I search the room for who she might be talking to. There’s no one else to be seen. Sitri steps forward and clears his throat. The girl finally notices and jumps so hard that she sends her writing utensil flying into one of the bubbling sinks. “Oh! The prince!” she gasps, clutching at her chest. I recognize her voice immediately.
This is my ally—Vera, she said her name was. Every square inch of her apron is covered in an array of stains and speckles of flour. “My—my prince,” she corrects with a disheveled curtsy.
Sitri steps forward, settling our plates onto one of the gleaming counters. “Vera, I know it’s been a while since I’ve been in here, but come on, it’s Sitri,” he says, a hint of annoyance in his tone.
“Sitri—sorry, it’s just, yes, it’s been a while, and I wasn’t expecting to see you here. In here,” she points a finger toward the floor. “And, I don’t know—I thought maybe I don’t know…you anymore—I mean, I don’t know what you prefer anymore,” she prattles on, obviously flustered.
“From you, I prefer Sitri, always. Sorry for startling you.” He twists his fingers, and a dripping, soapy pen appears on the counter in front of her.
“Thank you.” She picks up the pen and wipes it clean with her apron.
“And, I swear to the Gods if I ever see that pitiful-looking curtsy again—“
“It was pitiful, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” he agrees with a grin.
Vera breaks into a grin, too, dipping her head. “Sitri…it’s good to see you.”
They stand there silently for a moment and I feel like I’m intruding on some kind of reunion and idly wonder if they have some kind of romantic history. Vera’s cute, freckles sprinkled across her cheeks, and a reddish tint to her hair that’s pulled back into a messy bun. Her gaze turns to the plates he’s set on the counter. “Wait—is something the matte--”
“No, no,” Sitri interjects. He turns back to me, still lingering by the door, and ushers me in. I search his face, waiting for that cold change in his demeanor that displays his disdain for me and this marriage but it doesn’t appear. Based on the surprise splashing across Vera’s features, it’s apparent she hadn’t even noticed me yet. “Syra, this is Vera. Vera, this is Syra, my—well, I’m sure you’ve probably heard.”
Her eyes grow wide. “Oh! You’re um—yes, I did hear. And, we spoke through the door.” Her surprise melts into a warm smile. “Hello, it’s so nice to meet you face to face.”
“Hi,” I say shyly.
She turns back to Sitri. “And I’ve been bringing the plates up just as Avice asked me to.”
“Thank you for that.”
“I was hoping, if it’s not too much trouble, Syra and I could eat in here with you?” Surprise etches her face again. “Less lingering eyes,” Sitri explains.
“Oh, yeah, of course,” she says. Something in her demeanor seems stiffer and less enthusiastic than before she realized I was here, which makes me suspect they do have some kind of romantic history. Yet, she still saw fit to bring me the supplies.
Sitri flicks his hand and two stools appear. He takes a seat, diving back into his plate, no less noisy than a dog slurping down a bowl of soup. I take the stool across from him and pick apart my roll into tiny pieces, staring daggers into the side of his head. He turns to face me. “Wha’?” he asks, garbled with a mouth full of food.
“The sound of your chewing makes me—“ I break off, remembering we’re in company. “Maybe I shouldn’t say,” I say quietly.
“Why shouldn’t you?”
I pointedly assess Vera and his bafflement increases. “What?” he whispers.
“I’m trying to begood.” When his mystification doesn’t wane, I throw up my hands. How does he not remember the huge lecture he gave me? “A goodpet,” I snap.
Surprise splashes across his face. “Oh. You can act however you want around Vera.”
“I can?”
“Yeah.” He flashes me a grin and points at his chest. “Wait, are you…listening to me?”
“I was going to say the sound of your chewing makes me want to stab this fork into my eye.”
“I was hoping you’d stab it in your mouth, you know, with food on it. Have you ever had lamalias?” He gestures to the foreign dish that’s a mixture of some kind of pasta and meat. “You should try it. It’s delicious.”
“No, that’s alright—“ He ignores me, swiping my plate away to shovel the lamalias onto it before scooting it back in front of me. Vera’s lips are pursed as she stomps around the kitchen, slamming cabinets. “I don’t think she wants us here,” I whisper.
“She is acting odd. Suppose it’s been a while since I’ve talked to her.”
