As we alighted the stairs, I saw I was not wrong about the tables in the hall. Huge, round vases stuffed full of spiked white gladiolas festooned the center of each table all of which were laid with silver trays covered in food. They did not have vol-au-vents, mini-quiches and meatballs on a stick. They had (amongst many other things) what looked like puff pastry stuffed with melted cheese, massive tiger prawns baked with slivers of prosciutto rolled around them, corners of thin toast covered thick in pâté and gherkins sliced lengthwise, crackers covered in what looked like cream cheese and caviar and hunks of meat and fish with small crystal glasses filled with tiny silver, two-pronged forks set beside them. And this didn’t even get into the trays of bite-size pastries and cakes on offer.
So, Atticus was right, the same foods but theirs were more posh.
Everything looked so delicious, seeing it, I was suddenly ravenous.
Frey, however, must have had a snack for he didn’t even pause at a table nor did he glance at one. He made a bee-line straight to Mother and Father.
Upon approach, I saw Father was wearing much what he wore to my wedding but without the sweater and instead a shirt in deep red with a cravat like Frey’s. Mother was wearing a long, deep red dress but the red of the material melted into gold at her hem. Her wrists, neck, fingers and ears were dripping with gold and rubies not to mention the ruby-crusted gold clips in the shapes of dragonflies holding up her elegant hairstyle.
Taking them in, tall, lean and regal, I noted not for the first time they both still had it and I knew without a doubt if my parents had lived to their age, they would too.
This felt nice.
When Frey and I arrived at them, cheek touches were exchanged and before I knew what she was about, Mother installed me firmly at her side, that was to say firmly and closely to her side. Frey took his place by Father.
At first, this surprised me that I was not standing with Frey. However, for the next hour, I would get it. This was because we were almost immediately descended upon by a wave of people. And as these people approached, chatted then moved on, Mother monopolized any conversation that involved me. If a question was directed to me, she answered it. If a comment was required of me, she prompted it. She interspersed names liberally while she spoke as well as deftly adding personal pieces of information or things such as, “Oh, Sjofn, you remember when…” And any time we had a lull in the action, she’d whisper in my ear, giving me tidbits about people coming or going so if I did speak, I wouldn’t open my mouth and insert my foot.
Seriously, she was good.
And seriously, it felt nice to know that she and Frey (and maybe Father) arranged this to take care of me.
And after awhile, I started having fun. A maid brought us flat-bowled, etched crystal glasses of cold, dry, refreshing, delicious champagne and others moved around us offering trays of food. I partook of both freely (avoiding unidentifiable meat, of course) and started to pay attention to the color of dresses or cravats and linking them with Houses. The clothing was opulent, the jewels even more so, hairstyles and makeup elaborate, men’s mantles were everything from leather to full on fur and the Gales were obviously a place to see, be seen and show right the hell off.
It was freaking awesome.
Mother, Father, Frey and I didn’t move for an hour and by this time I had two glasses of champagne, had stuffed myself with every piece of food I could get my mitts on and was feeling it was high time to dance when it happened.
And luckily I had a chance to prepare when Aurora’s fingers tensed into the inside of my elbow. I looked to her face then to where she was looking and saw a dark-haired woman wearing a phenomenal blood red gown on her voluptuous, immaculately cared for body, her eyes a familiar brown-green and at her side was a tall, dark-haired man who once was probably very handsome but who now had a serious gut and the skin of his face showed he either drank too much, smoked too much, didn’t eat the right foods or all three… in abundance.
Frey’s parents.
Shit.
“Eirik and Valeria Drakkar, Frey’s parents,” Aurora whispered quickly in my ear, confirming my guess. “You’ve met them several times in your life, including twice while you were betrothed to The Drakkar, the other times at the Bitter or Solar Gales. They attended your wedding but you did not converse with them prior to Drakkar taking you away.”
“Well!” Valeria Drakkar exclaimed upon arrival which was approximately a millisecond later, not hesitating a millisecond longer to grasp both my upper arms and pull me away from Aurora and to her to touch her cheek in turn to each of mine. Then she leaned away, pushing me back and took me in without removing her hold on me. “She wears the color of Drakkar! Excellent!”
“Move aside, move aside,” Eirik Drakkar shoved in and did the same, except (gross!) he kissed my neck on each side then shoved me back and took me in and the way he did made my stomach roil and my eyes slide to the side to see Frey had moved to stand facing the huddle rather than at my father’s side and not only was his jaw hard, his eyes were too and if that wasn’t enough, a muscle ticked in his cheek.
Ho boy.
It appeared that not only did Frey not care for his parents, he actively didn’t like them.
It also appeared, since neither Eirik nor Valeria had greeted him nor even looked at him, neither had an ounce of interest in their son.
“Look at my new daughter!” Eirik stated loudly, taking my attention back to him then he leaned into me and proved that firstly, he’d partaken much of the food and whatever he’d eaten had an abundance of onion, or, more likely, he’d eaten an abundance of something with onion, secondly, this was mixed with an alcohol smell that was not champagne and thirdly, this mingling of smells was vastly unappealing. “I must tell you, my lovely, lovely girl, I do not blame my son for dragging the likes of you through the Dwelling of the Gods and being away into the night. I cheered with the rest when I saw it for, if I was twenty years younger, I would do the same or, better yet, take you to the Vallee’s study and have you on his desk!”
Uh… did he just say that?
Major ick!
Not to mention, major rude.
Before I could say a word, not that I had a word to say to that, Frey spoke.
“I’ll thank you to unhand my bride.” His voice was low and unhappy but he didn’t wait for his father to comply. He moved in front of his mother, Atticus and Aurora and, with an arm around my waist, he pulled me firmly out of his father’s grasp.
Thank God.