Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(39)
She didn’t want to make a misstep. Jack had invited her here, whatever his reasons were, whoever he was now, and she was determined to get through this meal with as much dignity as she could muster. She buried her shock and dismay, replacing it with determination. If she was the only grol these snooty city folk ever encountered, she wasn’t going to give them any more fuel for their fire of scorn.
Jack filled her peripheral vision, but she refused to look at him again. He cleared his throat, then did so again a few moments later. A waiter hurried to tend to his water glass, but he brushed the man aside. The third time he cleared his throat she snapped her head toward him, narrowing her eyes and clenching her jaw against the swarm of emotion rising inside her.
He slowly drew his hand down and selected the second spoon from the left, all the time staring down at his bowl. At her place setting, she chose the same spoon. The woman next to her tilted her bowl toward her body, then shoveled the spoon in the opposite direction before bringing it to her mouth.
Jasminda glanced back at Jack as he slowly, slowly ate his soup in the same way. She copied his movements, happy to get something in her stomach. She had slept all day and hadn’t eaten anything since the day before. Dinner went on like this, course after course. She would be presented with some new obstacle—bread, salad, three entrées—and Jack would model the behavior for her.
The Prince Regent—she vowed to stop being so familiar with him, even in her head—did not speak to anyone during dinner, and this appeared to be taken as normal by those present. It made her feel better that she would not have to talk to him. Just hearing his voice would make it that much harder to mend the gaping hole inside her.
Blessedly, after what felt like hours, dinner finally ended. The last dessert dishes were cleared away by the staff, and the various characters at the table patted their bellies obnoxiously. Jasminda had never eaten so much food at one time in her life. Guiltily, she thought of the refugees. What rations had they been provided? Her meal sank like lead in her stomach.
The company rose from the table and, just when she thought there would be a reprieve from the unrelenting pressure of the evening, the butlers ushered everyone into a huge adjoining sitting room. Small groups split off and clustered around settees or card tables, chatting amiably. Jack was nowhere to be seen. Jasminda stood alone next to the massive fireplace, enduring the uncomfortable heat.
Glances sent her way ranged from mere curiosity to outright contempt. Her back remained straight and head high, but inside, she was wilting.
A girl about her age approached the other end of the fireplace, setting a glass on the mantle. She stood for a moment peering at the flames before approaching Jasminda. Slender and beautiful, she wore a peach-and-gold dress that made her skin appear to glow. Amber eyes the color of her hair appraised Jasminda, not unkindly.
“These things are positively awful.”
Jasminda stared at her, unsure of the girl’s intentions.
“I’m Lizvette.” She held out her hands.
“Jasminda,” she responded, placing her palms to Lizvette’s and pressing gently.
“Welcome. I’m told you’re responsible for saving the life of our new prince.” Lizvette’s friendly smile seemed genuine, but Jasminda did not dare attempt a connection to Earthsong to determine her true intentions. She scanned the room to find they had attracted a great deal of attention.
“I did save him once, or perhaps twice. But I cannot take credit for the last time.”
“Our Jack, always getting into trouble.” Lizvette smiled sadly.
“You are . . . friends with the Prince Regent?”
Her smile changed, though Jasminda could not determine precisely what was different about it. It was bleaker, perhaps. “I was betrothed to his brother.”
“May he find serenity in the World After,” Jasminda responded, bowing her head. Lizvette repeated the blessing. Jasminda considered the girl’s dress more closely. What she’d initially thought was shiny gold beading were actually dozens of mirrors embroidered into the material. A conspicuous show of grief that seemed at odds with Lizvette’s unassuming manner.
There were not enough mirrors in the world to adequately represent everything Jasminda mourned. So many lives gone, so many could-have-beens. She’d thought she’d gained something after all of that loss—a chance at a kind of happiness she hadn’t imagined possible. Now that was gone, too.
An exceptionally tall young man stalked toward them, his face contorted in indignation. She could read his intention quite clearly without Earthsong and took a step backward. Lizvette followed Jasminda’s gaze and turned to face him. He took hold of Lizvette’s elbow and leaned down to whisper loudly in her ear.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m greeting our visitor, Zavros. She is the Prince Regent’s guest. Jasminda, this is my cousin—”
“It’s time to go, Lizvette. You’re keeping your father waiting.”
She smiled apologetically at Jasminda. “It was lovely meeting you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon. May She bless your dreams.”
Jasminda repeated the farewell and stood rigidly as Lizvette was towed away to a card table in the back. The blazing fire had grown unbearable, and the perimeter around her was a quarantine zone. What a surprise not to be the belle of the ball. With a final glance about the room, in which she refused to admit she was searching for Jack, she slipped out the door.