Tales of Fire and Ruin

Under the Moonlight

We finished all the preparations and arrived at the dining room with limbs and fingers intact, carrying large pans with food that smelled amazing. That was already a noteworthy accomplishment. I remembered the first nights cooking after the last of the servants had left. Valda had set wooden utensils on fire, the fishing nets my brother had cast came up from the sea empty, and I'd cut multiple fingers while peeling vegetables.

Father's seat at the table was empty. Conrad shovelled a generous portion of potato and fish onto a plate and retreated into the hall. In an unspoken family agreement, none of us said a word about it, so neither did Endris and Oleander. Mother, who had swapped her work clothing for fine weaved fabrics, had already politely directed our guests to the far end of the table. All the Montbow family members had a designated seat, and we clung to old traditions. I often wondered why because that old life didn't exist anymore. It was beneficial for me in this case, however, because guests being placed in the far back meant Oleander wasn't near me, and none could glimpse what Fynn had already noticed.

Fynn's curious and observant nature was a curse, but while we waited for Conrad to return, his presence was a blessing. My little brother insisted I turned his mashed potatoes into a potato volcano on his plate. Sometimes he asked for a witch's hut or a castle, but the volcano was the favourite. Mostly because of the grand finale: its eruption.

Fynn bounced in his seat as I built. "Make it explode, make it explode!" he demanded, while I skilfully smoothed out the curves of the potato volcano with the back of my spoon.

With a grin, I pointed at Fynn's plate and released the tiniest spark from my fingertip. The 'volcano' erupted, splattering all over the plate. A few chunks landed on the table.

"Oops," I said, laughing as I wiped the wood clean with my sleeve while Fynn clapped.

A soft chuckle sounded from the back, and I couldn't help but dart a glance Oleander's way. He smiled when he saw me looking, and my heart jolted. I quickly averted my gaze again. Across the table, Gisela sighed. Mother's expression remained pleasant, but her unblinking eyes rested on mine, silently telling me 'enough.'

"How elegant, Laurence," Valda remarked with a lopsided grin. "Will you perform those tricks with your future betrothed at the table as well?"

"Yes, she'll just have to accept that side of me," I said. "If potato volcanos aren't welcome at the dinner table, I don't want to be a part of it."

Fynn nodded solemnly.

"Ariane Seydal will put up with anything Laurence, or we, do if he ever becomes a knight," Gisela added with a shrug. 

Despite her light tone, I felt the resentment smouldering behind my sister's words. The truth remained that I hadn't accomplished my task, even if everyone stayed quiet out of fear I would leave them behind. But even when not spoken out loud, their silent disappointment was still stifling. I felt eyes on me, awaiting my reaction to my sister's pinpricks. I didn't offer any.

Conrad returned to the dining room a few moments later, and we all started eating. The herb and spice blends for the meat and potatoes garnered Oleander compliments from everyone but Conrad, who didn't tend to praise unless someone held a knife to his throat. Oleander accepted the praise shyly with flushed cheeks.

After we finished eating, Conrad, Endris, and Oleander retreated to their respective rooms. The rest of the family stayed in the living quarters, with Valda and Gisela knitting by the fireplace, Fynn bolting across the room playing with his spinning-top, and Mother and I reading.

Correction: Mother read. I pretended to read. All the enjoyment I may have gotten out of reading once upon a time got sucked out of it when fairytale books were ripped out of my tiny five-year-old hands and replaced with dry as bones material about court etiquette, war tactics, and family history.