Page 5 of Song of the Abyss
The flashing words appeared in all caps, as Bitsy always typed. “You sure?”
“For now.”
The words disappeared, and she was blissfully unaware of everything around her. The hum of conversation all turned into one tone, nearly impossible to tell who was saying what. It was like she was underwater, everything muffled and jumbled together.
They walked through the crowd, and she nodded and smiled whenever someone caught her eye. But eventually they made it to the banquet dinner where her father had insisted she go. It was mostly held in the front yard of a rather large estate that looked to be made entirely out of white marble. The tall pillars went up two stories and then flattened out onto the roof that she happened to know was filled with a garden.
A politician lived here. The man and his wife were usually quite busy making new laws and passing bills that all the citizens of Alpha had to follow. She was quite certain they had something better to do than entertain more rich and famous.
Instead, they were all out here. In the front yard, where there was yet another garden and a beautiful tea setup with white tables dotting the grass. Over done, really, considering all the people invited were likely in heels or their best garb. They likely sunk heel deep every time they took a step.
Her father was in the back corner, surrounded by a crowd of people. At one point, he was a handsome man. But years of stress had worn down his body. Where he used to stand tall and broad, now he was starting to curve in on himself. He refused to carry a cane, or even try to ask for help, though. He had to look the part.
One of the maids told her that her father wished to speak with her— with her face turned away so Anya wouldn’t have known what the other woman had said if not for Bitsy—and then pointed at the man of the hour.
Frowning, she stalked across the grass. Thankfully, she hadn’t changed her shoes this time. Neither of the maids had noticed she had on her comfortable white flats.
They were the first thing her father noticed.
His nostrils flared in anger, and she saw him excuse himself from the crowd. That stomping walk definitely meant he was mad at her. Even if she hadn’t noticed the way his shoulders were much more square, or how his eyes had narrowed in that glare that he saved just for her.
“What are you wearing?” he said, his mouth warping around the sound so she could only assume he hissed the words.
“Bitsy, turn translation back on,” she said, certain that she was a little too loud. “I’m sorry, Dad, what did you say?”
Again the nostril flare. Again, the pinched lips that surely meant he was about to explode. “I said, what are you wearing?”
She liked to remind him whenever she could that she’d lost her hearing. It was, after all, his fault. And the man had been exposing her to situations that made her uncomfortable ever since.
Oh, his poor baby girl was surely too fragile to do things on her own. That was the excuse he always said. But it wasn’t for that reason. No, he wanted to keep her under his thumb because he didn’t trust her.
The old man was far too observant.
“The clothes you sent me,” she replied.
“You are wearing flat shoes!” Bitsy underlined and made the words shake in red.
Then her little droid added in blue, “Heavens forbid!”
It took everything in her to not grin. “Sorry, I won’t do it again. I must have forgotten.”
“Just go and talk with the Harpswells, would you? They’re waffling on the deal, and I need them to sign the paperwork to build the next service center on the eastern promenade.” He pinched his nose between his eyes, exhaling and pulling that mask back over his features. “Be nice.”
With that last warning, he turned toward his crowd of adoring fans and opened his arms. Considering the muffled noise that then disappeared into nothing, she could only imagine they were cheering him on.
Shaking her head, she grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter walking past, and she started toward the Harpswells. But then she was stopped by a middle-aged woman Anya thought was part of the family who ran the artist’s guild. Or maybe she was just on the board. She couldn’t remember.
“How are you doing, dear?” the woman said, her mouth becoming pinched. The wrinkles on her forehead deepened. Not a good look considering her pale hair had turned the color of sickly straw.
“I’m fine, thank you.” She really needed to get past this barrier of a person. Obviously, everyone knew she was fine. Anya hadn’t even hidden in her room recently, so no one could say she had been sick.
She side-stepped around the woman, only to have her mirror the movement. That pinched, wrinkly mouth said, “It’s just that we worry about you. Since the accident.”
Anya reached up to tap Bitsy’s glass, only to have the droid add on the screen, “That’s what she said.”
“The accident that happened years ago?” she asked for clarification.
“Yes.” The woman’s eyes flicked to her ears and back. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions about it?”
