Book 3: Chapter 9 – Food, Glorious Food [Part 2]
Book 3: Chapter 9 - Food, Glorious Food [Part 2]
Seraphina left Tia and Cornelia to gambole about in her room. It seemed that with the passage of time, the little Pixie could fly further and further afield from her anchor, the Beast Lore Amulet. Which was a great, and very welcome, relief for the young girl.
Now, Seraphina waited alone at the long dining table. The table itself was another example of the casual wealth her family enjoyed. Made from southern Ironwood, its surface polished to a dark sheen and bare but for a single silver candelabra. Shadows danced in its light. Behind her, Desmond, the old butler, stood like an attentive statue—silent and watchful.
Every minute, every second, was a test of her patience.
Just as the stillness began to press in on her shoulders and boredom truly threatened to drive her to madness, the double doors swung wide. In swept her parents as if entering a ballroom at the capital and not their own dining hall. The beautiful Duchess Anaselena glided forward on the Duke’s arm, her smile radiant, her dress clinging scandalously to her curves. The fabric shimmered like wet ink, and its neckline plunged low enough to turn heads in even the most jaded courts. Her shoulders were bare, her bosom half-exposed.
Heavens help me if I ever turn out like that, Seraphina thought to herself primly.
Her father—Duke Anatoli of House Sarien—was a great bear of a man, broad-shouldered and thick-necked, with a booming laugh and a presence like a warrior out of saga and song. He dropped into his chair with the grace of a falling boulder, while her mother slid into the seat opposite Seraphina, all cultured poise and raw seduction.
“My sweet girl,” Anaselena said warmly, as if no time had passed. “It is so good to see you again. It’s been far too long. A letter really can not take the place of your smile.”
“And you, most honored parents,” Seraphina replied, her tone clipped and formal.
The Duke gave his daughter a big smile. “There’s no need for all that now, Sera. We are all family here.”
“I find it rather charming,” Anaselena mused. “Something fresh. Though I do hope you’ve been well. We heard such terrible tales—Dragons, fire, all that business with Meridian. Your father was positively beside himself.”
“Yes, quite beside myself,” Anatoli echoed. “Where did you run off to, my girl?”
“While trying to evacuate the city, I believe I struck my head amidst all the chaos,” Seraphina lied stiffly. “In the confusion of the attack. Though if you were so worried, Mother, you hardly seem it now.”
The Duchess laughed lightly, plucking a grape from a silver bowl. “Why should I be worried? I raised you to survive worse than mere Dragons. Besides, I knew exactly where you were all the time.”
Seraphina narrowed her eyes. “Of course you did.”
“After all, who do you think sent Sir Frest to find you?” Anaselena stated simply, arching one perfect brow.
“You might’ve sent him sooner.”
“Complaining now, are we?” her mother asked, tilting her head. “That’s not like you, Sera. Come now, I thought you’d be furious that I sent help at all. You’ve been trying to be independent and fly the nest since you had feathers.”
Beneath the table, Seraphina clenched her hands into fists. Her jaw worked silently. The anger she had swallowed so many times before now rose like bile.
Anaselena watched her like a hawk circling a hare. “You needed to learn something,” she said softly. “And so you did. About yourself, if nothing else. About what is important to you, and the meaning of sacrifice for one’s dream.”
Seraphina bristled. Learn, the witch had said. Learn! As if her suffering and noble sacrifice were some lesson scratched onto a chalkboard.
“And where was she, precisely, my love?” Anatoli asked, his hand sliding beneath the table, no doubt along his wife’s thigh. “You never did say.”
“Oh, I doubt little Sera wants me to tell. I imagine she was taking a brief, bucolic holiday.” Anaselena purred the words as she leaned in to trace the line of her husband’s jaw. “You know how young people are.”
Unconsciously, Seraphina found herself nodding in agreement. The last thing she wanted was for her shame to be aired in front of her family, no less.
“That I do,” the Duke rumbled. “Ana, you always get my blood up! You make me feel as if I were a young buck again.” He bellowed a laugh, the sound echoing off the high, arched ceiling.
Anaselena gave him a playful glare, then giggled like a maiden. Theirs was a dance long-practiced. She, an Oracle, knew every step by heart—she had read him like a book for decades now, cover to cover.
Seraphina turned her eyes downward. Her face flushed crimson. The display was embarrassing—shameless, even—but a small part of her, hidden and bitter, ached with a secret envy.
“Must you act so brazenly?” she muttered, as servants began to file in with covered platters. “We haven’t even begun the first course.”
“Did you say something, my love?” Anaselena asked sharply.
Seraphina lifted her chin. “Only that I wondered what the first course might be.”
Her mother’s smile returned. “Duck meatballs, I believe. With whatever fruit is in season, and a touch of Alamba seed. You always liked that. I confess I’m rather fond of it myself.”
“Bah!” Anatoli barked. “Why bother with these little teases? Bring out the roast, I say! I’ve been waiting for it all day!”
The Duchess laughed. “How many times must I tell you. There is an order to these things… the wait and the aperitifs make the main all the more delicious and climactic,” she explained cooly.
And duck meatballs it was. The silver domes were lifted, revealing steaming plates that filled the air with savory sweetness. Seraphina ate with the precision of a clockmaker, each bite measured, the sauce apportioned just so. The flavor burst on her tongue—meat, fruit, spice, each ball a tiny feast.
Her father devoured his, stabbing at them like they were his enemies to be devoured, sauce running down his beard. Her mother, meanwhile, delighted in feeding him, cooing mockingly as she lifted morsels to his mouth like he was some great overgrown babe.
So the meal passed, five courses in all—the crown jewel a suckling pig roasted whole and carved with ceremonial flair at the table by Desmond. Through it all, her parents behaved more like besotted lovers than high nobility, whispering, teasing, laughing.
By the time the final plates were cleared, spiced fruit pie with almond cream, Anatoli dabbed his lips with a fine cloth and cleared his throat. He glanced at Anaselena. She nodded once, then turned her gaze on their daughter.
“There’s something,” the Duke said, “that your mother and I must speak to you about…”