“No, that’s all—” began Jurij, but the specters were already in and out of the home, returning with a cushion-laced stool instead of the black silken bag. Did they bring that with them in the carriage? They placed it down next to Elfriede, and one put his hands on Jurij’s back in order to guide him to sit atop the stool. “—right.” Jurij looked from Elfriede on one side to me on the other, as if hoping either one of us could explain what had just happened.
The specters were already gone, over by the stew pot, ladling stew into white glass bowls they seemed to have pulled out of their pockets.
No one said anything as they worked in fluid motions, setting out white bowls of stew and silver spoons before first me, then my father, and then Elfriede and Jurij. They went back to their guarded posts behind the lord.
Elfriede was the first to pick up her spoon, and Jurij soon followed. Elfriede’s hand twitched. “Won’t you dine with us?”
It was a silly question, considering the lord’s veil. The lord didn’t stir. “No, thank you, my dear. I am sure it tastes delightful, but your cooking is meant to enrapture a man other than me.”
Elfriede blushed and turned her attention to a floating chunk of potato. Jurij spread his arm on the table, trying to hide his now empty bowl. Usually, he seemed to feel nothing but delight—or at the very most, indifference—to others noticing his love for his goddess. The small gesture of him hiding the bowl from view felt odd to me, like there was a part of him that had enough free will to think negatively of the lord. To think anything of the lord. My heart was a flurry at the idea that Jurij might dislike the lord because he’d steal me from him, like that were possible. But that just reminded me that I was expected to accept the lord.
I looked at my own overflowing bowl. I couldn’t summon the will to lift the spoon. I shoved the bowl forward.
“I left Alvilda out front,” I said, anxious to change the topic. “She was blocked from entering by … ” My gaze traveled to the statue-still specters.
The lord waved his hand, cutting me off. “I will take but a moment of your time this evening. Are you feeling well, Olivière? You have not yet touched your food.”
All eyes—visible and not red eyes, at least—fell on my full stew bowl and me. Even Father, I noticed, had finished at least half of his.
“I already dined with Alvilda.” It was at least half-true.
Elfriede furrowed her brow and pursed her lips but said nothing.
“Alvilda?” asked the lord tensely. “She is?”
My father moved to open his mouth, but one of the specters bent down and perhaps murmured something where I imagined the lord’s ear to be. So they can speak?
“Ah,” said the lord. “The lady carver. I can see now why there are so many … interesting … wooden trinkets about.” He motioned to the mantle above the fireplace, where I had haphazardly dumped this morning’s creations.
Ugh. Those weren’t my best work.
“Do you really think her a wise companion, Olivière?”
I felt a roar of fire grow in my stomach. “Alvilda has talent. She may get most of the village’s carpentry and carving work these days instead of my father, but I assure you it’s by his own deeds that he suffers in his trade as of late.” I sent a pointed look to Father, but he did nothing more than pick up another spoonful of stew.
Another wave of a gloved hand. “I refer more to the detail that she refused her Returning.”
My jaw dropped. “What business is it—”
“I’ve told her time and time again that I agree with you, my lord,” interrupted Father.
My blood boiled. Really. I opened my mouth to speak.
“It matters not.” The lord began to rise, and the specters slid smoothly behind him to make room. “The morrow is Olivière’s Returning, and after the ceremony she will reside with me in the castle.”
I shot up, sending my chair flying backward and crashing. “Excuse me?”
“Noll, listen.” Father spoke quietly.
“I didn’t agree to a Returning!”
There, I had said it. No one had asked my opinion before.
Elfriede dropped her spoon onto her bowl. The silver hitting the glass made a strange clang, not like the wood-on-wood of our usual dinnerware. Jurij seemed stunned, and I noticed his hand twitched nervously on his thigh, his chair half pushed backward, whether readying himself to jump up or forcing himself to stay seated, I couldn’t be sure. Father’s face glazed over, his eyes darting from corner to corner, probably looking for a bottle.
The lord stood unmoved a moment, towering about a head over me. I tried to imagine where I might find his eyes behind the veil and I stared, daring him to correct me.
The lord’s hat shifted, and he made a quick motion in my direction with a gloved hand. For a moment, I thought the specters might move to grab me. I tensed, ready to put up as fruitless a fight as Alvilda had. Instead, they righted my fallen chair and exited the house through the doorway behind me.