famously unfamous (alternate) | jaron artolius eckbert iii

Two

I was starting to get up, wondering where Sage was, when he was led in by Errol.

"Finally," I muttered.

Father gave me a hard look and I smoothed my dress.

"Sit, please," Father said, motioning to the plate at his left. Roden was clearly distressed that Sage had been seated nearer to Father than him.

As soon as Sage sat, servants began bringing in the food. They started with cheese as soft as butter and fruit in the prime of ripeness, as per usual. Father was served first, but he waited for the rest of us to be served before he began. Although Sage was served third, I assumed he had figured out he had to follow the same guideline.

My senses were overwhelmed by glorious smells on my plate and others coming from the kitchen.

"Do you eat like this all the time?" Sage asked enthusiastically.

"All the time," Conner said. "Would you like a life of this luxury?"

"This exceeds any expectation I might have had for my life," Sage answered.

"It's a humble meal compared to a king's feast," Conner said.

"But who'd need a king's feast if they had all this?" Roden asked as his plate was served. Then he looked at Conner, knowing he'd made a mistake but not sure exactly what it was. He searched for the words to correct himself, and failed.

Tobias took his opening. "I'd need a king's feast."

I smiled dryly, accepting the soup from the girl who handed it to me. I smiled at her.

"Thank you," Sage said, getting the attention of the girl who had served him again. "What kind of soup is it?"

He waited for her answer to his question, but none came.

Father prattled on, telling us what we could expect to eat for dinner that evening: crisp bread still steaming from the oven, glazed roasted duck with meat so tender it could be cut with a spoon, fruit pudding chilled from an underground cooler. I heard him, but continued to watch Sage intently. Father glared at Imogen, irritated when she dropped water onto Tobias. Sage and I opened our mouths to defend her, but she handed him another napkin and hurried from the room before anything could be said.

When we were all dished up, Father picked up the spoon at the top of his plate and said, "This is your soup spoon. It is for the soup and only for the soup."

I rolled my eyes, but jolted when I saw which hand Sage held his spoon with.

"You eat with your left hand?" Father asked him. "That's unacceptable. Can you do it with your right?"

"Can you do it with your left?" Sage countered.

Conner sounded offended. "No."

"Yet you ask me to switch to my right."

"Just do it."

Sage switched hands, but made no attempt to imitate Conner's delicate grip with his hand. Instead, with his ax grip, he went straight for the soup.

"No, Sage," Father said. "Scoop the soup into your spoon by pushing the liquid away from you, like this." He demonstrated, and added, "That way, if you spill, it will go onto the table, not onto your lap."

Sage's right hand was sloppy, and as soon as Father looked away, he switched back to his left. He noticed but said nothing.

Father corrected Roden on how to hold his spoon: "It's not a hammer, boy." He lectured Tobias on leaning over his bowl: "Bring the food to your mouth, not the mouth to your food." But he said nothing else to Sage about manners. I suspected he'd given up.