Look Beyond What You See

Having a room on the first floor is highly advantageous in that it allows me to avoid the traditional grand entrance on the grand staircase, a pointless formality that Zira adores. I don’t even have to appear in the foyer for a formal introduction to our guests. Father exempted me from this duty a long time ago. Judging by the noise floating down the halls from the front entry when I exit my room, I have finished my preparations just in time.

Instead of joining the ruckus in the foyer, I float through the halls to the parlor, which adjoins the dining room much as the sunroom does, with a single elegant archway. There I will wait, unseen and unheard, observing our guests and waiting for a cue from Father for me to mysteriously appear. It amuses Father and Grandmother and never fails to throw the guests off-balance, creating circumstances much to my liking. Mother, I’m sure, has no idea of this arrangement, else she would have tried to stop it by now.

Voices waft into the parlor from the foyer. Grandmother’s smooth, alluring tones; Grandfather’s raspy wheeze (his wages for too many years of cigar smoking); two male voices and a female voice I don’t recognise. One of the male voices intrigues me, smooth and deep and altogether pleasant. Mother’s grating voice with insincere words of welcome and Father’s apathetic echo. Zira’s heels and Norbert’s awkward, heavy steps on the stairs. They make small talk with the newcomers; the usual compliments are exchanged, particularly regarding Zira’s condition. The voice I find pleasant has the faintest trace of dry humour to it when he addresses Zira. I can tell from her voice that she finds one of the visitors handsome, and Norbert’s tone belies his jealousy. Already this evening seems as though it will be more entertaining than expected.

“Will our other grandchildren be joining us?” Grandmother inquires as they fill the dining room, having travelled towards it while exchanging the usual pleasantries. The guests are all attractive--two parents and a son who is perhaps two years my senior. All of them have dark hair, smooth tan skin, and startling, vibrant gemstone eyes. The young man is particularly fetching, with a strong jaw, defined cheekbones, and well-made features. His hair is the perfect length, shaggy but not too much so. Zira is fawning over him. No wonder Norbert is peeved.

“Of course, Xenia. It’s a tradition. I will fetch them now,” Mother replies with a stiff curtsey. She and Grandmother loathe each other and make no secret of it. I think they enjoy the constant conflict. It’s good that someone does, I suppose. Grandfather rolls his eyes, which are those of a vulture--always looking for a way to make money or someone of whom he can take advantage.

“See that you do, Helena. I don’t see them enough.” Mother lets out a low hiss of air at Grandmother’s use of her first name but leaves without comment. “And of course the lady of honour will be here soon, Roberto?” My father smiles tightly.

“I’m sure she will arrive in a few minutes. You know how she is,” he replies evasively. I am not to enter yet. The signal is usually something more subtle. We have a dozen of them.

“She’s so weird. Why can’t she be like the rest of us?” Zira pouts. I’m shocked by her flouting of protocol. As a rule, it is taboo to put down one’s siblings in front of guests. The handsome visitor arches an eyebrow quizzically.

“How do you mean, weird?” he asks. His voice is like velvet, but his amber eyes reveal that he is pursuing some sort of ulterior motive. I like him less for it. Zira is oblivious to this and giggles, causing her husband’s expression to darken. It’s not at all good for their relationship that she is such a flirt.

“You’ll understand when you meet her,” Zira replies, brushing his question away with a wave of her hand.

“Zira, you shouldn’t speak so unkindly of your sister when she is not present to defend herself,” Grandmother chides, touching the crystal that hangs from her throat. I always thought this was a nervous habit, but now I see a sort of aura glowing about her crystal, and Zira’s necklace emits a similar one. Why haven’t I noticed this before?

“Of course, Grandmother,” Zira replies, sounding almost...controlled. I don’t like this. I fumble for the clasp of my own necklace, but I can’t seem to find it. What if mine works the same way? What are they trying to get me to agree to? Over how much distance does this work, if I’m not just imagining it?

Might I be imagining it?

Mother re-enters the room with the rest of my siblings following in the usual motley parade before I can decide. The strange auras are gone in a matter of seconds. Upon surveying the table and noting my conspicuously empty seat, Mother purses her lips with displeasure.

“Where is Aerys? I told her not to be late,” she growls. I decide not to wait for a cue from Father and enter the room in such a way that I seem to appear suddenly behind my chair, which just so happens to be the one nearest the parlor. The guests seem startled by my entrance, and the younger man in particular follows my every movement with his amber eyes.

“Present, Mama,” I answer my mother with my most elegant curtsey. I take my seat then while darting glances around the table to gauge reactions. Grandmother wears a smug smile, and the guests seem favourably disposed towards me, while Father looks strained and Mother is looking for a way to find fault with me. My siblings don’t seem to care about anything happening around them, and Grandfather is impatiently staring at the kitchen door, waiting for food to be brought. He’s a disgusting old pig.

“Excellent,” Father says with difficulty in a pathetic attempt to lift the tension from the air. “Aerys, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Wesley and Zinaida Berkeley and their son, Dmitri. They are old friends of your grandparents. Wesley, Zinaida, Dmitri, this is my daughter, Aerys.” His voice is pained. He doesn’t want me to meet them. He doesn’t want to be here. So why is he? I suspect that Grandmother and Grandfather, with the matching eerie, evil expressions in their eyes, are somehow responsible.

“It is so lovely to finally meet you, Aerys. We’ve heard so much about you,” Wesley greets me. He has a hint of a British accent. His wife simply smiles and nods in my direction.

“Enchanté, mademoiselle,” Dmitri smiles. His French has the slightest of Russian accents to it. I suspect that Zinaida is Russian and named her son accordingly.

“The same, I’m sure,” I reply, watching my necklace for any sign of a mysterious aura. I haven’t felt anything. I would hate to think that Grandmother would use her powers against me. She’s never had a need before.

“Let us sup, then,” Father commands, clapping his hands twice to alert the servants, who immediately begin their parade of appetizers. Grandfather and Wesley begin chatting about their business investments, while Zira tries and fails to flirt with Dmitri, whose eyes flick from me to his mother to my sister to my Grandmother and back to me. I suspect that he knows more about whatever’s going on here than I do. I want to ask, but something is holding me back. Too bad. I need to know.

“So, Dmitri, what brings you and your family here for this auspicious occasion?” I inquire with my best innocent facade. A jolt of surprise flashes across his chiseled features. Grandmother’s face has stiffened and her fingers clench around her necklace. Its aura brightens. My necklace does not seem to react, but the atmosphere changes color ever so slightly.

“You do not know?” Dmitri inquires, still surprised.

“I would not be asking if I knew,” I reply, still sweet as sugar.

“Aerys, it is rude to interrogate our guests,” Grandmother cuts in with a voice like a knife.

“Indeed it would be, were I actually interrogating them. However, I am simply inquiring about the reason for individuals to whom I have never previously been introduced to be at my birthday supper,” I retort with equal venom. A collective gasp rises from my family members.

“I cannot believe they would not tell you,” Wesley intervenes, his expression apologetic. “You have been promised to my son, to be his wife.” The shock remains only for a moment before it is replaced by fury at having my future decided for me. Then, as I look at Dmitri and at the thunderous faces of my family, and remember how much I want to get away from it all, acceptance settles over me like a well-fitting dress.

“Very well then. When do we leave?” I answer coolly. No one quite knows how to react to this. Good. I like to surprise people.

“W-well, it would probably be best t-to wait until the meal is over....” Wesley answers hesitantly.

“Yes, that would be preferable,” Grandmother hisses, shooting me a death glare. I give her my most innocent face in reply. Why should she be so angry at me for asking a question? I suppose it deprived her of the privilege of the grand announcement. And furthermore, what more can we possibly discuss?

“You’re so lucky, sister,” Zira congratulates me, only slightly insincere.

“Yes, Aerys. I’m glad you’ve handled this news so calmly. I expected a breach of protocol,” Mother adds scathingly.

“Why should you have feared that? Have you not prepared me well enough for events such as this?” I inquire with feigned innocence. She flushes with shame, or maybe fury. Grandmother is struggling to keep her frustration controlled. Whatever charm she has placed on my necklace no doubt is not working according to plan. Why this might be, I do not know, but I will be the last to consider complaining about it.

“Indeed, Helena, your daughter seems to be quite the well-bred and intelligent young lady,” Zinaida murmurs. It’s the first time she’s spoken since entering this room. Her Russian accent is somewhat heavy yet enthralling, and I appreciate the unexpected compliment. Mother is (uniquely) at a loss for words. Dmitri has more or less been staring at me with an unreadable expression since I agreed to leave with him and his parents. It would be unnerving if I were not so concerned about other things at the moment.

“We are flattered that you think so,” Father intervenes to save face for his sputtering wife, if indeed such a thing can be achieved at this point. This is a splendid disaster. Why can it not just be over? We haven’t even had the main course yet, and I have quite lost my appetite.

“Would it be possible for me to be excused, to get my things ready? I am no longer hungry,” I request primly, sending beseeching eyes to my father, who is my most likely champion amongst my family members. Lucia shoots me a pity glance. None of my other siblings dare to look at me, except Zira with an uncharacteristic jealous glare. Father glances at his parents and then at my mother and sighs heavily. No champion for me in this spineless, pathetic creature.

“I am afraid that will not be possible. This dinner is, after all, in your honor, and our chance to say goodbye to you.” Like you’ve ever cared. I do not reply. Instead, I settle into my most sullen guise and brace myself to endure the rest of the meal in as much silence as I can manage. Would that they would grant me at least that small respite, as a gift to me before I can escape from them. Once I am off this property, I may yet escape this marriage and live my own life. Although, the odds of finding another husband as attractive as Dmitri are not particularly good....

***~O~***