The Deathsinger: Book 2

Ch. 44: Traitor

With half the kitchen staff suffering from a hangover, breakfast consisted of whatever we could make or find. I did my best not to appear completely lost as I poked through the cupboards and boiled water for the oats I discovered. It wasn't the most convincing act, but since most of my audience had glazed eyes and pounding heads, I assumed they weren't really paying attention. Which was good because I spit my first bite back into the bowl and tried to scrape the taste from my tongue.

I glared at the offensive bowl as if it might attack. It shouldn't have been possible to make oats taste that foul but somehow I had succeeded. Not only that, but if the taste didn't put you off, the texture would. Half overcooked and half crunchy, the congealing mess jiggled as I pushed it away, opting to eat a withered blue apple instead. Sweet juice rushed over my tongue, doing its best to vanquish the lingering bitterness.

Chewing slowly, I took the opportunity to survey the grand dining hall. Twenty-foot ceilings with rafters crafted from a silvery gray wood that could only come from a Star Ash. No other wood sparkled like it did.

Three chandeliers hung low across the room, casting warm light across the three long wooden tables occupying the room. All made from Silver Ash with black candles seated at the end of each of its arms, and on the bottom of each chandelier, a six-pointed star finial dangled. The northern wall was nearly all glass, perfect for observing the Solstice lights. Elves from all over the continent had once come to Estrellum just to see them.

This space didn't exist in my memories, but neither did this strange animosity that I had experienced since coming home. It shouldn't have surprised me to find that someone didn't want me here. That had been a hard earned lesson when we first entered Estrellum, but I had hoped not to experience amongst my own family. Even worse, someone thought I was a traitor, and that infuriated me. How could they blame me for going to Edresh? I was a child without a choice.

A chunk of apple lodged in my throat, and I took a sip of my iced kef to push it down. Tears sprang to my eyes as the smooth, velvety liquid coated my tongue and reminded me of mornings with my mother. When the sun's rays turned the sky pink, she would sneak into my room with iced kef and scones. We would eat them beneath the covers and talk about all the personal things we didn't get a chance to talk about during the day. Those hours belonged to Estrellum, but not the dawn. That was solely for us.

The corners of my lips turned up in a soft smile as I recalled Morana's sleepy incredulity the first time I slipped into her room with Edresh's pitiful excuse for iced kef and scones. I'd half expected her to throw me out, but she must have seen something in my eyes that made her change her mind. Yawning, she sat up, pulled back the covers, and patted the space beside her. It was a tradition we kept up throughout the last cycles of our childhood.

"Please tell me what the bloody hell there is to smile about," Dante said with a groan as he sat down across from me.

"Don't eat that," I replied, pointing at the lumpy porridge on his plate.

"That's all I could find unless I wanted to cook, and I shouldn't be permitted in a kitchen even when my head isn't pounding from too much drink."

I rolled my eyes and laughed. It wasn't as if I could judge him when I'd chosen the oats for almost the same reason. Learning to cook wasn't a priority in our daily lessons as children of nobility. Though, after the hand life had dealt us, I decided then and there it would change with my daughter.

"Here." I fished an extra apple out of the pocket of my tunic. "Trust me. If you haven't already vomited, that porridge will certainly make you do so."

Dante stared at the apple as if it was his salvation. His teeth sank into the tender blue flesh with a crunch, and juice slid down his chin as he chewed. A moan rumbled in his throat as he swallowed, and his hazel eyes glazed over as he took the second bite.