“Drink, Madame de Clermont?” Victoire turned to me, rescuing me from the need to respond.
“Thank you,” I replied. Her tray held not only wine but also glasses filled with ice cubes containing blue borage flowers and mint leaves, topped up with sparkling water.
“Hello, sister.” Verin sauntered out of the salon behind Ysabeau wearing knee-high black boots and an exceedingly short, sleeveless black dress that left more than a few inches of her pearly white legs exposed, as well as the tip of the scabbard strapped to her thigh.
Wondering why Verin thought she needed to dine armed, I reached up with nervous fingers and drew the golden arrowhead from where it had fallen inside the neck of my blouse. It felt like a talisman, and it reminded me of Philippe. Ysabeau’s cold eyes latched on to it.
“I thought that arrowhead was lost forever,” she said quietly.
“Philippe gave it to me on my wedding day.” I started to lift the chain from my neck, thinking it must belong to her.
“No. Philippe wanted you to have it, and it was his to bestow.” Ysabeau gently closed my fingers around the worn metal. “You must keep this safe, my child. It is very old and not easily replaced.”
“Is dinner ready?” Baldwin boomed, arriving at my side with the suddenness of an earthquake and his usual disregard for a warmblood’s nervous system.
“It is,” Alain whispered in my ear.
“It is,” I said brightly, plastering a smile on my face.
Baldwin offered me his arm.
“Let us go in, Matthieu,” Ysabeau murmured, taking her son by the hand.
“Diana?” Baldwin prompted, his arm still extended.
I stared up at him with loathing, ignored his proffered arm, and marched toward the door behind Matthew and Ysabeau.
“This is an order, not a request. Defy me and I will turn you and Matthew over to the Congregation without a second thought.” Baldwin’s voice was menacing.
For a few moments, I considered resisting and to hell with the consequences. If I did, Baldwin would win. Think, I reminded myself. And stay alive. Then I rested my hand atop his rather than taking his elbow like a modern woman. Baldwin’s eyes widened slightly.
“Why so surprised, brother?” I demanded. “You’ve been positively feudal since the moment you arrived. If you’re determined to play the role of king, we should do it properly.”
“Very well, sister.” Baldwin’s fist tightened under my fingers. It was a reminder of his authority, as well as his power.
Baldwin and I entered the dining room as though it were the audience chamber at Greenwich and we were the king and queen of England. Fernando’s mouth twitched at the sight, and Baldwin glowered at him in response.
“Does that little cup have blood in it?” Sarah, seemingly oblivious to the tension, bent over and sniffed at Gallowglass’s plate.
“I did not know we still had these,” Ysabeau said, holding up one of the engraved silver beakers. She gave me a smile as Marcus settled her into the spot to his left while Matthew rounded the table and did the honors for Phoebe, who sat opposite.
“I had Alain and Marthe search for them. Philippe used them at our wedding feast.” I fingered the golden arrowhead. Courtly Ernst pulled out my chair. “Please. Everybody sit.”
“The table is beautifully arranged, Diana,” Phoebe said appreciatively. But she wasn’t looking at the crystal, the precious porcelain, or the fine silver. Instead Phoebe was taking careful note of the arrangement of creatures around the gleaming expanse of rosewood.
Mary Sidney had once told me that the order of table precedence at a banquet was no less complex than the arrangement of troops before a battle. I had observed the rules I’d learned in Elizabethan England as strictly as possible while minimizing the risk of outright war.
“Thank you, Phoebe, but it was all Marthe and Victoire’s doing. They picked out the china,” I said, deliberately misunderstanding her.
Verin and Fernando stared at the plates before them and exchanged a look. Marthe adored the eye-popping Bleu Celeste pattern Ysabeau had commissioned in the eighteenth century, and Victoire’s first choice had been an ostentatious gilded service decorated with swans. I couldn’t imagine eating off either and had selected dignified black-and-white neoclassical place settings with the de Clermont ouroboros surrounding a crowned letter C.
“I believe we are in danger of being civilized,” Verin muttered. “And by warmbloods, too.”
“Not a moment too soon,” Fernando said, picking up his napkin and spreading it on his lap.
“A toast,” Matthew said, raising his glass. “To lost loved ones. May their spirits be with us tonight and always.”
There were murmurs of agreement and echoes of his first line as glasses were lifted. Sarah dashed a tear from her eye, and Gallowglass took her hand and gave it a gentle kiss. I choked back my own sorrow and gave Gallowglass a grateful smile.
“Another toast to the health of my sister Diana and to Marcus’s fiancée—the newest members of my family.” Baldwin raised his glass once more.
“Diana and Phoebe,” Marcus said, joining in.
Glasses were lifted around the table, although I thought for a moment that Matthew might direct the contents of his at Baldwin. Sarah took a hesitant sip of her sparkling wine and made a face.
“Let’s eat,” she said, putting the glass down hastily. “Emily hated it when the food got cold, and I don’t imagine Marthe will be any more forgiving.”
Dinner proceeded seamlessly. There was cold soup for the warmbloods and tiny silver beakers of blood for the vampires. The trout served for the fish course had been swimming along in the nearby river without a care in the world only a few hours before. Roast chicken came next out of deference to Sarah, who couldn’t abide the taste of game birds. Some at the table then had venison, though I abstained. At the end of the meal, Marthe and Alain put footed compotes draped with fruit on the table, along with bowls of nuts and platters of cheese.
“What an excellent meal,” Ernst said, sitting back in his chair and patting his lean stomach.
There was a gratifying amount of agreement around the room. Despite the rocky start, we’d enjoyed a perfectly pleasant evening as a family. I relaxed into my chair.
“Since we’re all here, we have some news to share,” Marcus said, smiling across the table at Phoebe. “As you know, Phoebe has agreed to marry me.”
“Have you set a date?” Ysabeau asked.
“Not yet. We’ve decided to do things the old-fashioned way, you see,” Marcus replied.
All the de Clermonts in the room turned to Matthew, their faces frozen.