7. Charity Case #2
Valerie turns toward me sharply. A hint of amusement appears on Vasili’s face and worsens my temper. I force my voice back into something civilized.
“She has already answered you. I suggest believing her.”
“I heard Miss Priest perfectly well, Sigurd.” Vasili gives Valerie another courteous nod. “I have no intention of arguing with her.”
His answer should satisfy me. His continued presence does not. The solid end of an obsidian cane strikes the stone beside my shoe before I can decide whether another response would help.
My mother has appeared at my elbow. One look at her face tells me she witnessed enough of the exchange to understand the situation.
“Sigurd, I require a word with you,” Solveig says. She gives Vasili a brief look before returning to me. “Preferably before you turn a wedding reception into an incident.”
My hand returns to Valerie’s waist almost without thought. “This is not a convenient moment, Móeir.”
“That is precisely why we are speaking now.” Solveig lowers her voice, though nothing about her delivery loses its authority. “You may either come with me willingly or force everyone nearby to pretend they cannot hear us argue.”
Several guests suddenly become fascinated by their drinks. My mother notices them too. The faint hardening of her mouth tells me she knows she has won the practical argument.
Valerie places her hand over mine. “Go talk to her, Sigurd. I’ll be fine for a few minutes.”
I look down at her, then toward Vasili. He has made no move closer, but his patience does not make leaving any more appealing.
“I’m aware that you can take care of yourself,” I tell her quietly. “That does not mean I have to enjoy walking away while he is still standing here.”
Vasili hears me, of course. Valerie presses her lips together as though she is trying not to smile, and the dragon has enough sense to keep his reaction to himself.
“Then walk me back to the table first,” she says. “You can satisfy whatever ancient sea-creature instinct is currently having a crisis.”
“That is an insulting description of a highly developed survival response.” I guide her away from the dance floor and keep her beside me. My mother follows several steps behind us.
The short walk does little to calm me. We reach Iris, Camille, and the other guests nearby. Only then can I make myself consider leaving Valerie there.
She picks up her abandoned water glass and looks at me with open amusement. “I have reached the table safely, and Vasili has not abducted me. You can stop looking as though you expect him to try.”
“I do not expect him to try anything.” I check the dance floor once, then return my attention to Valerie. “I merely prefer knowing where you are.”
Behind me, Solveig taps her cane against the stone again. The sound wipes away most of Valerie’s amusement and reminds me that my mother’s patience has a very definite limit.
I take Valerie’s free hand and press a kiss to her knuckles. My mouth lingers a moment longer than necessary before I straighten.
“We’ll continue this later.”
Valerie looks past me toward my waiting mother, and her features soften. “You should go before she decides the cane is more persuasive than words.”
“She has used worse methods.”
“I can believe that completely.”
I release Valerie with considerably more reluctance than I intend to show. Then I follow Solveig away from the table with every instinct still focused on the woman behind me.
With Sigurd gone, I’m left exposed to the attention of the room. I sit down and curl my fingers around the cold water glass. Conversation closes over the space he left behind.
Sigurd was right about Solveig. She was nowhere near as horrible as she could have been, and I survived her interrogation without embarrassing myself.
For a few precious minutes on the dance floor, I even forgot why I came here.
That confidence disappears when a circle of well-dressed harpies parts nearby.
Maren emerges from the conversation at its center and walks directly toward me with a glass of glowing nectar in one hand. Her expensive floral perfume reaches me as she stops beside the table.
“You look a bit lonesome without your bodyguard.” Her melodic voice carries easily above the surrounding chatter. “Did Solveig finally manage to separate you?”
“I’m only getting some water.” I keep my face neutral and meet her stare. “The dancing was quite warm.”
Maren glances toward the dance floor before assessing my emerald dress with a crafted, sympathetic smile. The look reminds me of a celebrity humoring a fan who has somehow wandered past the security ropes.
“You handled Solveig surprisingly well at dinner,” she says. “Most humans wilt when she so much as looks askance at them. You were very brave.”
The compliment is shaped too carefully to be sincere. I give her the same professional look I reserve for the Saltweather Zoning Commissioner during another library budget dispute.
“Thank you for saying so.” I keep my voice steady despite the condescension wrapped around her words. “She asked direct questions, so I answered them directly.”
“That does seem very much like you.” Maren takes a slow sip from her drink. “Sigurd always did have a soft spot for charity cases. He likes fixing things that look broken.”
My arm draws closer to my body before I can stop it. The borrowed silk suddenly feels more conspicuous against my skin, but I refuse to let her see anything else.
“If that was meant as an insult, it needs work.” I hold her gaze and keep my voice steady. “Besides, I’ve found Sigurd’s gentleness endearing. Caring about people is hardly a character flaw.”
“Oh, I would never criticize him for that.” Maren leaves the implication between us for a moment. “I know better than most how attentive Sigurd can be.”
Her tone makes the meaning impossible to mistake. Keeping my composure becomes harder, but I give her nothing useful.