Luminous

52 - The Eye in the Beholden

Jaise Castle stood out from all the castles Meya had seen so far—which totaled to two. Then again, the number of castles your average peasant would see throughout his lifetime would seldom be over one. Three for a lass her age was already unheard of at best and impressive at the very least.

Instead of a sprawling white stone complex, adorned with turrets and towers, perched on a hill, surrounded by a deep moat or a thick crenellated wall, Jaise Castle was a lone column of gray-black stone rising up at the heart of a manmade lake, the pupil of a jewel-clear cerulean iris.

Sleek shadows of bass and trout sailed alongside their rowboat as it cleaved its way towards the levee, then darted for the safety of open waters when Meya skimmed her hand on the surface. Now that she had put on her Lattis coin, the water was lukewarm to the touch.

Once Meya had stepped from the wobbling boat onto the quay, the chamberlain led them through the arched doorway, which opened to the Great Hall. Despite the extra items in the itinerary, it seemed they weren't appallingly tardy—maids and servants spilled out of the scullery door, ferrying out platters of food, and sliding trenchers before the hosts and guests around the Lord's table. The attendants' tables were still bare.

At Meya's entrance, the cloaked figure at the center of the main table—Lady Winterwen Jaise—turned her veiled head in her direction, then stood up. The flurry of activity skidded to an abrupt halt, then the whole room followed suit, amidst a cacophony of benches scraping over stone.

The chamberlain stepped forth into the center aisle between the long tables, prompting Meya to lead her entourage along in his wake. She felt the phantom heat of dozens of eyes scrutinizing her through glass masks on every inch of her body—half of them probably thinking about dinner or their protesting knees—and she quickened her pace.

As she approached the end of the aisle, Meya noticed Sirs Jarl, Simon and Christopher perched at the head of the table to the left. Jerald, Atmund, Arinel, Agnes, Heloise and Fione edged in single file before the long bench and settled down, while Gretella herded Frenix and Amara over to the table on the right.

Lady Jaise's veiled head revolved on her bare, swanlike neck, shrouded eyes following Meya's progress as she advanced alone. Meya took note of the raised dais and lifted her dress, freeing her feet. Yet, the tip of her foot caught on the edge of the granite step, and she stumbled.

Curse you, Freda! I've gone hours with one eye. And you chose now of all times to trip me?!

Meya stood rigid, bent double, paralyzed not by pain nor embarrassment, but the certainty that should she relax one muscle, the curse-laden scream to the spiteful goddess she had been holding back would let loose.

Coris had stepped around the table and was striding towards her. He led her forth by the hand, gloved fingers hovering about yet not touching her wrist. Meanwhile, Zier was sheepishly edging back to his seat, having lurched a few steps out from behind his chair when Meya tripped.

The Hadrian boys obviously believed she was Arinel. Over to Lady Jaise, however, the seedlings of doubt were rattling in their shells—Zier's gaffe did not go unnoticed. Lady Jaise's face was now turned towards him. So were those of her husband, son and two daughters far down the table.

Drat it, Zier. Could you do nothing right?

Once Coris had deposited Meya in her seat, Lady Jaise finally gathered her dress and sat back down, signaling the servants to resume their dinnertime hustle and bustle. As a tray of roasted trout resting on a bed of potatoes and blanketed with lemon slices landed before her, Lady Jaise leaned across Coris to greet Meya,