She Sings at Dawn

XXIX. Boring Party

I tried desperately to suppress a yawn as I sat at the dining table. As my uncle feared, I'm exhausted. And it will only worsen tomorrow. Funny how fatigue hits you harder two days after the sleepless night. Good thing this late night party will give me an excuse to sleep in late tomorrow. Then the next night is the ball, which will further mess up my sleep schedule.

My uncle and several other court members have equally droopy eyes. Clemaina is the most chipper, gushing about something to her "darling" Sewale. Sewale is less expressive than her, as usual, though he completes his minimum duty of smiling while talking to her.

Sigvard cups his hand over his mouth to conceal a yawn. Clemaina lets out a squeal from the head of the table, and his half-open eyes roll. I'm just grateful she's on the far side of the room for once, not squawking in my ear. Uncle Rothbart gives Sigvard a stern look before recentering his attention on Clemaina, who's across from her at the nearer head seat.

Course after course of delicacies exit the kitchen, tiny shrimp skewers, cheese and fruit, vegetables wrapped in a paper-thin starch, meats and salads, and finally, a miniature custard cake. I'll bet Clemaina hand-selected the entire menu, and although the food is perfection, the knowledge that my sister orchestrated the meal dulls the taste. That doesn't stop my black dress from suffocating my waist by the end of it.

"And now, I invite you all to the entertainment room for some games," Clemaina announces. She stands, fur dripping from her burnt-rose gown. She extends her elbow to Sewale, who loops his uniformed arm with hers.

"Shouldn't Sewale have offered his arm?" Sigvard sneers in my ear as we leave.

"Whatever," I say. I don't really care what she does anymore.

Our procession funnels up a staircase on the side of the Royal Wing, one hidden from the rest of the castle. Only the most important guests and court members—important in Clemaina's eyes—were invited to this gathering, so it's better not to parade to the fourth floor using the main staircases.

Clemaina glides into the game room, or perhaps game "field" is more apt given its size. Half is carpeted to mimic grass, the other half glistens with polished wood, and a bookcase stacked with board games separates them. Tables and sporty sections dot the room throughout.

"Everyone may choose whichever you wish to play," Clemaina declares. I suppress the urge to recoil at her loud voice.

"Let's play a round of fiddlesticks," a lady says.

"Wonderful idea! Who else? We need seven people."

Seven people volunteer, neither of them being Sigvard or I.

"Oh, what about Sewale?" Clemaina turns to her fiance with a pout.

"Don't worry about me," he says. "I don't know how to play that card game."

"I must teach you!" Clemaina exclaims. "Come join us."

"Perhaps another day," Sewale says, patting her arm. "We'll need some way to pass the evenings when we're married."

"Are you sure? It feels awfully rude." Her bottom lip pops out.

"Nonsense. You don't need to worry about such things."

"Well, if you're sure..." Clemaina and the six volunteers select a table and get the cards from the bookcase. The remaining guests disperse throughout the room, selecting games setup at the tables. I suddenly see an opportunity to speak with Sewale. I glance at Sigvard, and he seems to think the same thing.

"Uncle Rothbart," Sigvard says. "Would you like to play a good ol' game of chess?"

"Uh..." Our uncle's gaze shifts around the room. Sensing he isn't needed, he replies, "Sure."