go back to the kitchen and get Cook into motion….
Eyes shifted from her toward the door. She turned, clutching the finials of the
carved chair, and saw Ischade in the doorway-an Ischade without her cloak; in a
deep-necked gown of deepest blue; the sparkle of sapphire at her tawny throat,
her black, straight hair in upswept elegance.
Straton left his place, walked through that vast silence and offered his hand to
Ischade. Quietly she took it, and he walked her the whole long distance up the
tables in mortal silence. Moria caught a breath, having forgotten to breathe.
The effort strained the limits of the corset and dizziness tightened her hands
on the chair as Tasfalen’s hand left her waist. Ischade had paused in her
walking to offer her hand to him, leaving Straton’s. The silence trembled there,
and Moria desperately transferred her grip to the next chair over, displacing
Tasfalen to endmost. She caught the edge of that glance: Ischade’s nostrils were
white about the edges and her mouth set in an anger carefully controlled.
He’s Hers, Moria thought, weak-kneed. Tasfalen’s Hers- with all that meant. With
absolute terror that stole the strength from her knees and made her wish that
she could bolt from the room. She felt the feather ride between her breasts with
every breath. Felt-something terrible in the air. Straton stood there,
motionless, his face frozen. No one had moved.
“Lord Tasfalen,” Ischade said, and turning that glance smoothly to Moria and
reaching out her hand. “Moria, my dear.” Ischade’s hand closed on hers. Drew her