danced in his eyes, granting an infernal aspect. “But I gratefully accept your invitation.”
A few words with Hargrave granted temporary access to the club. Her companion would not be permitted inside any of the members-only areas, but even though she had yielded all claims to the family name, she was still her father’s daughter, and it counted for something here. Perhaps, like Leonidas, she had grown paranoid, but with courtly manners, she’d led this stranger into the light in hopes of learning whether he harbored ill intentions. The longer they spoke, the more she could gain a sense of whether he prevaricated.
You see enemies everywhere,
her mother’s voice said.
While that might be true, she had managed to survive for years where other exiles died once they were ousted from the safety of their nests. Granted, the club provided more security than most could manage outside a House compound, but she didn’t remain here all the time. And while traveling back and forth from the theater, there was no doubt she was at risk.
Possibly from someone like this,
she thought, glancing at Theron.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Rather.”
She led the way into the public dining room, preferring to discover his reasons for lurking about the maze under the safe observation of multiple witnesses. Aurelia swung open the heavy door. A dearth of windows, wood paneling, and muted lights in brass fixtures encouraged the semblance of privacy. Each table was edged three ways by a wooden screen, and at the center of the room, a stylized stone fountain burbled away, drowning conversations to all but its principals. A brown-and-gold carpet softened their steps as they followed the host to the table. Near a solid wall, the booth she chose was quieter than most, set with a white rose. A few members noted her entrance, but they had been advised by her father not to interact with her.
Treat her as if she’s not there.
It was his version of enforcing her exile. Both he and her mother hoped she would change her mind, return to the fold, and resume her rightful place in the natural order. But she’d tasted freedom, so returning to a gilded cage was no longer possible. At first, the silence and ostracism stung, but she’d formed other friendships that weren’t reliant on prestige or stature.
“Agreeable,” Theron said. “What do you recommend?”
Without glancing at the menu, she signaled the waiter. “For two: spinach salad with the vinaigrette to start. To follow, the lemon herb chicken with asparagus. Turkish coffee to finish.” Then she turned to Theron. “Whatever you prefer in the way of wine. The cellar is excellent.”‘
“Chardonnay. I believe Thorgrim still has the best vineyards on the isles.”
“I couldn’t say. I’ve long since given up pretensions as to superiority. I only know what I like.”
“Then order it.”
Smiling, she did.
They made desultory conversation while she attempted to read him, mine his secrets, but he held them close and tight. That indicated a disciplined mind. From the intensity of his gaze, Aurelia rather thought he was taking her measure as well; though for what purpose, she had no idea. Idly, she wondered if Theron had been engaged by her father to pose as a suitor when he was, in fact, a paid minder. There might be some new threat of which she was unaware; from time to time, people sought to use her as leverage in negotiations. Her exile didn’t mean he had stopped loving her.
Before she could delicately craft a question, the waiter returned. She glimpsed herself in the raised dome of the silver platter in his hands. Her own face seemed paler than usual beneath the brass fixtures; she was a creature of plain lines and stark hue. Aurelia glanced away, not caring to consider how many years were
not
written in natural passage on her skin. Theron watched with eyes dark as sloe, hooded and slightly foreboding. Possibly, as in the old stories, she should not have invited him in,
A few words with Hargrave granted temporary access to the club. Her companion would not be permitted inside any of the members-only areas, but even though she had yielded all claims to the family name, she was still her father’s daughter, and it counted for something here. Perhaps, like Leonidas, she had grown paranoid, but with courtly manners, she’d led this stranger into the light in hopes of learning whether he harbored ill intentions. The longer they spoke, the more she could gain a sense of whether he prevaricated.
You see enemies everywhere,
her mother’s voice said.
While that might be true, she had managed to survive for years where other exiles died once they were ousted from the safety of their nests. Granted, the club provided more security than most could manage outside a House compound, but she didn’t remain here all the time. And while traveling back and forth from the theater, there was no doubt she was at risk.
Possibly from someone like this,
she thought, glancing at Theron.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Rather.”
She led the way into the public dining room, preferring to discover his reasons for lurking about the maze under the safe observation of multiple witnesses. Aurelia swung open the heavy door. A dearth of windows, wood paneling, and muted lights in brass fixtures encouraged the semblance of privacy. Each table was edged three ways by a wooden screen, and at the center of the room, a stylized stone fountain burbled away, drowning conversations to all but its principals. A brown-and-gold carpet softened their steps as they followed the host to the table. Near a solid wall, the booth she chose was quieter than most, set with a white rose. A few members noted her entrance, but they had been advised by her father not to interact with her.
Treat her as if she’s not there.
It was his version of enforcing her exile. Both he and her mother hoped she would change her mind, return to the fold, and resume her rightful place in the natural order. But she’d tasted freedom, so returning to a gilded cage was no longer possible. At first, the silence and ostracism stung, but she’d formed other friendships that weren’t reliant on prestige or stature.
“Agreeable,” Theron said. “What do you recommend?”
Without glancing at the menu, she signaled the waiter. “For two: spinach salad with the vinaigrette to start. To follow, the lemon herb chicken with asparagus. Turkish coffee to finish.” Then she turned to Theron. “Whatever you prefer in the way of wine. The cellar is excellent.”‘
“Chardonnay. I believe Thorgrim still has the best vineyards on the isles.”
“I couldn’t say. I’ve long since given up pretensions as to superiority. I only know what I like.”
“Then order it.”
Smiling, she did.
They made desultory conversation while she attempted to read him, mine his secrets, but he held them close and tight. That indicated a disciplined mind. From the intensity of his gaze, Aurelia rather thought he was taking her measure as well; though for what purpose, she had no idea. Idly, she wondered if Theron had been engaged by her father to pose as a suitor when he was, in fact, a paid minder. There might be some new threat of which she was unaware; from time to time, people sought to use her as leverage in negotiations. Her exile didn’t mean he had stopped loving her.
Before she could delicately craft a question, the waiter returned. She glimpsed herself in the raised dome of the silver platter in his hands. Her own face seemed paler than usual beneath the brass fixtures; she was a creature of plain lines and stark hue. Aurelia glanced away, not caring to consider how many years were
not
written in natural passage on her skin. Theron watched with eyes dark as sloe, hooded and slightly foreboding. Possibly, as in the old stories, she should not have invited him in,
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