Page 54 of Hearts Lost

ALOSERIN

DWARVEN CHINA

“Dwarven china?” I ask.

“Of course,” my mother replies, with a little twist to her lips that suggests she’s letting me in on a special secret.

I take another look at the delicate teacup in my hand. It’s an unusual pattern for dwarven china, one with a lot of frills and spirals. Usually, dwarves prefer geometric patterns, or at least that’s what I’ve seen so far.

It is, of course, a brand new set. I glance at Mother and Father, confirming what I expected; they’re both holding matching teacups with the same frilly spiral pattern. It must be a new, complete set of dwarven china. Every time I drag myself to my parent's estate, they’re using a new set of dwarven china, and that’s one of the many, many things about life in their estate that used to bother me.

Our family came through the barrier separating the Lands Below from the Worlds Above dragging one cart behind us. Well, we weren’t dragging it; I think there was a mule involved. But I remember the cart well enough because I slept under it for those first few chaotic, screaming nights in the Lands Below. Even if that cart had been filled with nothing but brand new sets of dwarven china, there’s no way it could have held all the sets that have passed through these doors since then.

I used to ask where they came from, all these pretty new teacups and saucers and serving platters, only to be dismissed with a bit of hand-waving and a sniff about allowing someone to use china as a form of payment. So just how many of the wagons and carts that had been dragged through the barrier on that horrible, smoke-filled day, pulled beneath the spreading wings of Rensivar the black dragon, had been loaded with delicate sets of matching dwarven china? And just how often did such things come up in my parents’ business dealings?

Oh, the things that used to bother me. Mysterious dwarven china and forbidden doors and bells that rang through my nightmares. I raise the fancy little cup to my lips and take a sip of strong black tea that doesn’t contain nearly enough brandy. As I do, I glance surreptitiously at Archibald, my parents’ lone servant. He’s watching me through his perfectly impassive face; I do my best to stifle a shiver. When I was a child, I thought he looked like a skeleton come to life. He still freaks me out.

He’s also the one who’d poured the tea and added one tiny little drop of brandy to each cup. I suppress the urge to lunge forward, grab the entire bottle, and down all the brandy right now. Because then my parents would kill me. Death and dishonor, all in one.

“Are you sure you can’t stay for dinner?” my mother asks as she settles into an ornately carved soapwood divan that also looks suspiciously new.

“Positive,” I reply. “I have to get back to the palace. Duty calls.”

King Galan’s given me an entire week off for recovery, despite my protests that I’m just fine, but there’s no need for my parents to hear that. Not from me, at least; I’m sure their spies have already passed on the news. My father makes a noise like a growl as he settles onto a larger chaise beside my mother.

“I hear Orryen is going to marry that princess from the Kingdom of the Summer,” he says, with a snort that lets me know exactly what he thinks of the princess. And Orryen. And perhaps the institution of marriage itself, for all I know.

I make a low, agreeable sort of sound and take another sip of tea. At least the tea is good, strong and somehow delicate at the same time. I’d like to take some with me when I return to the palace, but I know better than to ask my parents for anything. It’s not good to be in their debt. Just ask all the people who’ve had to surrender their dwarven china.

“That’s a shrewd move,” my mother adds, although the look on her face suggests she finds it akin to murder. “Marriage to nobility could give that low-born guard’s claim to the throne more legitimacy.”

My mother and father exchange a worried look, and I try not to roll my eyes. Orryen’s claim to the throne of the Kingdom of the Fall does not need more legitimacy. He was chosen by King Galan himself. But I know better than to mention inconvenient facts in this household.

“I don’t think that’s why he’s marrying her,” I add, conversationally, as I try to pick the least uncomfortable chair in my family’s sitting room.

My parents both stare at me as though they can’t possibly imagine any other motivations for choosing a spouse. I concentrate on my tea as I sink into a high-backed chair with a red velvet cushion that doesn’t look too tortuous.

“I suppose the real question is why she’s marrying him,” my father says.

This damned chair is hard as a rock. Ugh. I try not to twist too visibly as I settle onto a seat that feels like it was designed to make whoever sits on it as miserable as possible.

“Well, I’m sure she didn’t have a say in the matter,” Mother declares. “No true princess would marry someone low-born like that. Perhaps she’ll try to escape before the wedding.”

There’s a gleam in my mother’s eyes that makes me think Princess Elanerill running out on Orryen would be the best news she’s had in years. I sink my teeth into the side of my cheek to keep from saying anything. Don’t engage, that’s the strategy. Just drink my tea, smile and nod, and then get the hell out.

“So,” my father says, turning to me. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes slightly glossy, which makes me think he’s already had a few pulls from the brandy bottle on the sideboard. Or maybe more than a few. “You’ve had quite the adventure, my boy!”

I twist against the armchair’s brutally hard back. We’d ridden the teleportation hubs late last night and came stumbling into the Crystal City long after the glowsoft orbs had dimmed. Still, I’d stayed up the rest of the night writing my official report about my time in the void with the captive. I’d wanted that part over, and I’d had no illusions about getting any sleep. I haven’t been able to manage much actual sleeping since the void, and I have absolutely no hope that tonight will be any different.

My parents have plenty of spies in King Galan’s castle. I’m sure by now they’ve already received a summary of my official report, if not a surreptitious copy of the entire thing. There is no such thing as privacy in the family Ravadithas. For anyone.

“Yes,” Mother adds, smoothing down the front of her dress. “To the void! My stars, we were so worried about you after that accident in the teleportation hub. However did you manage?”

I finish my tea, glance longingly at the bottle of brandy on the sideboard, and then clear my throat.

“The woman,” I begin, and the words tear at my throat.

“The saboteur,” Father adds.