Chapter Sixteen
“Sweet boy!” The Carlin swept over as I reluctantly followed Lonan into the room. “Sopleased you are joining us for dinner.”
She was wearing a long, slinky, pale blue dress that hugged her narrow frame and exposed the pale skin of her chest and shoulders. Deep blue jewels had been stuck to her throat and collarbones, and they winked in the flickering fire of the chandelier above a huge stone dining table that was already laid out with six place settings.
“I—um—” My gaze darted to Lonan and away again just as fast.Don’t thank her. Don’t thank her.
“I was pleased to receive the invitation,” I said in the end, my voice sounding wooden and stilted to my own ears.
The Carlin didn’t seem to notice. She linked a slender arm through mine and pulled me away from the silent Lonan, towards the table.
“Sit.”
She directed me to the end seat. I thumped down into it gracelessly, nerves making me twist my hands in my shirt, unseen beneath the table.
As she swept to the other end of the table, to the seat directly opposite mine, her four sons silently took their places. Lonan was to my left, with the blind-eyed Cethlen beside him, closest to the Carlin. On my other side sat Bres, who shot me a sneering grin with his bronze teeth. Next to him was the eldest, Balor, who was already watching me with cobalt eyes.
“Wine?” the Carlin asked airily, gesturing at a slender female fae with brown hair that was so long the end of her plait trailed over the ground behind her bare feet.
She carried a crystal pitcher filled with gleaming, burgundy liquid and carefully poured it into a tall pewter goblet studded with blue and white jewels that sat in front of the Carlin. In the ensuing silence she made her way round the table, filling the rest of our glasses, which were crystal but otherwise plain.
Once she had stepped back with a dip of her head, the Carlin raised her goblet and smiled at me, bronze teeth winking.
“To shedding your mortal skin.” She took a sip and set down the goblet. “I must admit, I thought it would have happened by now.” She peered at me. “Have you felt anything at all? Any change within yourself?”
I considered lying, because I didn’t know if she would fly into a cold, murderous rage if I said no. But Lonan’s warning still rang in my head. I was sure I’d have to lie at some point during this dinner, and I didn’t want to rack up too many untruths and make her suspicious.
“No,” I admitted quietly. “I feel the same as always.”
She tutted. “Well, no matter. There’s still plenty of time.”
Time before what?I wanted to ask, but didn’t dare.
“I hope you at least feel at home here.” She gave me a smile that I thought was meant to be kind, but it just looked sharp. “Do you like the food? The wine? How is that little cottage?”
I cleared my throat, forcing myself not to glance at Lonan repeatedly. He was sitting in complete silence to my left, not moving. Not even picking up his wine, like the other three sons were doing.
“It’s fine,” I said, then forced myself to add, “The food is very nice. The wine is… a bit strong for me, I think.”
Bres barked out a rough laugh, making me flinch in my seat. “Mortals aren’t known to be able to handle our wine. When they’ve had enough, you can get them to do anything you want.”
I looked away quickly from his wide, gleaming smile, clenching my fingers on my thighs beneath the table.
“I’ve never seenyoudrunk, Lonan,” Balor added in a sly voice, taking a lazy sip of wine. His eyes were flinty as they glanced between me and his youngest brother. “Maybe the pair of you should get drunk together. Perhaps a wine-soaked night will do you both some good.”
I tensed up at that and forced myself not to look at Lonan. He didn’t say a word, and the Carlin smiled indulgently at me.
“Plenty of opportunities to enjoy yourself and loosen your inhibitions, sweet boy.” She laughed. “We Folk do enjoy our celebrations. Lonan told me that you enjoyed your welcome party.”
I nodded quickly. “Yes, th—I appreciated it.”
Balor’s eyes narrowed at my quickly aborted thanks, shooting from me to Lonan.
The stilted conversation paused as a line of Folk emerged from a door at the side of the room, all of them carrying big platters and bowls that they proceeded to place in the centre of the table. Roasted pork took pride of place, dotted with slices of cooked, wilted apple and smelling fragrantly of sage.
Beside it sat a platter of roast beef, sliced and still pink in the centre. There was a bowl of spiced red cabbage, whole baked apples bubbling with caramelised sugar, a shallow bowl of steamed dark greens, a tray of what looked like bark crusted with sugar, and some unidentifiable kind of meat that looked almost like fish, sliced into little rolls with a faintly shimmering skin.
Six of the Folk stood beside each of us at the table and proceeded to fill our plates in synchronised silence. I fidgeted uncomfortably. This was so…weirdand formal. Dinners at home had usually been in front of the TV on the sofa, except at Christmas when dad would reluctantly clear all his stuff off the dining room table, grumbling half-heartedly, so that Mags could decorate it and we could sit down to eat properly.