’t seen me, but as he stopped beside my father and bowed, my heart took off at a sprint.
If there was one thing I could be certain of, it was that this supper was intent on taking years off my life.
“I do,” Persy finally answered Linus, lowering his head respectfully. When Linus perked up, he quickly added, “For my lord, the King.”
Linus deflated, and if I hadn’t been reeling, I’d have savored the moment.
There’s no cause for concern, I reminded myself.
Persy’s eyes hadn’t settled on me for long, and as I searched his features for the smallest hint of acknowledgment, there was instead a resigned demeanor I took comfort in.
If Father had found out I’d traveled beyond the wall and seen the Threshold for myself, there would be no mistaking it.
So, instead of worrying needlessly, I plopped a bit of bread into my mouth and considered the fact that Persy was a much better name than Prissy.
Father’s face remained painfully neutral as Persy’s lips fluttered in his ear; whether the news was phenomenal or catastrophic, I doubted we’d ever know for certain.
Still, I stole glances between each bite, not quite relinquishing hope that I might discern what on Morwyn was important enough to interrupt our meal.
When Persy ceased his monologue and stood tall, Father waved a hand dismissively. Persy bowed once more, nearly smacking his forehead into Father’s throne, before shuffling backwards and exiting the great hall.
Father, who seemed positively disinterested in whatever urgent news Persy had come bearing, resumed his meal. He pierced the hen with his fork and sawed gently with the knife, always careful never to strike the copper.
Linus watched Persy’s exit with unmistakable curiosity. I imagined it was quite straining to ease out the words, “Must not have been a trivial matter.”
I should have left Linus alone with his half-hearted inquiry, but instead found myself responding. It would be a risk, but what about the last few days hadn’t been?
“He’s a Sentinel too, isn’t he?” I feigned disinterest as I scooted the food around my plate. “I heard he was fitted for metals not long ago.”
Linus nearly choked on his wine, and some even sputtered down his chin. He retrieved his napkin in earnest, dabbing the liquid away.
“No,” he said through purple-stained teeth. “You’re mistaken once again, sister. If someone were to be fitted with metals, I’d be first in line.”
Father’s feasting stilled, and I felt the familiar prickling of gooseflesh along my arms. He looked at me with a too-soft expression, his inquiry almost gentle: “You heard?”
Now that was unsettling.
“Yes?” It shouldn’t have sounded like a question, but there were many recent occurrences that shouldn’t have happened at all, so that would just be added to the list.
“From whom?” Father’s cutlery lay forgotten on the edge of his plate. His full attention diverted to me, and the weight of being focused on by the most dangerous creature in Lunamor was paralyzing.
“I can’t recall,” I said, furrowing my brow and puffing out my cheeks.
“I… I’d left my boots in the Sentinel’s Depot, so I went to retrieve them, and I heard someone mention a couple of Sentinels had been fitted.
I thought I recognized Persy’s name, but wasn’t sure until…
” As casually as I could, I waved my hand towards the door he’d exited.
Did that sound natural and unaffected? My guess was probably not.
“You weren’t scheduled for today,” my father said, his tone definitively even. He tilted his head to the side, narrowed eyes and parted, upturned lips piling on to the incredulous expression I’d never once seen on his face.
“I was not,” I admitted. I quickly tucked away the fact that he had my schedule committed to memory while reaching for my reply.
“I have an early start tomorrow, so I thought I would clean them today.” I hoped desperately that my enthusiasm for guarding the wall—or walking atop it uneventfully, as it were—would obfuscate my deception; I was not the most skilled liar, but even the unskilled could manage when face-to-face with a predator.
I made myself hold my father’s gaze, painfully conscious of my brother’s gawking. I was the one in danger now, and although Linus would usually take this opportunity to relish in my distress, his perceived slight seemed too much for him to bear.
Linus turned to Father with the ginger demeanor of a pup aware of its comparatively meager size. “Were Sentinels fitted for metals? Was Persy?”
Father’s gaze remained locked with mine. Slow, purposeful blinks set me on edge as I awaited his reply, but I did my best to appear as curious and unwitting as Linus.
“It was probably just gossip,” I remarked, stealing a quick sip of wine that desperately wanted to be a gulp. “You know how they talk in the depot. It’s not like there’s much else to do, all things considered.”
“He would have told me,” Linus said as if I hadn’t spoken.
Father inhaled deeply before finally relieving me of his gaze. “For once, I’m afraid, the gossip is true.”
“I don’t understand,” Linus said, his eyebrows knitting together.
Although I preferred to dismiss Linus without a second thought, he was right to be confused.
As a member of the Cavalry, which all royal men of Lunamor were, it would have made sense for him to be fitted long before a Sentinel.
But Lunamor hadn’t undergone any meaningful disruption in more than a century.
Within our kingdom, we were protected from all manner of sorcery, so fitting each Rider and Sentinel with metals outside of wartime would have been a waste of precious resources.
And that was the excuse Linus had been fed for the last decade while trying to achieve the Cavalry metals depicted on the tapestries of his bedchamber.
I could only imagine the suffocating wave of rejection consuming him, but considering how terribly supper had gone thus far, I doubted he’d make too much of a fuss. At the very least, not tonight.
“There was an urgent matter beyond the wall,” Father relinquished between chews. He studied the inky, star-studded tapestry on the farthest end of the great hall like he couldn’t be bothered to meet Linus’ pained gaze.
“Mm?” I mumbled through a mouthful of bread, eyebrows raised as though this were incredibly surprising news I hadn’t discovered for myself days prior.
“Beyond the wall?” Linus repeated, his jaw nearly affixed to the table.
I could see him grappling with the same thread of thought that had unspooled in my mind. If we aligned on anything anymore, I might have considered sneaking into his chambers to discuss the evening’s conversation under the cover of darkness. As things stood, I’d rather have gouged my own eyes out.
Father’s expression was less than forthcoming. He continued to chew in a slow, deliberate way that I found maddening, and the longer he chewed, the clearer it became he had no desire to continue discussing the subject. So when Linus spoke, we both knew he was playing with fire.
“Will others be fitted in the coming days? Should we postpone the feast?” Linus sat up straighter in his throne, searching our father’s face expectantly.
My attention volleyed between the two as I forced myself to finish my hen. My appetite for food may have vanished the moment I entered the great hall, but my curiosity might be fed if I maintained decorum.
“And how exactly do you suggest we postpone a feast dedicated to an observable celestial event?” Father asked, attention returning to his now empty plate.
If possible, he seemed even less impressed with Linus than usual.
When Linus’ mouth opened, Father’s jaw tightened.
“Please do not attempt to answer my question. The feast will not be impacted. The matter has been resolved.”
“But I—”
“Silence!” As though sound itself was under Father’s command, the great hall obeyed.
Once more, Linus and I stared at our laps.
I barely found the strength to risk a steadied inhale, for fear that Father could hear.
“You are a royal member of the Cavalry. Matters beyond the wall are not, and never will be, your concern.”
I didn’t have to raise my attention to know that particular sentiment aimed straight for Linus’ heart.
“Of course, you are right,” Linus forced out. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”
Once more, Linus visibly deflated. The bastard probably prayed to the stars each night for misfortune to befall Lunamor so he could be fitted with his precious metals. My stomach curdled at the thought, but I had to push my irritations for Linus aside.
“The matter has been resolved…”
The dungeon’s screams from all those years ago sliced through my mind, and my heart tripped over itself in response. Was Vicar the “matter” Father referenced? Had he been resolved?
“Well, that was delicious,” I said with performative calmness, placing my napkin beside my half-eaten supper.
“But I have to be up before first light. Captain’s orders.
” As if that would make a difference. I rose from my throne as elegantly as possible, feeding the delusion that I might exit the great hall without incident.
“You do have to rise early tomorrow,” Father confirmed, and for a moment, my chest felt lighter. “But not as a Sentinel.”
And then it was my turn to deflate. I inhaled deeply, measuring my response. “Oh?” I hoped the rising inflection of my tone sounded more demure than disappointed.
“Oh,” Father echoed with a raised voice and indented eyebrows; Linus had learned to mock me from the king, after all. “You will spend your morning with Tilda in preparation for the feast.”
Tendrils of fear wove through my extremities, and as my legs began to tremble, I locked my knees.
“Do I have additional duties I’ve yet to be informed of?” I clasped my hands in front of my tunic, fingernails digging into my palm with enough strength to ground me.
“Haven’t you heard the gossip, Alyssum?” Father’s tone was very near jovial, and it was all I could do not to recoil as he reached out to stroke one of my braids. “Prince Rowland will be attending the Feast of Comets. Tilda will prepare you for him.”