“You were chosen to wear that dress?” she asked, finally finding her voice.
“Is it that strange?”
“Well, you’re human.”
Squawk.
“But you’re also Chosen.”
Kaylin nodded. “Please, come in. We have refreshments, and if you’d like, I can introduce you to thekindestmember of my household.” She put emphasis on that word, speaking in High Barrani.
“I would,” Yvonne replied, the gold in her eyes receding far less quickly than it had in An’Tellarus’s. Green joined gold, but flecks of that gold persisted. It was really a lovely color.
Helen saw An’Tellarus, Sedarias, and Teela into the parlor; she subtly cut off Yvonne from her guardian, and her guardian allowed it with a single backward glance at Kaylin. It was all smiling daggers, really—a nonverbal threat—but Kaylin had no intention of harming Yvonne, or allowing her to be harmed.
Kaylin, in her ridiculous dress with her ridiculous ring and hair that was practically starched, then led Yvonne to the kitchen, which was Mrs. Erickson’s territory. The smell of baking wafted into the hall practically before Kaylin opened the door. Something savory, but something sweet. Mrs. Erickson’s back, apron knots around neck and waist, could be seen as she bustled around the kitchen.
Fallessian’s face could be seen more clearly; his eyes were blue. He said nothing, made no attempt to interrupt Mrs. Erickson; she hadn’t heard the door.
But Yvonne seemed unaware of this. Unaware of Fallessian’s stiff, expressionless face, unaware of the fact that kitchens weren’t meant for lords—and certainly not people who worethe dress Kaylin wore. And the ring. Her eyes were caught—and held—by the slow, humming bustle of the kitchen’s master: Mrs. Erickson.
Yvonne herself was dressed as a Barrani servant. An’Tellarus was dressed for the type of war that occurred when Lords of the High Court convened in genteel settings, although her hair fell straight down her back. So did Yvonne’s. Yvonne’s clothing would be considered expensive and noteworthy outside the High Halls but would blend into the background within them—as servants were meant to do.
Maybe that was a way of keeping her hidden, keeping her safe. If it was, Kaylin understood it viscerally. Safety, in the fiefs of her childhood, had relied on being unnoticed, beneath notice. It was a habit that was hard to break.
Yvonne stepped forward as Mrs. Erickson lifted a tray—it was hot enough to require oven mittens and concentration. Before Fallessian could step in, Yvonne did.
“May I help you with that?” she asked, her tone far more warm, far more musical, than Kaylin had ever heard it.
Mrs. Erickson turned to look over her shoulder at the guest, her smile instant and welcoming. “That would be lovely. There are mitts on the far counter, and you’ll need them. The trays are hot. I’m Imelda.”
“Yvonne,” Yvonne said instantly. She retrieved the aforementioned gloves.
Fallessian’s expression cracked a bit as Yvonne took his place: she helped Mrs. Erickson pull trays out of the large rounded oven.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” Mrs. Erickson added. “But I’m terrible with names.” This was a bald-faced lie.
“So am I,” Yvonne replied, cheerful now that she had something to do with her hands. “But my name’s not all that important, and I don’t have to pretend to be offended when you don’t know who I am.”
“Some of that,” Mrs. Erickson said, “is not pretense, sadly. Not in my experience. Are you one of the guests?”
“She’stheguest,” Kaylin said.
“Oh dear. And here I am putting guests to work.” But she didn’t panic, and she smiled as she said it—as if she knew that Yvonne helping in the kitchen was the best comfort she could offer. Yvonne certainly wouldn’t find Sedarias or Teela comforting, and An’Tellarus, whom she clearly respected, was too prickly. Or maybe, Kaylin thought, An’Tellarus, like Sedarias, felt the need for comfort was a weakness that could be easily exploited.
Kaylin exhaled. “Yvonne offered, and I think she’s more comfortable here than she’d be in the parlor. Hells,I’mmore comfortable here than I’d be in the parlor, and I live with the scariest person in it.”
Yvonne laughed. “I don’t think An’Tellarus disliked you, but I’ve never seen her quite so unsettled. Helen seemed to recognize her.”
“An’Tellarus is old. Helen’s older than both An’Tellarus and Teela, but at one time, Helen was home to a sorcerer. Or an Arcanist. I really can’t tell the difference between the two.”
Hope squawked.
“Hope thinks you should be able to differentiate,” Yvonne said politely.
“Anyway, Helen doesn’t speak that much about her prior tenants.”
“Tenants?”