Page 34 of Prince of Masks
My cheek is slightly turned to the crystal decorated table, the flowers, the flickering candles, the cream silk runners—and I look out to the glittering city lights.
It’s not often we dine in the heart of London, there are so many lovely places closer to home that don’t require veil travelor lengthy car rides. But on the odd occasion we do venture this far, I find myself more distracted from conversation than usual.
It's the smog of London that irks me, the constant thrum of the crowds moving through the streets, the glare of the lights that disturb the dark of night.
And it only worsens my mood that Amelia won’t stop babbling on about her oh-so-precious son and their phone call just last night.
Might barf up my salad.
“His team won the mid-season,” Amelia tells us, and I tune in and out of the recap of Dray’s life at Bluestone. “But with the examinations in the second semester, the seniors will drop out of the game—so he is pleased to leave on the accomplishment.”
“Dray is a winner,” Mother says with a small smile, and I make a face that neither of them notices. “It’s good to hear he is stepping back from the extracurriculars to focus on the examinations. Oliver has chosen the same for himself.”
Amelia sinks her elbow onto the edge of the table, very poor manners, but she slinks closer to Mother, and that prickles my senses. “How is he now?”
Ooh.
Something happened with Oliver.
I shift closer.
“Oh, he is well enough. The academy witchdoctor healed his shoulder nicely, and with the balms, the scar will fade in a couple of weeks.”
“What?”
Mother and Amelia flicker their blank stares to me.
I clear my throat. “What happened to Oliver?”
“He had an accident in sparring,” Mother sighs, soft, the faint wisp of her disdain for the club lingering in her tone. “The bone of his shoulder came through—”
Amelia flurries her hand. “Please, no.”
Mother’s smile comes with a shake of the head. “Not to worry, Olivia. Your brother was fixed up just fine at the school.”
I almost slump in my chair with the understanding.
I was upset, I was brought home.
I was hurt on the slopes, I was brought home.
Oliver’s bone speared through his shoulder, but he was left at school. He might be extra salty with me when he gets back. Perhaps not, since it might have been his own decision to stay at Bluestone.
Amelia says, “Oliver and Dray could have matching scars now.”
Mother bells a faint laugh.
And my mind chugs to the distant memory. I blink on it, on the image of a circle of white cuts, the teeth marks of a child marring soft, sandy skin.
I reach for my wine.
I’ll need it.
Mother asks, “Did he not have it revised?”
Amelia’s gaze flickers to me. “He still wears it.”
I sip as slowly on my wine as I can manage, when everything in me wants to throw it back and call it a night.
