Chapter 31 #2
As we go, Drystan catches the Vost’s eye and something unspoken passes between them. By the time we finish our third circuit of the room—the fae seem to like the number three, I’ve discovered—and climb the dais, the doors are shut.
Our Twylth guards station themselves at a discreet distance, Threnn to our right, and a jovial woman called Essa on the left.
Instead of dining chairs, we have a small settee that curves around the table and forces our knees together.
I’m suddenly conscious of the slit in this dress and the way it bares my leg now I’m sitting, letting the whole room see.
We receive exquisite little plates of food so carefully arranged they look like precious jewels, while huge platters appear on the long tables and everyone dishes meats and pies and vegetables I’ve never heard of on to their plates.
The flavors are incredible, but I can’t help wondering how many raiding parties were needed to collect this—or perhaps there’s no food left in the glasshouse. The taste is also a little marred by the way our every move is observed.
So I smile and lean closer to Drystan, since he’s kept up his side of our bargain and even been… I hesitate to use the word about him, but he’s been kind enough to extend the time I have to work through the labyrinth. Though I wonder if that’s because he thinks I’ll never make it, anyway.
I cant my head at him, eyes soft like I’m speaking sweet nothings. “Why have you suddenly decided to be nice to me?” The question has been lurking in the fog of my exhaustion, it’s only now I’m rested that I can grasp it.
“Nice?” He wrinkles his nose like I’ve insulted him. “I’m not being nice. I’m being cooperative. Since you’re to be my wife and you’ve been good enough to stop your previous”—he glances at our audience—“misbehavior, why not?”
It’s an answer. Just not a very satisfying one.
But the next tiny course arrives in a puff of steam, and it turns out slow-cooked beef with carrot and red onion on a spoonful of mashed potato is enough to distract me.
As I eat, I shift in my seat, wincing as my hips and knees complain at staying still for too long, especially as I’m sat awkwardly to avoid my knees resting against his.
His gaze shoots to me and he leans in. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”
“It’s nothing.”
He raises one eyebrow. “I know you can lie, Annon.”
“My hips are getting a little stiff at this angle. That’s all.” I shrug it off with a reassuring smile. “It’s not really a lie—it is nothing in the grand scheme of—”
He scoops my slippered feet up off the floor and places them in his lap. “Is this better?”
I take a moment and listen to my body. The ache lessens, satisfied by movement. “Actually, it is.”
“Good.” He smiles and holds my gaze for a long moment before he clears his throat and the smile shifts into a smirk.
He indicates his court, where many of his subjects are glancing over and nudging each other, then bowing their heads and whispering.
“Besides, there’s nothing wrong with a little affection between the happy couple. It’s—”
“It’s expected,” I mimic his teasing tone. “I know, since you do so love to remind me.”
He grins, lifting his chin like he’s pleased with himself. “Glad to see you’re finally learning.”
But I spot his telltale dimples before he remembers himself.
Still, if he wants to pretend he doesn’t care about my suffering, I’m not going to ruin his game. “Of course.”
He continues eating, just using his fork, while his other hand traces my calves, soothing the tight muscles. Gently, he circles my ankles and rubs my knees.
I try to look relaxed, like this is all entirely natural. But my heart is doing unnatural things and I suddenly wish someone would open the doors back up, because is it me or is it airless in here? And hot? Much, much too hot.
I take a sip of wine, eyeing him over its brim. But he seems absorbed in his two tasks: eating and working the ache out of my legs. “Is this for the show or because of my illness?”
He gives me a sidelong look, the edge of a smile on his mouth. “Can’t it be both? Or neither?” He shrugs. “Perhaps I like touching you.”
“I thought humans were distasteful.”
“So did I.” He goes back to eating like it’s a flippant comment, so I try to treat it as such.
But his behavior toward me has changed so radically.
He must pity me for being ill. And maybe there’s a bit of truth to what he’s said—after all, he did give me the cat as a peace offering, and that was before he knew I was sick.
As far as he’s concerned, we’re stuck together for the rest of my life, however short that may be.
He’s sensible enough to at least try to make it less painful for both of us.
Or he’s trying that change of tack. Killing me with kindness. Binding me with gratitude.
My brain is quick to remind me: there is an alternative answer.
Just like when I read anatomy books and herbal compendia, it seeks out paths and potential. It can always see possibilities and sometimes impossibilities. Maybe that’s why I hold on to hope even when others have given up.
However, just because my brain sees a possible alternative, doesn’t mean there’s any merit to the idea.
And frankly, I’m not in the mood to entertain impossible ideas.
Because there is no way on earth or the Underworld that the King of Death cares about me.
After the meal, we’re expected to do a circuit of the room and mingle with the court. I thank my past self for noting down details of everyone I’ve met so far, as I’m able to remember names and the correct pronunciations.
We make pleasant small talk. Everyone mentions how warm it is, how beautiful the sunset was and that these are all signs it’ll be a good Moonburn this year.
That word again. I haven’t got around to asking what it means and publicly admitting I don’t know feels a lot like it would be classed as a weakness by the unseelie. There’s no time to ask Drystan privately, since we’re constantly moving along the tables.
But I have to admit, the fae seem to be in a good mood tonight—perhaps they prefer the warmer weather.
I’m pleasantly surprised to find Min and Astrid sitting together in deep conversation—or should that be in deep flirtation?
Especially as they’re at a spot closer to our dais and therefore more privileged than Min’s parents, who sit further back on another table.
Is that Drystan’s doing or does it fall under the Vost’s remit?
But my pleasure quickly sours as we reach the final section of table and Lord Mastelle.