The dining room was a long, echoing chamber lit by dozens of candles. Halverton stood as she entered, crossing the room to pull out her chair.
His smile was polished. “You look fabulous.”
“Thank you,” Aoife said, taking her seat. Lord Halverton’s hand rested on her shoulder a moment before brushing softlydown her arm. Aoife’s breath hitched. She didn’t speak as she tried hard to resist the urge to move away from his touch.
Finally, he stepped away, and Aoife took a deep breath to steady herself.
Once Halverton was seated, Kit and James moved quietly around them, placing a dish of clear soup in front of her.
James’ sleeve rode up as he set down the bowl. Aoife caught a glimpse of his wrist, a faint bloom of colour already turning. He adjusted the cuff at once.
Their eyes met, and for the briefest moment his golden eyes were fire before his servant’s mask slipped into place.
Aoife stared at the table setting. A dozen items of cutlery laid out around her bowl.
Halverton lifted a round spoon. “Enjoy your meal.”
She took the same spoon from beside her bowl and ate.
As they ate, he talked. Or rather, he performed.
He told her tales of Eldrossi history, of generals and poets and ancient houses. He spoke of battles fought on foreign soil, of victories won through decisive cruelty. He laughed lightly at his own stories, glancing to see if she would laugh too.
When she didn’t, his smile tightened.
He asked her questions: where she’d learned her letters, how her family lived, whether she’d ever travelled. Each question sounded innocent on its surface, but beneath he was probing: What do I have to work with? How much do I have to fix?
Aoife tried to answer plainly, but with each truth she offered, she sensed him slotting it into place, building his idea of her like a puzzle he meant to solve and rearrange.
More food arrived: roasted pheasant, stewed vegetables rich with spices; not one dish she recognised. She ate what she could. He watched.
After the main course, he reached across the table and brushed a crumb from her cheek with his thumb. The gesture was gentle, but it left her cold.
“You should know,” he said softly, “you are striking in candlelight.”
She forced a smile, thin as paper. “Thank you.”
He leaned back, satisfied.
The door behind Lord Halverton opened silently as James slipped out with the empty dishes.
Aoife stood quickly. Halverton rose too. “Excuse me, my lord. I need to freshen up.” Clara had taught her that was what Eldrossi ladies said when they needed to leave the room.
Halverton merely nodded and sat down again.
Aoife walked calmly to the door, but as soon as it closed behind her, she sprinted to catch up with James. She reached him on the stairs down to the kitchen.
“James,” she said in a loud whisper.
He turned on the stairs, face still a perfect mask.
“Can I help you, miss?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you. Your wrist. Is it all right? I can take a look if you’d like. They say my mother was the greatest healer Briartha has ever seen, and she taught me everything she knew.”
James’ mouth was a thin line. “No, thank you.” He smiled insincerely and turned to go downstairs again.
“It’ll get harder to work if it keeps swelling.” James didn’t turn, didn’t even stop walking. She jogged a few steps to catch up. “Cool it, rest it, if you can. Keep it elevated to reduce swelling.”
