by Trish Mercer
The next several days passed in a blur, Mahrree realized on Jaytsy’s 15th Birthday, which they had celebrated the day before. Gizzada had sent over a few large birthday sandwiches yesterday and, either because he had a bit of a nasty streak in him or he really thought Relf would enjoy it, the food was accompanied by a large jug of ale.
Relf had sniffed it and scowled. “Heard about this stuff, but not too sure about it. Perrin?”
He was already leaning back in his chair when his father handed the jug over to him.
“Ever tried it?”
“You know I don’t drink anything stronger than water or new juice,” Perrin said curtly, and sent a withering look to his son whose mouth was open with some ready response he realized just then should likely remain in his head if he ever hoped to see fourteen.
“Well, some have asked if we’ll be serving it at The Dinner. I suppose we could order a few jugs—”
“And keep it in the stables,” Perrin had suggested.
As Mahrree watched the dozen young cadets from Command School trouping delicately around the house that morning, she cringed in sympathy. She clutched her personal pages of notes and listened as Joriana ordered the young men about as if they were her personal servants which, for the day, they were.
“Yes, all those long rugs along the Grand Hall must be rolled up. How else will everyone dance? Into the back cottage with them. Roll them tighter, cadet, or they’ll be too big. You over there—see those sprigs of blossoms in the crate? You’re on blossom detail. Into the vases in the back gathering room with them, and artfully, soldier. That’s a candlestick, cadet—not a long knife! Hold that more respectfully. And you will be rubbing those fingerprints off, correct? The rest of you: all this furniture—out! All those chairs waiting outside—in!”
Mahrree rubbed her temple—a soothing technique she mastered on her husband a few nights before—and smiled gratefully at a sulking soldier who carried a large crate of snipped yellow blossoms past her. It was almost over.
Tomorrow night, then never again. Maybe.
For the past several days Mahrree had been introduced to every key official, shop owner, caterer, and musician. Judging by her mother-in-law’s enthusiasm, she began to wonder if Joriana hadn’t also ordered the land tremor as well, just to have the opportunity to train her daughter-in-law.
Each night she compared notes with Perrin and found he’d been meeting with every officer, Administrator, and Idumean official. The High General had insisted on returning to the garrison for full days of work, but naturally needed his son’s accompaniment in every meeting and briefing. Perrin, too, began to suspect he was being groomed for a takeover.
At least Jaytsy and Peto had been enjoying themselves, Mahrree considered as she glanced around before remembering they were nowhere in sight.
For the past few days Peto had been spending his mornings in the back garden with the new ball his grandfather gave him, kicking it between two tall trees, and he filled his afternoons watching the professional kickball practices at the arena, accompanied by two corporals who served as more-than-willing guards.
Jaytsy had enjoyed her time with one of the maid’s nieces who was happy to show her every last shop within a two mile radius of the general’s mansion, escorted, of course, by two older and rather homely sergeants hand-picked by her father.
But today Jaytsy was out with Kindiri visiting all the caterers with reminders of what time they should deliver their creations to the mansion tomorrow and, Mahrree hoped, not hearing how certain foods reminded Kindiri of Lieutenant Riplak. Peto was helping soldiers unload chairs from wagons brought in to seat the more than three hundred guests expected to arrive.
Mahrree broke out in a cold sweat when she thought about so many Idumeans. She was Edgy, and as each day passed she felt she understood this place even less.
The last straw was when Kuman’s gown arrived that morning. Mahrree took one look at the Smoldering Something with turtle necklines on bodices and intentional wrinkles and who knew what else—and realized she could never bring it back to Edge. No one would know what to do with her in it, Mahrree most especially.
“Mahrree! Candlestick placement!” Joriana clapped her hands officiously and pointed to the hapless soldiers trying to understand the proper way to hold candlesticks. Maybe it meant using only three fingers, with pinkies extended in miniature salutes.
“Yes, Mother Shin! Of course. This way, men.”
Later that afternoon, with chairs and tables set up, and blossoms arranged and rearranged with alternating candlesticks to coordinate with differing heights, colors, and scents, Perrin and his weary father stumbled into the wide back doors of the gathering room and made their way to the Grand Hall. Perrin’s mouth dropped open at the dramatic changes, but Relf just chuckled.
“And you wondered if I should’ve stayed at home and rested instead.”
“You are tomorrow,” Joriana told him as she gave him a peck on the cheek. “You need to rest up. And you,” she pointed at her son, “will not leave these grounds. I will not risk you suddenly becoming lost, Perrin Shin!”
Perrin pursed his lips as if plan number one had just been quashed.
“It’s a big house,” he murmured to Mahrree as his mother helped his father to a soft chair. “There are many places where I know she’ll never think to look.”
“So why didn’t you tell me about any of them?” she demanded.
“Cut off her right hand right before The Dinner? Are you kidding? No one wants to disappoint Joriana Shin.”
“You just remember that, Colonel!”
But by midday meal the next day, Mahrree began to wear just as tight an expression as her mother-in-law. The food was arriving, and in fantastic amounts and displays. Hycymum would’ve been astounded at the creations, a few of them from Gizzada’s. The mansion looked near to perfect on the inside, and outside the servant-soldiers were busy on the surprisingly warm breezy day sweeping, pulling a few early weeds, and setting up temporary stables for extra horses and carriages, while also keeping an eye out for one missing colonel.
Mahrree fumed that somehow he’d managed to give her the slip. She thought marriages meant couples were united in everything, and it wasn’t even her mother he was avoiding. It was his own, one that frequently passed Mahrree with directions, instructions, and snippy inquiries as to where her “horrible” son had run off to.
Two hours before the guests were to arrive, she finally found him. Peto had tipped her off, and then ran off to take his bath as if knowing Mahrree would start yelling because Peto had known for hours where his father had been hiding. The only way to redeem himself was to bathe voluntarily.
“Oh, very clever, Perrin!” Mahrree growled as she recognized his hulking shape wielding a pitchfork and spreading hay. She stepped carefully into the stables to avoid anything warm and squishy.
He looked up sheepishly, and the several other groomsmen hired for the evening stared. It was obvious they didn’t know that the man laboring by their side for the afternoon in dusty old clothes was also the host.
“Just lending a hand, Mahrree,” he said innocently, his big dark eyes almost sincere. “That’s what my mother told me to do—help out.”
Mahrree clenched her teeth. “She’s been looking for you all afternoon!”
“But she never comes to the stables,” he smiled not so guilelessly.
She put her hands on her hips and glared.
He stood up straight and gulped.
“Your bath has been drawn and is waiting,” she said in a steady but cold tone. “Unless you want your mother to come out here, dunk you in a watering trough and bathe you herself, I recommend you get in and get ready now!”
He glanced apologetically at the groomsmen and handed one of them his pitchfork. “Sorry, boys. But um—”
“Unnerstand, Colonel,” one of them drawled. “When the jenny brays, best be on yer way.”
Perrin snorted.
“When the jenny—?” Mahrree beg
an, but Perrin took her by the elbow and led her out.
“They have a variety of interesting metaphors. That was the tamest I’ve heard all afternoon. There’s a reason my mother stays away from the stables.”
“Your dress uniform is in our bedroom,” she told him. “A new jacket and everything, so you best be in it very soon.”
“Yes ma’am!”
But he wasn’t. An hour before the guests were to arrive, Joriana sent Mahrree to her bedroom to get ready.
“He hasn’t shown up since bathing,” she told her daughter-in-law. “Even Peto was more cooperative!”
“Mother Shin, I’ll go find him first—”
“Oh, no you won’t,” Joriana said in a tone that could slice stone. “You get yourself ready. I will deal with my son.”
Mahrree swallowed. It didn’t help that Joriana had her hand on a carving knife.
---
Perrin felt the wave of it coming, the unnatural stilling of the air, the sudden dreadful calm. Even the pressure of the atmosphere took on a different mood, as if Nature itself was crying out, “Duck!”
But he was trapped.
He knew it wasn’t the best hiding place, but he’d run out of options since the mansion was now swarming with hired hands.
“What in the world are you doing?” Joriana’s voice suddenly stabbed him like an icicle. “In the second larder?”
“Mother! Just checking on . . . supplies,” he said smooth as butter. “Counting jars, for you. Forty-eight, forty-nine . . . oh, I don’t think that’s right. I best start again. One, two—”
“You’re not dressed,” she seethed.
He quickly looked down at himself. “Phew! For a minute there I thought I had forgotten to put on my clothing again. Then again, had I been less dressed, I’m sure half a dozen of those caterers out there would have made more than a peep—”
“You know what I mean,” she snarled, and outside a stray cat arched its back and hissed before running for cover. “You promised you’d be civilized tonight, right? But you haven’t learned a single dance step! There’s still time, you know. I can call for Kuman immediately.”
“I promise I’ll find a way to prove I am not a wild man,” he said, since he had no way of escaping except for climbing over his mother. “That’s all you can hope for. Now, teach me how to use a fork.”
Joriana was not amused. “PERRIN! When are you going to get ready?”
“As soon as I make sure everyone else is,” he promised. “But maybe you should tell me again: which is the spoon and which is the knife?”
When his mother snatched up a butcher knife near one of the ten dressed pheasants and threatened to show him how to use it, he ran down the Grand Hall like a disobedient boy to Peto’s room.
He knocked on the door and opened it. “Need help, son?”
Peto squinted at him. “Haven’t needed help dressing myself for over ten years now, but how thoughtful of you to check on me, Father.” He was finishing buttoning the row of shining brass buttons that went all the way up to his throat. “So if this were in blue, it’d be a dress uniform?”
Perrin smiled grimly. “Same wool, too. Your grandmother’s subtle attempt to demonstrate how handsome you look in ‘uniform.’ She did the same thing to me when I was your age.”
Peto evaluated himself in the long mirror. “I like the kickball uniforms better. You should be getting dressed, Father. I have a feeling Grandmother won’t approve of those stable clothes for The Dinner.”
“It’s getting bad,” Perrin muttered. “Now you’re even nagging me.”
“And I don’t have to dance.” Peto batted his eyelashes.
Perrin sighed. “I guess I better check on Jaytsy, then. She may be wanting a man’s opinion.” He cringed at his words.
“Oh, she’s ready. She’s been floating up and down the Grand Hall staircase for the past ten minutes. Didn’t you see her? In that yellow she looks like a giant mutated hornet. Even got her hair all . . .” With his hands he gestured some bizarre arrangement over his head and shuddered.
“That bad?” Perrin winced.
“Yes! Some cousins of somebody’s have been doing her up all Idumea-ically. Rather hysterically, I think.”
Perrin grinned. “Good. No one will want to dance with her then.”
He stepped out of Peto’s room just in time to see the hornet fly by.
But she wasn’t a hornet. She was much more a fantastic butterfly, having taken on human form. Even with her dark brown hair all piled up and hand-motiony, she was exquisite.
Unfortunately.
She stopped and twirled in front of her father, the full yellow skirt rising in a flutter of roundness. “Well? How do I look?”
Perrin swallowed. He finally had to admit she was beautiful. And a young woman.
“Very nice, Jaytsy,” he sighed. He’d be busy that night following around her admirers.
“Ha!” she shouted at her brother’s door. “Told you! And if you make any more comments about my being a hornet, I’ll sting you good and hard.”
Perrin relaxed, because if any of her would-be admirers heard her with her brother, there’d be no problems whatsoever.
From behind Peto’s door came a buzzing sound, followed by the loud smack of a hand slapping the wood door. “Eww—hornet guts.”
“You two just keep that up,” Perrin grinned, “and we’ll be run out of Idumea before dessert.”
Jaytsy put her hands on her very dainty waist, the skirt flaring out below and down to her knees, and the figure-hugging silk rising up and over her shoulders. Perrin wondered again when her body turned so womanly, and why the silk couldn’t go any higher to encase her entire throat. While there was no cleavage, he felt there was still too much flesh of his daughter displayed for the roving eyes of young soldiers.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready, Colonel Shin?” Her mature tone woke him out of his private musings as to where he could find her a thick shawl. “You just missed Grandmother. She’s looking for you, and she’s got a vein bulging in her forehead.”
“Really?”
“She’s kind of scary right now.”
“I believe you.”
Jaytsy pointed authoritatively to his bedroom door. He shrugged obediently, only because his daughter’s stance had taken on the demanding quality of her grandmother, and whether out of duty or genuine fear, Perrin had been conditioned as a small boy to recognize that pose as the fifth and final warning.
Reluctantly he made his way down to his bedroom, purposely ignoring the details that had gone into making the Grand Hall even grander, and knocked once at his bedroom door as a warning.
“That better be you, Perrin!” Mahrree called.
He opened the door slowly, peered in, and raised his eyebrows.
“I know, I know,” Mahrree said hurriedly, brushing down the full gown that fit his ‘coverage’ specifications—over her shoulders, down her arms to the elbows, and with no cleavage in sight.
He smiled in approval. Some views were his alone.
“Yes, it is silk,” she confessed with some embarrassment. “It is gray—not my favorite color. Smokey something or the other with something sleepy. Your mother chose it, Kuman made it . . . I would have been happy in something more like cotton, but—”
“But nothing.” Perrin smiled broader as he closed the door and walked over to her, his eyes traveling up and down. She was more stunning than his daughter could ever hope to be. Her hair pinned up emphasized her smooth neck and her perfect shape, which the gray silk hugged down to her waist where it flared out just like Jaytsy’s dress, but almost to the floor.
“You wear it beautifully. I couldn’t imagine how you could look more wonderful for tonight.” He winked at her, and the worried tension released from her face.
“You really think so?” she breathed.
“Absolutely,” he assured her. “My wife covered in gray bug vomit. What I’ve always dreamed of.” He tried to keep a straigh
t face, but he couldn’t hide his smile.
Mahrree turned pink. “I rather expected you to say something like, ‘Just wear what you wore down here,’ but this is actually more comfortable than I imagined. I mean, even though it’s so form fitting—”
“Yes, it is,” he said, running his hands over her form in appreciation.
“Perrin!” she chided, and slapped his hand away.
But she’d have to hit him a lot harder than that to be effective. “What’s this called?”
“The bodice,” she said, torn between fighting him and enjoying him.
“Bod-iss,” he said slowly with a wicked grin.
“Don’t say it like that! Someone might hear you! This mansion is packed with strangers.”
“I’m just learning the ways of Idumea. But what I meant was, what’s the little knotted string over the bod-iss?”
She squirmed when she saw the look growing in his eyes, but she couldn’t help but smile. “It’s called lace. Cro-shayed. Kind of like knitting, but thinner and with a hooked needle.”
Perrin shook his head as he pretended to inspect it closely. “What kind of torturous insanity requires a person to sit and make tiny knots in a string, with a needle of all things, just to cover something else with it? I bet if I unhooked this part, right here—”
“PERRIN! We’re running out of time—”
“Oh, there’s always time.” He raised his eyebrows in smoldering suggestion as his large fingers fumbled with the first tiny clasp designed for nothing larger than raccoon hands. “We can easily argue about just how much—”
She smacked his hand hard enough that he instinctively drew it back from the impossible clasp that would have taken him an hour to undo. Maybe that was why they were made so tiny.
“Your mother said she’d be by again in five minutes to check on you, and that was about four minutes ago!”
“Hmm,” he mused. “That would be cutting things a little close—”
“She’s very irritated with you,” Mahrree warned. “She fully expected you to change after you bathed, but obviously you didn’t.” She fingered the collar of the worn work shirt. “Perrin, it’s time.”
He winked at her and started to pull his ratty shirttails out of his stained trousers. “Knew you’d realize we have time—”
“For YOU TO GET READY!”
He hesitated and shrank a little under her volume.
“Perrin, please!” She gestured to his dress uniform lying on the bed, the medals polished and the dark wool brushed. “You’re doing it again, being not the husband I remember. Right now Idumea has reverted you back to a man less than half your age.”
He had one or two good comebacks for that, about how he was always as robust as a man less than half his age, but instead sensibly elected to keep his mouth shut because . . .
. . . because the worst moment for any officer was to recognize when he was defeated.
He sighed and sat next to the uniform, laid out and patiently waiting. It was another brand new jacket, courtesy of his mother, woven of the highest quality dark blue wool. Some poor servant or despised junior officer had been tasked to transfer all of his medals from his old dress uniform to his new one, and even shined them up brighter than he’d ever seen them.
But it was the garish buttons that really stood out. Their golden hue sparkled brighter than the dull silver buttons of the lower ranks. Perrin had never before realized what an ugly alloy brass was.
“I’m really dreading this night, Mahrree,” he confessed quietly as he fingered the shiny surface of the top button, unintentionally making it more lustrous. “If we make a good impression, we’re doomed to return. If we do poorly, my parents deal with the consequences.”
“How about we just do our best, and let the Creator decide the path for us?” Mahrree suggested gently. “Maybe His plan for us involves tonight somehow, and this trip.”
“Now you’re sounding like my father,” he mumbled.
Mahrree released a loud exhale that held more frustration than relief. “And now you’re starting to irritate me. Perrin Shin, get dressed and do your duty! Let’s just get this over with! I’ll be back in five minutes, and if you aren’t ready, I’m sending your mother in here to dress you!”
Perrin leaped to his feet, saluted, and grinned in terror.
---
Mahrree paused as she stepped out of her bedroom where her husband was obediently changing, and took in the Grand Hall. Decorated in vines and flowers that dripped artfully from the balcony above, the main floor of the Hall was lined in chairs and side tables littered with spring blossoms and elaborate candlesticks soon to be lit. In less than an hour here would be the elite of Idumea—soldier and citizen—dancing and mingling in front of her bedroom door.
And also down the Hall, and up the stairs, and likely on the balcony, and probably into the study, where Relf’s sick bed had been recently removed, and into the large gathering room and the massive eating room . . .
She began to feel claustrophobic in Idumea’s second largest mansion.
Fortunately the three long tables for The Dinner had been set up parallel to each other on the other side of the house in the west wing, where she warily made her way now.
As she neared the fo-yay, she noticed a sofa from the gathering room had been placed strategically against a corner. Sitting there stoically was an older man in his dark blue uniform that was covered in more metal than made up his sword, watching every point of the mansion, from the front door to the staircase to both wings and even out to the stone terrace in the back garden.
High General Shin leaned against his crutch as he watched the small army of servants, caterers, and soldiers hurriedly set the tables with more dishes and silverware than Mahrree had ever seen together in one place. He squinted analytically when he saw Mahrree, but his eyes were twinkling. In his deep rocky voice he growled, “Ready to meet your doom tonight, Mrs. Shin?”
She assumed his formal tone was a hint, considering the number of strangers working just in front of him. It was odd to be so formal in one’s own home.
Mahrree chuckled nervously. “You’re not helping things, High General.”
He patted the sofa. “We’re not allowed to help, if that’s what you’re hoping to do. We’re allowed, however, to supervise.”
“Ah,” she said as she sat next to him. “So I’m at a complete loss, then.”
Relf leaned over to her. “Where is he?” he said in a slightly anxious tone.
“Getting dressed. Finally.”
“Maybe you should have stayed in your room and supervised him?”
“Uh,” she paused to find the best way to say it, “considering his state of mind, my presence would have been a hindrance.”
Relf chuckled quietly. “Understood. Well, you do look . . . very nice,” he said, trying to sound as if he frequently gave women compliments. He firmed his grip on his crutch, concerned that he’d unintentionally crossed some line.
“So do you,” Mahrree felt was necessary to add, and also found herself in unfamiliar territory. But she knew how to get somewhere else quickly. “You hardly seem to have nearly died last week.”
“Thank you for that,” he said impassively as he watched the bustle of activity in front of him. “And you hardly seem to be about to pass out again.”
“And I thank you for that,” she said formally.
He smiled ever so faintly. “But I have to admit, I am a bit worried about . . . There she is.”
Mahrree sighed with him.
Down the wide staircase and past a maid who was removing invisible bits of dust from the fretwork floated the yellow butterfly. Jaytsy’s nearly black eyes were glowing with anticipation, her cheeks were rosy, her dark brown hair was piled remarkably on her head with curled dangles framing her face, and her every movement was dainty yet vibrant—
“Has he seen her yet?” Relf whispered to Mahrree as Jaytsy giggled at a private who shyly handed her a blossom he’d s
tolen from a centerpiece.
“I don’t know,” she whispered back.
“It’s different, isn’t it,” Relf started uncertainly. “When the female is yours?” He glared at the private whose gaze followed Jaytsy, now fairly dancing between two tables oohing at this and that, then patting a caterer in approval as the older woman placed a platter of something green and orange on the table.
When the private failed to realize he was being eyed by the highest commander, Relf cleared his throat with alarming volume. The private did a little jump—as did the dozen or so others in the Grand Hall—and immediately the hapless soldier turned to the High General. Seeing the threatening look in his hardened eyes, the soldier quickly went back to fussing with silverware, even though he was on chair detail. Jaytsy flitted obliviously to the gathering room.
“Well done,” Mahrree whispered to Relf. “Can you do that all night?”
“I’m sure Perrin will. I’ll just serve as backup. She really is quite . . .” He held up his hands in positions that made him immediately uncomfortable.
“Agreed,” Mahrree chuckled. “She’s very much a Shin. Perrin’s slowly catching on just how stunning she is.”
“There’s a great deal of her mother in her as well.” Relf gently elbowed her.
“Well,” Mahrree shrugged in embarrassment.
“Where’s Peto?” Relf asked, keeping a sharp eye on the private who kept glancing nervously back at him. He finally remembered he was to be lining up chairs, and struggled with exactly how one did that.
“Dressed, as of some time ago. Hiding in his bedroom though.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Relf nodded. “Joriana wants him by her side so she can supervise him.”
“The poor boy!”
A controlled but loud shout from the area of the kitchen made Relf and Mahrree wince. Apparently the head of the hired hands Joriana had employed wasn’t happy. “This was NOT how it was done last year! Mrs. Shin!”
From the eating hall, where platters of lamb were placed to be trotted out to the tables later, Joriana—in a flurry of deep purple silk and grumbling none too elegantly—bustled to the kitchen to set a few things straight.
Mahrree pursed her lips in sympathy, even though she didn’t know who to feel sorry for.
Relf verbalized her response. “Poor all of us.”
As they chuckled together Relf bounced his fist lightly off her skirt. “About tonight, don’t worry so much about Administrators watching you. Just do the old smile-and-nod—and by the way, that means not saying words—”
She shot him a playful glare.
“—and if someone does ask you a pointed question or tries to get you to say something you’d rather not, remember that you’re a host this evening, and offer to get them a plate of food. That always throws them.”
Mahrree exhaled. “Good idea. I’ll remember that.”
“Besides, I’m pretty sure they’ll all be watching me instead. Several of them aren’t too happy I’m recovering,” he told her in a low voice. “And I know of a few colonels who were likely hoping this mansion would have been vacated by now, and that tonight a new High General would have been announced instead of in two years. They’re all coming to see just how spry I look tonight.”
Mahrree gave him a quick once over. Then she evaluated him again, more closely.
He was different than in years past. He was still solid and massive and imposing, but there was gentleness around his black eyes that she’d never noticed before. Maybe because it wasn’t there before. His hair, a mixture of black, gray, and a few new white hairs, had been trimmed neatly the day before, and the color was coming back to his still somewhat gaunt face. His perpetual scowl and squint were missing, replaced by an expression of earnestness. Altogether, Mahrree realized, he was quite a striking man.
“You look remarkably well,” she assured him. He’d instinctively sat a little taller, she noticed, during her inspection. “All things considered. But you forgot your sword.”
“I left it off on purpose,” he confided. “It’s rather heavy. Can’t effectively put off the illusion of strength and resilience when my sword’s tipping me over.”
Mahrree chuckled quietly with him and bounced her own fist on his leg. She’d always been nervous around High General Shin, but she quite enjoyed the company of Relf.
“Everything fine out here?” a shrill voice stopped their chuckling. Joriana stood before them with her hands on her hips, seemingly insulted that the two of them appeared so relaxed when such an event was about to occur.
“Yes, dear,” Relf said promptly. “The Hall’s shaping up nicely, everyone’s working diligently, and we even seem to be a bit ahead of schedule. And you look very nice tonight.”
Joriana blinked, a bit startled. Apparently she wasn’t accustomed to receiving compliments from Relf either.
“Why, thank you.” She looked around and wrung her hands, unsure of what to do next since he’d thrown her off her trajectory.
Relf cocked his head toward the east wing. “Perrin?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed, and marched loudly down the Grand Hall. “You BETTER be dressed!”
To Mahrree’s questioning look, Relf said, “She enjoys the drama. If things are going too smoothly, she gets nervous. She needs something to fight against to keep her going. That’s why she’s been such an excellent match for me. She keeps me going. They never would have found me after the tremor if it hadn’t been for her persistence.”
The High General cleared his throat to expel the emotion that was rising there, and Mahrree, pretending to not notice the shininess in his eyes, turned instead to watch the lowering of the chandeliers.
A moment later from down the Hall they both heard the exclamation of, “Mother! Do you mind?”
“You know, Perrin, some officers actually practice getting dressed quickly? Oh, do get over yourself. I changed that bottom more times than I care to remember—”
As the bedroom door in the east wing slammed shut, Relf and Mahrree snorted so loudly it echoed in the Great Hall, despite the decorations and tablecloths to muffle the sound.
Or maybe their snorts of laughter were echoed by the dozen servants and soldiers still setting up, pretending not to hear the exchange between mother and son.
“Oh, my ribs, my ribs,” Relf wailed quietly and slouched back on the sofa, still chuckling.
“Poor Mother Shin,” Mahrree giggled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in such a state!”
“Granted, she’s rather more anxious this year than in years past,” Relf admitted after he caught his breath again. “But that’s because the most important visitors she’s ever had are coming this year.”
“Oh, dear,” Mahrree clenched her hands nervously. “Who?”
“Her son and her daughter-in-law,” he said quietly.
Mahrree stopped fidgeting.
“Told me the other night that she wanted everything to be perfect. Of all the dignitaries and elite of Idumea, she most desperately wants to impress you, Mahrree. Because if you’re impressed, you’ll influence Perrin. She feels it’s time for her children to come home.”
Mahrree swallowed hard and watched with Relf the lighting of the candles in the chandelier.
Chapter 16 ~ “Those kind don’t belong here.”
