Royal Guard Book 1: The Servant

Chapter 23 - Paige - The Solstice

The fire was starting to die in the hearth, but the Servant's Quarters was warmer than ever. Everyone was lounging in between the kitchen and living room, spilling over into the staircase as we all settled into a place after the dinner feast. We all drifted into our regular groups, conversations overlapping each other like an old worn quilt. The twenty-something servants were clearing the table and starting to wash the dishes. Notably, none of them were the young scullery maids and had come close to breaking one of our nice plates at least three separate times. They all shouted over each other, cheerfully arguing about which cup went where, loud and chaotic but somehow efficient in their task.

All of the heads of the staff departments were still seated at the dining table, like war generals planning their next victory by candlelight. Graham, Marcel, Sebastian, and Scilla hunched forward in a semi-hushed conversation of politics and social issues over their glasses of wine and whiskey. The years of hard labor making their bent forms blend into the knobbled wood of the two picnic tables pushed together for our dining seating. The much younger Maylee was seated at the head in a rocking chair, gently tipping back and forth as she observed her Seconds' dispute. Every now and again she would pipe up, and in a single sentence effortlessly correct one of the other's arguments.

Moving closer into the living room was the next group, jumbled on top of the big sitting chair pushed into the corner. Madam Grey's old reading chair. It was faded floral embroidery, probably once very expensive and very beautiful. Now so threadbare it faded into a blur of brown and green cushions. With just a blink of my eyes, I could still see her sitting in it, somehow managing to be stubborning alone in a house filled with two hundred. She would have a frown etched into her wrinkles, surveying the living room like a watchman, and over the course of the night slowly be swallowed by the lumpy pillows. I would perch myself on an arm, despite her complaints that I was damaging the precious piece of furniture. It was cold and uncomfortable, but I would get to lean over and press my shoulder somewhere near her's. Trying to watch like she did.

But in just another blink that old worn out chair was piled high with all the little kids. They were curled on top of each other like kittens tired out from a long day of celebrating. Kio and Markel each dangling off an arm with Elli and Nissa having claimed the main seat. Nissa was the only one still awake, her chin propped up in her hand as she faced the dark window. At first I thought she was watching the snow fall, but then I caught her eye in the reflection and realized she was glancing around at all of us in our warm, orange glow on the glass. I looked away quickly and let her silent watch continue. Afterall, I was doing about the same.

A soft twang sound drew me back to my little huddle. Thomas plucked carefully at the threads on my ruddy old violin, perched crisscross on top of the coffee table. My own fingers were still stinging slightly, calluses re-cracked from playing song after song all day. My head was propped up at a bad angle on the arm rest of the fat couch in the living room. I was stretched across it longways, but my feet pushed up in the air against Carter's as he was stretched across in the opposite way. Our foot-fight for more control over the middle seat had been forgotten, and now the blood was just draining from both our legs as they were steepled up in the air.

Carter looked like an idiot. His arms were crossed over his head and stretched out to reach the piano behind him. His face was pinned in concentration as he played, fingers dotting across the keys from his awkward position. Somehow, the tune carried without error even as he played backwards without looking. The show off.

Dwel was on the floor next to me, head leaning back against the corner of the couch, face red and happy from Graham's special eggnog. I was using his forehead as a table for my mug, but his face just wrinkled in a smile from the warmth. The quiet words of the song Carter was playing started the rumble out of his chest, soft and clumsy from alcohol.