“Whiskey’s not that popular, is it?” Lukas asked, hiding a self-satisfied smirk behind a sip of his wine.
“No, not as popular as vodka, as far as spirits are concerned,” Elliot answered politely, playing the airs-and-graces game like an old pro. “But I have ideas for increasing its profile among the fleet. With all due respect to vodka—” He nodded at Evgenia, who demurred, then looked down the table at Lukas and continued pointedly, “Whiskey requires a bit more appreciation and, in many cases, education.”
I nearly choked on my own laughter, trying to play it off as a cough, and found Elliot’s eyes on mine, burning with something I couldn’t place. Not anger, like before. Relief? No, maybe it was the low light playing tricks.
“Well, you’ll have to teach all of us to appreciate it, El,” Carina said, stealing his focus once more. At least it wasn’t Klara this time.
He grinned, rifling around for something under the table. A few noisy clinks later, and he triumphantly plunked a dusty bottle onto the table. “Great minds think alike, Carina. I brought some prize Islay whiskey for everyone to try.”
“Blech.” Evgenia further expressed her disregard by downing the rest of her champagne and refilling her glass.
“Hey, all the more for us,” Elliot teased. But then he frowned. “Do you have glasses?”
Panic crossed Klara’s features, the champion hostess challenged at her sport. I scanned the table; Elliot was right—we had champagne flutes, wineglasses, water glasses, elaborately decorated china, real silver utensils, candelabras, centerpieces . . . a full spread, but no tumblers for the unexpected liquor. Klara snapped her fingers twice, beckoning her maid, Nora, over from the shadows. I’d forgotten she was there.
“We wish to sample some of Captain Wentworth’s fine whiskey,” she said, and promptly Nora disappeared again.
“I’m technically not a captain yet,” he objected.
“You’re too modest.” Klara’s voice tinkled like a bell, melodic and sweet. I’d never properly appreciated her skill at flirting. Did Elliot really like this stuff? He seemed to now.
“When will you become captain, then?” Carina asked, a seemingly innocuous question, but then Elliot blanched.
“When Captain Thain dies, presumably,” he replied glumly. The mood of the entire party promptly plummeted through the floor. Then, fortuitously, Nora returned with the glasses.
“Wonderful!” Klara clapped her hands gleefully. I shared the sentiment. Pour me a stiff one, please. Elliot filled five tumblers with amber liquid and passed them around.
First I smelled it, tentatively. It did indeed smell earthy, similar to the mossy peat that sustained plant life in the Scandinavian’s greenhouse park. I’d forgotten the smell, here mixed with the tang of alcohol, and something else I couldn’t quite place. Like a spice whose name I’d never learned.
Then I sipped. Bitter and burns came to mind as I tried to keep my features carefully neutral. I did not want to appear uncouth, too simple to enjoy such a refined drink. I swallowed it down. More burning. I surveyed the rest of the party, pleased to find Carina grimacing, Lukas confused, and Klara also carefully and suspiciously neutral. Then when she smiled wide and declared it delicious, I knew she was bullshitting. She found most wines too acidic and “like cat piss” to be drunk, and always reached for the fruitiest alcoholic option when presented—there was no way she cared for this spicy, earthy, burning stuff. I myself didn’t hate it, but I now got what Elliot meant by it needing education and appreciation.
“It’s, um, interesting,” I said.
“You don’t like it?” I couldn’t read Elliot’s tone. It didn’t exactly sound judgmental. I took another sip. This time the burn was almost pleasant.
“Just interesting,” I repeated.
“I think it’s”—Carina coughed—“great.” Everyone couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous lie as she sputtered first from the remaining kick of the whiskey and then in indignation at our finding it so amusing.
“Don’t worry, it took me a while to get into it,” Elliot reassured her. This time, however, I could read him properly. He was lying to spare her feelings. Carina recovered quickly, beaming across the table at him. I returned to my glass of whiskey and took a bracing sip. This time, I just about liked it.
Ten
I suffered the flirting tug-of-war between Carina, Klara, and Elliot for another hour, becoming so desperate for relief at one point that I willingly talked to Lukas. Finally we moved on to the dessert course, and with each bite of crème brûlée, I counted down to freedom. But then Klara had to go and suggest dancing.
“Nora—” She beckoned her maid to come forward. “I know the servants like to throw parties on off nights. Is there one tonight? Think we could crash?”
“Um, yes,” Nora said, voice small, tentative. “I could . . . take you as my guests? I’m sure no one would mind.”
“What do you think, everyone? You up for it?”
It was the best idea my cousin had had all evening. Dancing was always a yes from me. I nodded enthusiastically. Carina clapped her hands at the idea. “Below decks? I’ve never been!”
“Isn’t there the Scandi Club we could go to?” Elliot asked, voice strangely tight. “It’s much nicer.”
“Oh, yes, we haven’t been there yet,” Evgenia chimed in.
Klara waved him off. “We’re already down here. And it’ll be fun, partying with the help.” She winked at him, and I saw Elliot clench his jaw so hard, the muscles in his neck jumped. Had she completely forgotten where Elliot had come from? She must have, to have her sights set on marrying him. I resolved to pull her aside later tonight, confront her about her newfound ambitions.
We finished our drinks and left our mess on the table for some poor servant to clear up, exiting the digi-deck area over to the other side of the deck. To get there, we had to make our way up one level via a public stairwell, then wend our way around a corner and a back hallway to a set of stairs labeled PRIVATE PERSONNEL ACCESS ONLY.
And then we were back down on the same level but on the other side, and in a different world. The servant-class quarters on board were still pretty nice, all things considered. There was just . . . less of everything down here. Less light, less heat, less food, less water, less space, less leisure. Captain Lind had put them on a rations system for water, food, and heat years ago—but only them. I couldn’t help but think of Freiheit and their graphs, showing food supplies, population, and distribution. The Sofi had been on rations for years, and I knew how tough it could be. It was strange to realize I had more in common with the servant class than my royal cousins.
Nora led the way down a dim corridor past a row of identical plain doors, which were spaced more closely together than those above decks. I’d been inside one once, when Klara and I visited her childhood nanny. I remembered marveling at how little space one of the most important people in Klara’s life got compared to what the royal family had. I wondered how small the bunks would feel now that I was four times the size I’d been at six.
We passed a shared kitchen-and-dining space on the right, but it was empty. A loud thumping sound reverberated down the hall and under our feet, signaling the party ahead. I knew exactly where we were headed. Elliot and I had crashed many a party down here, back when we were flush with love but had to hide it. The servant class was full of good people who didn’t give a shit about a princess “slumming it with the help.” I shivered despite the heat as my father’s words echoed through my mind.