Page 44 of Obsidian Throne
“Begging, Evander? Again?” Ava shot him a cruel smile, brushing a strand of her pale white hair behind her ear.
My heartbeat roared in my ears, rage parting my lips.
Slowly, I turned my head to look at her, wishing that my fae blood had given me the ability to set fire to someone with my stare instead of sensing the weather. It wasn’t hard to figure out that she was referring to the many, many times she had abused him.
She was too busy looking for Evander’s reaction to notice mine, though.
“Your mother was like that.” Aleksander spoke with a curious mix of affection and disparagement. “Always taking in strays.”
“You know I take more after you, Father,” Evander said smoothly. “Though, you always did tell me Lochlannian women were good for a passing diversion.”
He nudged his leg against mine under the table in apology, and I resisted the urge to kick him. I would show him apassing damned diversionlater. It was almost worth his remark, seeing Ava’s face go flat with rage.
Still, I knew what he was doing, and I didn’t blame him for it. Much.
It seemed to work, in any event. Aleksander gave him a nod as if to say,good man, and the entire issue was forgotten.
For now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ROWAN
When the main course of dinner came around, I found myself suppressing more than a few gags at the gelatinous pile of goo on my plate. Arranged in a small, wreath-like design was some sort of jelly-coated meat that smelled like the vat of grease the cooks kept for baking.
Sprigs of herbs were artfully placed around the circle, along with roasted potatoes and carrots, as if that would detract from the awfulness of the slimy mass or make it more appealing.
As everyone else dug into their cold, grease-coated meats, I found myself longing for the simpler days where I thought borscht was the worst thing I had ever been forced to eat.
I was a child then…young, naïve, and unaware of the other Socairan horrors that awaited me.
Evander seemed to be enjoying his meal as well as everyone else.
Even Mila and Taras were happily eating away at their table like some sort of masochistic monsters who probably would have loved the disgusting fish stew I had choked down.
A shiver ran through me as I moved my shaking hands toward my fork and knife, holding them the way everyone else did. I slid the knife through the goop, gagging as the jelly moved around the solid pieces of meat.
Then, I promptly chickened out and took a bite of roasted potatoes instead. At least they were warm and well-seasoned, salty and delicious. I eyed the jelly again, sneering at the way it wobbled like leftover stew that had sat out for too long and congealed.
“Lemmikki,” Evander all but whispered beside me. “Is there a problem? Kholodets is traditional Socairan food. Everyone here loves it.”
That last part was said pointedly, his subtle way of letting me know that my face was giving me away…and was offensive.
I felt the duke’s eyes on me, assessing and cold. And his weren’t the only ones. This was our first court dinner together, and I couldn’t afford to make mistakes.
“Then everyone here clearly hates themselves,” I mumbled back, and he chuckled under his breath.
But I did fix my face.
“Try eating them together next time,” he said quietly. “That may help.”
Again, his words were carefully directed to remind me thatnoteating this was not an option. Even were there not food shortages, Mila had informed me that it was a longstanding rule of etiquette to finish your plate in Socair, one they had always taken seriously.
Remembering the way Evander had choked down every last bite of puddings and pies and cakes in Lochlann, despite having an aversion to desserts, I gave a determined nod.
Once again, I faced the nemesis on my plate.
This time, I sandwiched a bit of the gelatinous monstrosity in between a potato and carrot. I held my breath, shoveling it into my mouth before I could think too hard about it.