Luminous

52 - The Eye in the Beholden

"Does it still hurt, Lady Hadrian? Shall I summon the healer?"

Lady Jaise had the deep, clear, calm voice of an older, larger, more imposing woman than her cloaked silhouette suggested. A goblet of water was already sitting on the table before Meya. She took a quick sip to moisten her vocal cords, then answered the lady with a sweet smile.

"No, my lady, thank you." She said in her best imitation of Arinel's voice, which wasn't good enough—she noticed Coris starting out of the corner of her eye, "My deepest apologies. That was most unbecoming."

Lady Jaise shook her head with a melodramatic sigh. Her heavy curtain of rich, wavy dark brown hair which fell to her hips rippled slightly.

"Please, the blame rests upon the host." Her bow lips stretched into a sealed smile under the lace hem of her veil, "I do hope you would find our humble town pleasant still?"

"Why, of course, my lady." Meya forced out a breathy giggle, nudging up her mask so Winterwen wouldn't spot the band of sweat now popping up along her hairline. 

As he piled food onto her trencher, Coris sneaked glances at her chest, which was obviously not Arinel-sized. To assuage his doubts, Meya pushed a pickled olive through her lips onto her tongue, then propelled it down her throat whole. (Meya hated pickles)

Lady Winterwen tilted her head, her smile unraveling at the hems.

"Your tone hints otherwise." She challenged. Meya's smile sagged. Winterwen turned away and tore a morsel off her unleavened bread, then soaked it in the centerpiece meat stew.

"Tell us about your day—with honesty."  She commanded in an airy voice edged with ice.

Meya stiffened her shoulders to weather the sudden chill. And she'd thought no precarious situation would intimidate her after she had survived her ordeal with Gillian. Lady Jaise had turned back to face her, chewing soundlessly. Meya hitched her shiny smile back up.

"We headed first to the Pearly Falls, my lady, and we ended up spending our whole afternoon there. The scenery is breathtaking, and the hot bath did much to expel the ache and chills from the long journey."

Lady Jaise unfurled her tight little smile. Just as Meya was letting down her guard, she uttered a single, resounding verdict,

"Deceit."

Winterwen's voice must have carried to the first seats along the attendants' table. The buzzing in the hall gave way to an echoing silence as the occupants turned in ripples to peer at the Lord's table.

Meya saw all this out of the corner of her eye as she stared dumbly back at Lady Jaise, frozen by chilling horror. Coris was trying his utmost to appear unruffled and politely confused, even as his trembling, sweaty hand clasped over Meya's on her lap. Meya was already thankful that he at the least did not bury her deeper in her early grave with an I told you so.

Winterwen propped her elbow on the table and leaned her chin against her hand,

"Your hair is dry. Your fingers aren't wrinkled from long hours in the water. Your skin is pale from cold. You smell faintly of blood. Your voice is ventriloquized and uneven." She listed, as her long, lance-like fingers caressed the contours of her high cheekbones pushing through her veil. Her icy smile stretched wide, "You did not come straight from the Pearly Falls, Lady Hadrian. Rather, are you even Lady Hadrian to begin with?"

Even with the roaring fireplace behind her, it felt as if a lake of chilled winter air had just oozed in through every gap in the flagstones. Coris gripped her hand so tight, she felt the bones of her fingers grating against each other.