Elsa was adding the finishing touches to her lab book when Porzia arrived to drag her off to dinner. Inconvenient timing, but the other girl proved too insistent for Elsa to politely refuse.
In the dining hall, Porzia ushered her to a seat beside Faraz and then sat across the table with Leo. Though Elsa sensed there was some significance to the seating arrangement, she hadn’t the faintest idea what it meant. Was there something possessive in the way Porzia positioned herself beside Leo? Not that it mattered, of course; Elsa had no interest in trying to insinuate herself into their social circle.
The dinner train arrived, laden with another grand meal: white bean and tomato soup, pale fillets of fish served atop ribbons of pasta, and a custard pie decked with chestnuts. Elsa had thought she was hungry only moments before, but looking upon all the rich food she’d be expected to consume, she wondered if she wouldn’t soon explode.
She leaned close to Faraz, lowering her voice. “Do they eat like this every night? I thought perhaps it was for show the first night, on account of my having just arrived.”
“This is Italy. Food counts as an art form.” Faraz shared a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. I did.”
Elsa looked at him with surprise. She’d known Faraz wasn’t Italian, but somehow it had never occurred to her that he might also have once felt out of place here—the foreigner who did not comprehend the customs everyone else performed as a matter of course. Perhaps they were alike after all. “Where did you live before?” she asked.
“When I was younger, I apprenticed with an alchemist in the city of Tunis. But when the French invaded Tunisia he sent me away.” Faraz sounded wistful, and he addressed this information more to his place setting than to Elsa.
She wondered if it had been a mistake to ask. “I’m sorry.”
“It was for my own good. As a Turkish citizen, my mentor could not be conscripted into French service, but I was a Tunisian and had no such protections.” The words had an undertone of doubt, as if he were trying to convince himself more than her of the necessity of his mentor’s actions. Then he looked up at her with a sad smile and added, “We’ve all lost things. That’s how we end up here.”
“I am sorry,” she said again, and meant it.
Porzia ladled soup into Elsa’s bowl, and the scent of garlic and rosemary made her mouth water. Revan would love it here, Elsa thought. He was always eating—he’d happily join any culture that spent hours at the dinner table. Watching Leo, Porzia, and Faraz made her ache for the childhood friend she might never see again. It no longer mattered that they’d hardly exchanged a civil word in years. He was the only friend she’d ever had, and he might be dead, along with the rest of Veldana. Her throat felt suddenly tight, and she was grateful for the custom dictating that no one should eat until all were served, because at the moment she could barely swallow.
Get a grip, she chastised herself. Don’t think about it.
Once the soup was served all around and everyone settled down to consume it, Porzia got that prying glint in her eye. “So, Elsa, tell us about your family. It must be very strange to be apart from them, in a foreign world.”
Overhearing this, the children sitting closest to their end of the table perked up, and Elsa could feel their curious glances burning into her, even though she did not look at them.
She shrugged, self-conscious and trying to dodge the topic. “There’s not much to tell.”
“Oh, come now.” Porzia leaned closer and adopted a confidential tone. “I’ve told you all about my family’s fears and scandals.”
“Very well,” said Elsa. She wasn’t especially eager to share anything, but perhaps Jumi’s history could distract Porzia from inquiring about her present situation. “In the early days of Veldana, Jumi—my mother—was involved with a man. He died. Some time later, Charles Montaigne scribed children into the world, and Jumi became retroactively pregnant without her consent. Hence why she fought so hard for Veldanese independence.”
When she stopped speaking, everyone was staring at her. Leo had frozen with his wineglass halfway to his lips, and Porzia had covered her mouth with one hand. Most of the younger children had ceased their racket and were sitting with uncharacteristic stillness, eyes wide as saucers. Someone dropped a fork, and the clatter of it landing on the floor was the only sound at their end of the table. Elsa wasn’t sure what she’d said wrong. Now she was starting to feel flushed under the weight of everyone’s stares.
“What?” she snapped.
Porzia arched an eyebrow. “It’s funny how on some matters you know next to nothing, and on others you are shockingly well informed.”
Faraz swallowed, as if there were something stuck in his throat. Elsa didn’t like the look of pity in his eyes. “So, you were born because—”
She cut him off, relieving him of having to finish the question out loud. “Yes. In the days before Veldana’s independence, Montaigne forced a number of unsavory changes upon our world. Including creating pregnancy, whether the Veldanese women liked it or not.”
Porzia looked away and busied herself adjusting the lay of her cloth napkin in her lap. “Well, that’s men for you.”
“Hey,” Leo said indignantly. “Us menfolk are still sitting here, you know. It’s not as if we’re all evil masterminds looking to forcefully impregnate a bunch of innocent natives.”
In the seat next to Elsa, Faraz tensed at innocent natives as if he did not like those words, but he held his tongue.
Porzia glanced down the length of the table at the ranks of eavesdropping children, then gave Leo a pointed look. “And that, I think, is quite enough discussion of issues inappropriate for the dining hall. We’re all lucky Mamma took her meal in her office.”
Not a minute later, Signora Pisano appeared in the dining hall doorway as if Porzia’s words had somehow summoned her. Everyone—except Elsa—jumped guiltily at the sound of her voice, and then made themselves busy with their meals. Elsa still wasn’t sure exactly what the problem had been. For a supposedly civilized world, Earthfolk could be such prudes about certain matters.
For her part, Signora Pisano looked too flustered to notice anyone behaving oddly. “Porzia, dear—a word?” she said.
Porzia cast a wide-eyed look at Leo, who raised his eyebrows in response. Elsa guessed the silent conversation meant something like, What’s going on? and It wasn’t me, I swear. Then Porzia was out of her seat in one smooth motion.
Signora Pisano lowered her voice, but Elsa could still overhear. “I’m afraid matters with the Order have become … complicated. Your father’s requested my presence in Firenze. You’ll have to take charge while I’m away.”