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Seamus is at the island, in the process of serving up the food, but what I’m not expecting is Syn in there too. On the rare occasion we’ve eaten here over the last few months, Syn has always been seated at the table, waiting to be served.
Instead, he’s on the other side of the island.
Talking to Tori.
“… last thing I’d ever tell you to do, is cook.”
“Worried I’m going to poison your oatmeal?”
Syn looks like he can smell a dog fart and not the citrus aroma of the Duck à l'Orange. “I would rather hire a drunk, truck stop dive bar cook than eat anything you served.”
“Initiates don’t cook,” I say, walking over. “We have Michelin starred chefs working in the dining hall.”
Tori looks at me, her lips pressed together. I’m not sure what’s happened, but there’s a look in her eyes. I’ve seen it before, though not on her. When playing basketball, and there’s only a few seconds on the clock, and all it’s going to take for the other team to beat us is a 3-pointer… every player gets this look in their eyes like they’re going to buckle down and somehow win the game.
They rarely do.
“Starting tomorrow, you will be at the dining hall before every meal to have our table ready for us, and like every initiate, you will serve us personally. Seeing as we will not know when we want to eat, you will be there the moment the dining hall opens. No exceptions.”
Tori stares at Syn, frowning slightly, like she’s expecting a catch. Then her eyes widen. “There are days when I have classes before the lunch and dinner services start.”
Syn folds his arms. “You wanted to join the Elite. I told you that initiations ended last night, and that if you were to proceed, you would do this alone. Initiates are required to serve the presidential party at every meal.” He cocks his head. “Or did you fail to notice that when you were busy doing dishes?”
Beside her, Tori squeezes her hands into fists, but Syn’s staring at her face and doesn’t seem to notice.
“Fine,” she says through gritted teeth.
“They also cleaned this house, daily.” Syn turns his head a fraction towards Seamus. “Good news, Moran, your full-paid light duties have been extended.”
Tori’s knuckles are white. “Fine.”
The cold smile slips from Syn’s face. “Fine, what?”
“Fine, sir.”
Syn takes a step towards her, and I’m about to stretch my arm between the two of them, but Gemini’s voice makes us all pause.
“Which tax bracket did we fall into to eat in the kitchen?”
Stepping back, Syn looks over at Gemini and scoffs. “Tax bracket? My watch is worth more than a tax bracket.”
Honestly, I know fuck all about taxes and zero interest in learning. That’s the accountant’s job, not mine. But the Magsonic Sonnerie Tourbillon on Syn’s wrist is worth about half a million.
“Dinner is ready to be served, Mr. Keyingham,” Seamus says.
Syn starts to turn towards the door, but he stops and focuses his attention back on Tori. “Initiates do not eat in this house.” He glances briefly at Gemini before drawing in a resigned breath. “But as you are living here, I’m making an exception. Tonight, you’re permitted to eat in your room. After you eat, you will clean the kitchen. From tomorrow on, you will eat in the dining hall… after we have been served.”
She looks stunned, but I’m not sure why.
At the end of the day, she wanted to join the Elite, and this is exactly what all the other initiates had to do.
Then again, I was expecting something more from Syn, so maybe she was too.
She’s not my concern.
VI
Tori
