Page 47 of Summer

“Please,” I say softly. “Please know that I’ve no intention of marrying Aaoric, nor does he intend to marry me. Please know there is a plan, and I wish you no ill, and nothing has ever transpired between us beyond a superficial friendship.”

Her eyes grow ever wider, her jaw clenched.

“This isn’t a trap. Just…trust me?” I offer lamely. I release her wrist and turn back around, waiting for her to resume brushing my hair. It takes four whole breaths before she does, the comb methodical as she teases the knots from my nap. I chance a glance at her in the mirror. She’s fully absorbed in staring at my hair, gnawing on her lip.

Well – I tried.

I am the second to arrive at supper. I sit in my usual spot, mentally counting down how many more of these I must suffer through until I am free. It’s so different from dinner when I was a child, where our family gathered around the table to talk about our day. We laughed and joked, teased and praised.

This cattiness sets my teeth on edge.

Aaoric is already at the table, his mood still sour from earlier in the day. I want to ask him about Sessaly, to assure him that I spoke to her, but this is not the place. Servants wait around the table for the duke and duchess, who are uncharacteristically late.

When they finally arrive, they settle, giving little more than a sideways glance to Aaoric or I. Once settled the duke motions for food to be served.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Gennelle?” Aaoric asks.

The servants hover at the ready, unsure what to do.

“She won’t be coming,” the duke says, and nods to the servants to ready the food.

“Is she ill?” I ask. She seemed quite fine this afternoon, but it would explain why she didn’t wake me.

“No, she’s quite healthy,” the duke says, offering nothing by way of explanation.

Aaoric sits up straighter, scenting something I do not. “Then why won’t she be joining us for supper?” he presses.

“Because she is not here,” the duke says evasively, waving his hand. “As you can see. Now, let us eat in peace without your jabbering.”

“Where is she?” Aaoric ignores his father’s attempt to silence him.

“She boarded a ship for Frindun this afternoon,” the duchess says, casting the duke a long-suffering look.

Frindun. I recognize the word, though I’m not sure why. Is it a planet?

“Frindun?” Aaoric’s silverware clatters to his plate, his face stricken. “A boarding school? Surely you jest.”

Frindun Boarding School for Young Females – yes, that’s where I’d heard it. Several women at Protegre mentioned it as a sort of alien counterpart to Protegre. Headstrong female aliens that did not acquiesce to the regency lifestyle were sent there for training. It was founded when the shift happened several centuries ago, when Hothin and several other planets took up the regency way of life. Some females protested – mostly landowners, business owners, the like. They were sent there to condition them and never heard from again.

“They were looking for teachers, and Gennelle thought it a wonderful alternative to spinsterdom,” the duchess says with a faint smile.

Liar! The word crawls up my throat. Before I can say it, Aaoric speaks, his tone flat. “Strange, she never mentioned anything to me. Will she be back for the wedding, then?”

“No, I think not,” the duchess says.

The servants are slow as they serve the first dish, eavesdropping on the conversation. The duke notices and barks at them to hurry up and not dally so.

“She’ll not be returning?” I ask. “Not even for our wedding?”

“What’s it to you?” The duke asks, turning his ire on me.

“It’s just – we’ve grown so close. I’ve always wanted a sister. I was looking forward to…”

“Sorry she disappointed you. If she chose not to mention her plans, that is her own doing. She was adamant to leave as soon as the school had room, even if it meant missing the wedding. I’m sure she sends her apologies,” the duchess says, waving her fork.

No – everything about this is wrong. Gennelle wouldn’t just leave. I chance a glance at Aaoric. He watches them carefully, his gaze narrowed. He’s thinking through something, measuring what they’ve said. The duchess stares back, daring him to defy her.

“A pity,” Aaoric says, turning to his food.