“Which then proceeded to exit through my nose in the most mortifying fashion imaginable,” Rosavyn added, grimacing at the memory. “I’ve never forgiven him.”
“She has, in fact, forgiven me,” Evryn stage-whispered to Mariselle. “Though she’ll never admit it.”
“I most certainly have not,” Rosavyn insisted. “Lady Whispermist still eyes me suspiciously whenever refreshments are served.”
“The infamous punch incident,” Lady Lelianna sighed. “I had nearly managed to forget.”
As the siblings continued their good-natured bickering, Mariselle found herself simply … watching. There was a rhythm to their interactions, a familiar dance of teasing and defense, challenge and riposte. Yet beneath it all ran a current of what seemed to be genuine affection. Even Rosavyn’s barbs lacked the cutting edge Mariselle associated with Ellowa’s ‘teasing.’
Lady Lelianna observed it all with the serene patience of a mother who had long since accepted her children’s lively temperaments. Occasionally she would interject a gentle “Kazrian, really” or “Rosavyn, perhaps that’s enough,” but Mariselle could see she took genuine pleasure in their spirited exchanges.
Was this what family could be? This warm, chaotic, affectionate mess of contradictions?
A sharp pang of longing took her by surprise. The closest she’d ever come to this sort of easy companionship was with Petunia, and even that relationship required careful navigation around their parents’ expectations and prejudices.
“… precisely my point,” Rosavyn was saying. “The entire affair was an exercise in ostentatious misery. Children’s parties should involve actual fun—games and sweets and perhaps a treasure hunt led by talking mice—not an endless parade of elaborate courses no child would ever willingly eat.”
“Asparagus mousse,” Aurelise recalled with a shudder. “Who serves asparagus mousse to a five year old?”
“Lady Whitewing, apparently,” Kazrian replied. “Though to be fair, I don’t believe anyone of any age should be subjected to asparagus in mousse form.”
“Or any form,” Mariselle found herself saying before she could stop the words.
“Yes!” Rosavyn exclaimed, turning to her with unexpected animation. “It’s utterly vile, isn’t it? This strange vegetable that everyone pretends to enjoy because it’s considered sophisticated.”
“And it’s always arranged on the plate like it’s meant to be admired instead of endured,” Mariselle added, warming to the subject. “Society insistson serving it at every formal dinner as though it’s some great delicacy instead of stringy green stalks that taste of bitter disappointment.”
Rosavyn laughed. “Bitter disappointment! Yes, exactly! And it’s always announced with such reverence—‘tender young asparagus tips’—as if the adjectives somehow transform it into something desirable.”
“As though youth and tenderness could redeem its fundamental nature,” Mariselle agreed. “It’s still asparagus.”
“The elaborate conspiracy of asparagus appreciation,” Rosavyn declared, her eyes alight with mirth. “An agreement among the elite to pretend that this objectively unpleasant vegetable is somehow the height of culinary sophistication.”
They both dissolved into laughter, Mariselle allowing herself to once again conveniently ‘forget’ the years of family enmity that stood between them. It was only when she noticed Evryn watching her with bemusement and … something else she couldn’t quite determine that she forced herself to straighten in her seat, pressing her lips together in a vain attempt to compose her features into something more befitting a Brightcrest in enemy territory.
“I beg your pardon,” she said to Lady Lelianna, smoothing her skirts. “I didn’t mean to speak so … freely.”
“No need to apologize,” Lady Lelianna assured her. “As you can see, my children express themselves without reservation. Though I do occasionally wish they would temper their candor with a modicum of decorum, particularly when we have guests.” She directed a pointed gaze first at Rosavyn, then Evryn.
Evryn leaned toward Mariselle, his shoulder brushing against hers as he spoke in a mock whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. “Mother pretends to be horrified by some of our more inappropriate comments, but we’ve caught her laughing behind her napkin far too often to be fooled.”
Lady Lelianna’s lips pursed in exaggerated disapproval. She began to scold her son, but Mariselle was only vaguely aware of her words, distracted by Evryn’s proximity and the way his breath ghosted across her cheek as he laughed.
She was reminded suddenly of the night they’d soared above the Dreamland ruins astride his pegasus, Evryn’s arm encircling her waist, holding her firmly against him. At the time, she’d been entirely consumed by the glowing light of the lumyrite network illuminated across the ground below, by thethrill of discovering it perfectly intact. It wasn’t until they’d begun their descent that she’d become aware of his nearness and how it wasn’t entirely … unpleasant. How she seemed to fit perfectly within the circle of his arm.
He drew back now, the moment of feigned intimacy having passed, and she shook her head a little, forcing her shoulders back. The bracelet slid down her arm, a reminder of his latest magical trick, no doubt designed to spring some mortifying surprise at the most inopportune moment.
The remainder of tea passed in more traditional conversation—the weather, upcoming social events, the latest ridiculous rumors the gossip birds were spreading. Yet something had shifted in the atmosphere. Rosavyn’s hostile edge had softened, and Aurelise has warmed up considerably.
As the tea service was cleared away, Lady Lelianna turned to Mariselle with a warm smile. “You simply must join us again soon,” she said. “Perhaps next week?”
“That’s very kind,” Mariselle replied. “I shall have to consult my calendar, but … yes, I would enjoy that.”
Evryn escorted her to the entrance hall, where Tilly had already been summoned from below stairs. As they waited for the butler to retrieve Mariselle’s gloves, Evryn leaned slightly closer.
“You survived,” he observed, his voice pitched for her ears alone. “And even managed to find common ground with Rosavyn, which I frankly thought impossible. I remain convinced that asparagus is perfectly acceptable, however. In fact, I rather like it.”
“Your judgment is clearly impaired,” Mariselle replied, though without real heat. “Though your family is … not what I expected.”
