Cavalier

Chapter Three

Dinner that night is...tense.

Any other year, there'd be laughter and talking and so much noise, too many people having different conversations at once making it difficult to jump into any of them. Tonight, though, the only sounds really come from the way that forks and knives scrape on plates and how David's nephews have too many stories to tell.

Agent Samuel's visit hangs over David's family like a thunder cloud.

Nethanel keeps trying to catch David's eye—David knows Nethanel had been listening in, because his brother had peeked around the corner in to the kitchen after Agent Samuel left— but David doesn't look at him or at any one else. He just wants to eat and leave. Go find somewhere quiet, which is nearly impossible when his entire family is home, to go and play his guitar without having to worry about interruptions. Abishai and Joab will want to play with him or something, though, maybe even Asahel, and David thanks his lucky stars that Asahel really isn't old enough yet to.

The problem is that David doesn't want to play with them. He doesn't want anything to do with people.

He's twelve, and a member of the Presidential Guard came to his house and—

"So," Nethanel says, and David jumps. He looks up in time to see Jesse shoot Nethanel a glare, and their mother looks like she's about to cry.

"No," Jesse says. "We're not talking about it."

David looks back down at his plate. They don't talk about it. 

-

David can't get to sleep that night.

His thoughts whirl and refuse to settle and his stomach is turning circles and regardless of how he adjusts himself on the bed he can't get comfortable. Ozem is fast asleep in the bed on the other side of the room, rest coming to him as effortlessly as it usually does. Ozem's light snores fill the air, as loud to David as a trumpet blown in his ear. David doesn't get jealous easily, but right now he just might be. 

Most of the lights in the house are out—most, but not all. He crawls out of his bed to investigate the faint light creeping into their bedroom through the open door, trying to be as quiet as he can possibly be. He's not eager to be discovered, the creak of a floorboard would be enough to do it, but David knows these floors well. His older brothers may treat him distantly sometimes, but they certainly taught him all of the tricks.

Hushed voices creep up the staircase from the kitchen—his father and his four oldest brothers. David leans against the wall near the top of the stairs and relaxes, hoping that the voices will be enough to soothe him to sleep. By the time he realizes that it's him they're talking about, they've moved to the bottom of the staircase, and David hunkers closer into the shadow against the wall, afraid to even breathe.

"...can't possibly expect us to believe that this is legitimate," Eliab is saying. "It's a scam, obviously. Somebody's out to get us. They know how great of a shepherd he is, and they want him. Either that, or they're looking to cripple us."

Something funny twists in David's chest when he hears Eliab—Eliab!—call him a great shepherd, but he pushes it down.

"Eliab." Jesse sounds tired.

"They talk about us, you know. Our competition. They know that something's up. They know that we've hit hard times. They know, and if you think that they won't twist that to their advantage you're naive."

Silence. Jesse doesn't retort, calm and collected in the face of his oldest son's cynicism. He's leaving the door open for other opinions, other contributions, and the opportunity is taken once David's other brother's are sure that it is there.