taken,” Fen said, a reluctant smile curving her lips. “I apologize for delaying you. I was… distracted.” Her eyes met Kaio’s. “The clothes.”
“The right sizes, I hope.”
“Oh, yes.” She looked down at the dress she was wearing. She’d considered wearing her own clothes, the grey tank top and dark skirt he’d found at her apartment. It could have been a statement of independence. But she hadn’t.
“Did Kaio procure that for you?” asked Gaelith, sounding dismayed. “But how… how very… how very lovely.”
Fen bit back the hysterical laughter that wanted to burst forth. “Thank you,” she said instead, as if Gaelith actually meant the compliment. She brushed her hand down her midriff, smoothing the black cotton chiffon. She loved the dress, the softness of the fabric against her skin, the full skirt brushing against her legs. And it fit as if it had been made for her.
“Gaelith doesn’t like the color black,” Luke said as Eladio came in, carrying a tray.
“’Tis not a color, but the absence of color,” Gaelith responded, “I prefer a brighter palette.”
Eladio served each of them with a small bowl of fruit and disappeared again.
Fen unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap, surreptitiously watching the others. Gaelith picked up a utensil first, a two-tined narrow fork. Kaio and Luke followed suit, so Fen did the same. God, this was nerve-wracking.
Her solitary meals in the breakfast room looked more desirable by the minute.
She stabbed a piece of pineapple and started to bring it to her mouth when the mural behind Gaelith’s head caught her eye. Ugh.
Who wanted to eat with a scene of bloody battle in front of them?
At least it was fruit. No way was she eating meat while staring at severed heads.
“Do you gaze at me so balefully for my preference in colors?” Gaelith asked. “Indeed, I meant no criticism. The world is made more interesting by diverse tastes.”
“Oh, no, sorry,” Fen said, dropping her eyes to her plate. “I was distracted by the painting behind you.”
“Ah, indeed.” Gaelith made no attempt to look at it. “I’m familiar with the work.”
“It seems an odd set of paintings to have in a dining room,” Fen said.
The murals covered the walls. Five panels, two on the wall to the left of the entrance, one behind Kaio’s seat at the head of the table, two more on the right wall, seemed to tell a story. The first panel was a peaceful, pastoral scene of an old-style village. The second was the battle scene in front of Fen, as graphic in its depictions of gory death as any video game, if less photo-realistic. The third and fourth were of natural disasters, a volcano and a tsunami. They wouldn’t have been so bad, except for the expressions of the clearly doomed people running to escape. The last mural showed a wasteland, skeletons left in blackened ground. All together, they were as depressing a set of scenes as Fen could imagine.
The three Delmars exchanged glances.
“A family tradition of sorts,” Kaio murmured. “But let us talk of more cheerful matters. Perhaps your reading material?”
Fen stared at him. He was changing the subject, she could see. But was he also making a joke? She was starting to suspect Kaio had a very weird sense of humor.
A family tradition?
“Indeed, yes, more pleasant conversation,” Gaelith said firmly. “I would know of your new clothing. Did my brother provide you with all the essentials or is there more you need?”
“He was very thorough.” Fen resolutely did not look at Kaio. She really hoped that he’d delegated the task of purchasing her clothes to some competent minion, preferably female. She didn’t want to think about his fingers touching the underwear she wore or sorting through bras, looking for the right size. She could feel her skin starting to heat at the idea, so she added hurriedly, “Some make-up would be nice, though. Mascara, eyeliner.”
“Some—?” Gaelith glanced at Kaio
“The right sizes, I hope.”
“Oh, yes.” She looked down at the dress she was wearing. She’d considered wearing her own clothes, the grey tank top and dark skirt he’d found at her apartment. It could have been a statement of independence. But she hadn’t.
“Did Kaio procure that for you?” asked Gaelith, sounding dismayed. “But how… how very… how very lovely.”
Fen bit back the hysterical laughter that wanted to burst forth. “Thank you,” she said instead, as if Gaelith actually meant the compliment. She brushed her hand down her midriff, smoothing the black cotton chiffon. She loved the dress, the softness of the fabric against her skin, the full skirt brushing against her legs. And it fit as if it had been made for her.
“Gaelith doesn’t like the color black,” Luke said as Eladio came in, carrying a tray.
“’Tis not a color, but the absence of color,” Gaelith responded, “I prefer a brighter palette.”
Eladio served each of them with a small bowl of fruit and disappeared again.
Fen unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap, surreptitiously watching the others. Gaelith picked up a utensil first, a two-tined narrow fork. Kaio and Luke followed suit, so Fen did the same. God, this was nerve-wracking.
Her solitary meals in the breakfast room looked more desirable by the minute.
She stabbed a piece of pineapple and started to bring it to her mouth when the mural behind Gaelith’s head caught her eye. Ugh.
Who wanted to eat with a scene of bloody battle in front of them?
At least it was fruit. No way was she eating meat while staring at severed heads.
“Do you gaze at me so balefully for my preference in colors?” Gaelith asked. “Indeed, I meant no criticism. The world is made more interesting by diverse tastes.”
“Oh, no, sorry,” Fen said, dropping her eyes to her plate. “I was distracted by the painting behind you.”
“Ah, indeed.” Gaelith made no attempt to look at it. “I’m familiar with the work.”
“It seems an odd set of paintings to have in a dining room,” Fen said.
The murals covered the walls. Five panels, two on the wall to the left of the entrance, one behind Kaio’s seat at the head of the table, two more on the right wall, seemed to tell a story. The first panel was a peaceful, pastoral scene of an old-style village. The second was the battle scene in front of Fen, as graphic in its depictions of gory death as any video game, if less photo-realistic. The third and fourth were of natural disasters, a volcano and a tsunami. They wouldn’t have been so bad, except for the expressions of the clearly doomed people running to escape. The last mural showed a wasteland, skeletons left in blackened ground. All together, they were as depressing a set of scenes as Fen could imagine.
The three Delmars exchanged glances.
“A family tradition of sorts,” Kaio murmured. “But let us talk of more cheerful matters. Perhaps your reading material?”
Fen stared at him. He was changing the subject, she could see. But was he also making a joke? She was starting to suspect Kaio had a very weird sense of humor.
A family tradition?
“Indeed, yes, more pleasant conversation,” Gaelith said firmly. “I would know of your new clothing. Did my brother provide you with all the essentials or is there more you need?”
“He was very thorough.” Fen resolutely did not look at Kaio. She really hoped that he’d delegated the task of purchasing her clothes to some competent minion, preferably female. She didn’t want to think about his fingers touching the underwear she wore or sorting through bras, looking for the right size. She could feel her skin starting to heat at the idea, so she added hurriedly, “Some make-up would be nice, though. Mascara, eyeliner.”
“Some—?” Gaelith glanced at Kaio
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