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And that was how it should be.
EXCERPT: EMBERS IN THE SNOW
Something must be afoot,because I’ve been summoned.
The dining room of Ruen Castle is a study in contrasts.
The tall, arched windows are filled with colorful stained glass mosaics depicting the ancestors, perpetually frozen in the midst of heroic deeds. Once the deepest shade of peacock blue, the heavy drapes are now faded like the winter sky outside.
Dust gathers in the corners. Cobwebs adorn the ceilings.
Lunch is served in the most elegant ware; the plates and bowls adorned with gilded rims, the cutlery wrought of sterling silver, the glasses made from the finest etched crystal.
It’s too bad the food doesn’t quite match the grandeur of the setting.
We’re served hard rolls of bread and a stew of ham and winter vegetables. The sauce is flavored with dried herbs and stretched with flour; more soup than meaty stew. Beside it is a concoction made from root vegetables and onions fried in lard and spoiled red wine, seasoned with copious amounts of pepper.
I can’t blame the cooks. They try their best with what they’ve been given.
My father, Baron Lucar Eravus Solisar the Third, sits at the head of the table. My stepmother, Lady Dorava Solisar, is at the other end, quietly sipping wine from a long-stemmed glass.
I’m in the middle, uncomfortable in my stiff formal gown.
My brothers are absent; they’re probably eating lunch down in the mess-hall with the knights.
I envy them. Compared to me, they have so much freedom.
Dorava wears a fur-trimmed gown of pale, greyish-blue, the hue matching her eyes. Her gaze is trained upon my father; eyes taut at the edges, mouth pressed into a thin line, expectantly waiting for him to speak.
Not once does she acknowledge me.
She’s more avoidant than usual.
Something’sdefinitelyafoot.
I taste a spoonful of my lukewarm stew, which has the consistency of warm glue.
At least it’s somewhat tasty. The poor cooks must be sorcerers to be able to conjure this kind of food with the few ingredients they have.
Father lays down his fork with an impatientclink.“How are your deportment lessons progressing, Finley?”
“Fine,” I say carefully, not liking where this is going. The truth is, the lessons are terribly boring. I find them ridiculous and unnecessary. But apparently, I must learn to conduct myself like aladyso I can attract the attention of a worthy suitor. Someone higher in rank than my father, with all the benefits that entails. That’s what he’s hoping for. It doesn’t matter how old or decrepit my prospective husband might be. “This afternoon, I will be revising the correct etiquette for when one is in the company of the Imperial Family.”
“Lady Majurie gives me a somewhat different impression,” father says drily, idly running one finger over the edge of his mustache—an annoying habit of his. “That you lack perseverance and are easily distracted by trivial things. As isalwaysthe case.” He lets out a thin sigh, as if I’m somehow the cause of all his woes. “I should have paid more attention to those frivolous activities of yours when you were a child.” He smiles thinly; ominously. “But it matters not, because I have managed to secure an arrangement that will change everything.”
He looks terribly pleased with himself.
I don’tlikethat.
Not at all.
I look him in the eye. “Father, what are you talking about?”
This time, even my directness isn’t enough to spoil his good mood.
“You are betrothed, Finley.”
“E-excuse me?” I force myself to slow down; to take another spoonful of stew and not give my father the satisfaction of seeing my distress.
