Give the Dark My Love(29)

“I’m right,” I said, stopping and turning to her. “You’re always at the hospital. You need a break.”

“They need help, Grey.” She sounded defeated. “But apparently Master Ostrum agrees with you. He told me to take tomorrow off for Burial Day.”

“Good!” I said, but then I groaned aloud.

“What’s wrong?” Nedra asked.

“Burial Day means no school tomorrow.”

“I fail to see how that’s a bad thing.”

“It also means I’ll have to go home in the morning to see my family for the holiday.”

Nedra snorted. “And that’s the most horrific possible fate for you to bear?” she guessed.

“You have no idea,” I said emphatically. She laughed.

We reached the steps to the dormitories where the paths split between the male and female housing. “Well,” Nedra said, “if you survive, I suppose you could come with me to church hall.”

My brows scrunched in thought. “Church hall?” Oryon was the official religion of the Empire, but few actually practiced it. I barely knew where the chapel was on campus.

“You’ve never been to a Burial Day celebration?” Nedra asked. I shook my head. “Meet me here at four chimes,” she ordered. Her eyes were alight, and for one moment, I considered leaning down and stealing a kiss before we went our separate ways. But before I could work up the courage, she said good night and left me under the glittering stars alone.



* * *



? ? ?

Mother had outdone herself with the spread, thanks to help, of course, from the servants. The long mahogany table in our dining room held more food than a dozen people could reasonably eat, even though only three chairs would be filled and Mother would insist on eating only half an orange and a soft-boiled egg. Spilling over the lace-lined brocade runner in the center of the table were three different loaves of bread, at least eight sparkling jars of jams in different jewel tones, a pot of herbed honey, a plate of cheeses already sliced and chilling on cold marble, four different bowls of fruit that each had a different fake bird preening in the center, two silver tureens with steam drifting up, a dozen soft-boiled eggs in bowls beside cups and a dozen more deviled and sprinkled with paprika on a platter. One whole cold chicken garnished with lemon peel and rosemary had been placed in the center of the spread.

“Greggori!” Mother cried, jumping up from the chair. Her hair was pulled back so tight it lifted the fine lines near her eyes. She held a steaming mug of tea, black with lots of sugar. Then her eyes narrowed. “Your father should be here.”

“It’s fine, Mother,” I said, pulling out a seat at the long table and plopping into it.

Mother scratched the back of my neck until I straightened my shoulders and sat up in the chair. “I’ll be right back,” she said in a singsong voice, but I could detect the tension underlying her tone.

I ate three deviled eggs before the door opened again. Mother entered, her arm through Father’s, her grip so tight her fingertips were white. “Your son is back from school,” she said, her voice crackling like lightning. “We are having breakfast together.”

“Hello, Greggori,” Father said. Mother pushed him into the chair opposite me, the cold chicken on the table between us. “How is Yūgen?”

My mouth was full of egg, and by the time I swallowed, Father’s eyes grew distant and uninterested. He stood and fetched himself a cup of coffee.

Mother chattered away about having the whole family back together again, but I didn’t know why she clung to the idea so vehemently. Even when I hadn’t been at Yūgen, we rarely ate together. Father had a standing table at the gentleman’s club near the castle, and Mother never let something as simple as a meal get in the way of a party that had a good gambling room.

“What I want to know,” Father said, his voice silencing Mother’s, “is what you kids think about the new governor. And the Emperor.” He narrowed his eyes over the cold chicken, and I remembered the whispers in the garden the night of Governor Adelaide’s inauguration.

“I haven’t really kept up with politics,” I said. “I’ve been more focused on learning medicinal alchemy.”

Father grunted.

“You know,” I added, “there is a plague sweeping through Lunar Island. Didn’t you see the governor’s declaration?”

Mother tried to steer us to a different topic, but Father interjected. “A plague. It’s just those dirty farmers and factory workers. Not a single person uphill of Castleborough has gotten so much as a sniffle. Plague,” he said again, his voice mocking. “They don’t need alchemists; they need soap.”

Mother’s clear voice cut across the table. “Greggori, have you met any nice girls at Yūgen?”

“Mother, it’s the same girls I’ve been at preparatory school with since I was three,” I said.

That wasn’t true. But sitting at this glittering table with my parents made me want to keep Nedra a secret, protecting her from their elitism and judgment.

“And none of you kids has even noticed the Emperor’s still holed up at the castle like a coward? That the governor’s distracting everyone from her policies by blowing this plague out of proportion?” Father continued. His hand gripped a dull knife, jam leaking down one side.