“How was your evening?” asked Amelia. She picked up a cup of mulled wine from the table between us.
“Noisy.” I was proud of how I kept on my perky smile through this statement. When I learned Necromancy, we were trained to hide all emotions and speak in a monotone. According to Amelia, ladies were expected to practically jump for joy over a teaspoon. It was odd, but I was trying to get used to it.
Amelia shot me a blank look. It was the courtly face she showed when she was displeased. “What a very short answer. Why don’t you tell me why the tavern was so loud?”
I fought the urge to wince. One-word answers were rude; I’d forgotten that rule. “There was screaming.”
Amelia shook her head, and I wanted to punch something. I’d gotten it wrong again. I cleared my throat. “Did I say screaming? No, there wasn’t exactly that.”
Amelia brightened. “I see. What was happening then?”
“The innkeeper was preparing dinner.” There, that was a nicer way of putting it. I felt rather proud of myself. This small talk wasn’t so hard.
“I don’t understand. How was that loud?”
“He was, uh, culling the meat.” Now, that had to be obvious.
“I still don’t follow.”
She couldn’t be this thick. Everyone knew why things got noisy at a culling. “Why the pigs, of course. They make an awful racket when you—” I shrugged.
Amelia set down her goblet on the tabletop with a thunk. Her blue eyes flashed. “Elea, that’s the worst small talk I’ve ever heard. This is supposed to be a light and pleasant conversation, remember?”
It took everything I had not to growl. There was learning how to chitchat, and then there was wasting time while lives were at risk. Even the Royals couldn’t be this shallow. “Please. Food is one of the most pleasant topics around. Surely, the Royals know how meat ends up on their tables? It can’t come as a shock.”
Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Elea, there are things we don’t say in polite society. Discussing how pigs squawk while their throats are cut is one of them.”
I froze. Gods-damn it. She got me again. That comment was as good as wearing a sign that said, farm girl here.
“Let’s keep going.” Amelia’s smile got larger, which I thought wasn’t possible. “Did anything else happen last night?”
“I tried to reach out to a friend of mine who’s a— Blast it! I was going to say mage.”
“Keep going. You’re doing better. Discussing a friend is good. We’ll work on ridding the mage references later.”
I inhaled a calming breath. That was a better attempt at chitchat; I must focus on that. Talking about Rowan also made me feel better, so I kept on going. “I’d called for my friend’s silly bird about a dozen times. There was never any reply. Not so much as a tweet by the window. It was worrying, to say the least.”
“Now, that won’t do.”
“I know. My friend must learn about this watch you gave me.” I patted my pocket, which was where I kept the witness watch at all times. “Plus, I’ve been casting seeing spells for months. My visions of Ada or Veronique haven’t changed a bit. They could very well be—” I stopped myself before saying “dead,” as I was certain that would cross some kind of societal rule. Not to mention the fact that it might upset Amelia. “They could be out of range of my magick.” It was unlikely, but possible.
Amelia sighed. “When I said “that won’t do,” I wasn’t talking about contacting mages.”
I leaned back in the chair. “Then what did you mean?”
“You.” Amelia shook her head. “You told me the truth.”
“So?”
“People never tell the truth at luncheon. We’re here to play a part. Don’t you remember?”
“No, you asked me a question and I answered it. If I were talking to the Havilland family, I wouldn’t have said anything about magick.”
“That’s not what I meant. We’re here to pretend that our lives are near perfection. The Havilland family needs to see us as people worthy of their time. We want to impress them enough that they take us on a tour of their property.”
“Where the gallery is.” Their portrait gallery was one of the few large places that had been recently built. Lots of odd stories surrounded the construction. It was precisely the kind of place that could have been created to drain magick.
“Yes, few people get invited to see that gallery. If we look like ho-hum blabbermouths, we won’t get asked to go.”
I rubbed my temples with my fingertips. No matter how many times Amelia explained the rules of society to me, I couldn’t stick to them. It all seemed like so much random nonsense. “So we’re to pretend that everything in our lives is flawless?”