Page 40 of Stormbringer (Tracthesian Academy #1)

T he mansion was grand. Well, it was big and it had nice bones. It had probably been a lovely home at one point. Now it was trying too hard.

Everything was manicured, polished, and gilded. If grandmother ever saw this place, she would snort something about new money mages. Not that she would ever snort, but Wave liked to imagine this place would pull that reaction out of her.

Marc led her up the stairs that had, honest to god, red carpet laid in the middle. Wave tried to hold herself in check, but she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped.

“All it’s missing is a crowd of paparazzi behind a fence and screaming fans.”

Marc chuckled. “I’m sure there are some vetted reporters inside.”

“You don’t worry about your public image?”

“Not one bit, sparkle.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. As soon as they stepped inside, a boy, well, a teenager, rushed over and threw himself at Marc.

“You came!”

“I said I would,” Marc replied and ruffled his black hair. “Tanner, I would like you to meet my girlfriend, Wayla.”

Tanner blushed. He was in his late teens, and while his hair and eyes reminded Wayla of Marc, his features were more delicate, and his frame was slimmer, if not gangly.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, holding out a hand.

“You too,” Tanner said, while he took her in. “You are much prettier than Mom said.”

“Tanner!” Marc groaned, but Wayla grinned.

“Oh? Did she say I had ash in my hair, dirt under my nails, and a wart on my ass?”

“Wayla!” This time, Marc’s groan was aimed at her, but Tanner grinned.

“Pretty much. She also said you were a gold digger and some other words I’m not going to repeat in front of a lady.”

“Smooth, aren’t you?” Wayla giggled, delighted. Tanner nodded seriously.

“I know a lady when I see one.”

Marc laughed at that, but Wayla felt a pinch of worry.

The boy was too serious to be joking. Still, she forced her smile to stay on.

As long as no one paid any mind to Tanner, her status would stay secret.

Technically, she was also a princess on top of being a lady, but she for sure wasn’t going to let that slip.

“Let’s keep that between us, huh?”

“Of course,” Tanner said, gave her a tiny, perfectly executed bow, and then grinned again. “You’ll drive Mom crazy.”

“Don’t sound so happy about that. She still loves you,” Marc immediately jumped in.

“I love her too, doesn’t mean I’m dumb,” Tanner defended himself.

“Boys, boys,” Wayla cut in. “Could we maybe move on? I would love to get rid of my nonexistent coat. It’s pretty warm in here.” That got them moving, and soon Wayla found herself mingling with the hoi polloi of mage variety.

Sure, all of them would have a heart attack at being called such, but none of their power was even a blip on Wave’s radar. The exception to that rule came from Marc and Tanner, and Wave hadn’t been introduced to their father yet.

It was, of course, possible that they were masking and shielding their auras, but Wave highly doubted that. Not in a setting like this where splashing power around equated to status and reverence.

Wave had Marc on one arm and Tanner on the other as they circled the room.

Tanner proved to be a wealth of information and wit.

He also knew when to whisper his tidbits and when to state them loudly so they would be overheard.

Truly, Wave didn’t need to do anything to cause the chaos Marc had wanted.

Tanner did all the work for her. At least until it came to dinner time.

“I’m sorry, I have to excuse myself,” Tanner said. “Mom decided that I need to sit next to Felicia.” His face said all that needed to be said on the matter. Before he could turn and walk away, Wave reached over and kissed his cheek.

“You’ve been the best of company, Tanner. If you need me to save you, just send up a fireball.” She winked, and Tanner brightened. Marc mock growled and gently pushed his brother away.

“Go find yourself your own woman, this one is mine.”

“My lady.” Tanner bowed and hurried away. Wave bit her lip and hoped everyone who saw would think of it as a joke. The boy was too damn chivalrous.

“This way,” Marc said and guided her toward the main table. The places were named, and Wave’s name was nowhere to be seen. A servant stepped up and whispered something to Marc’s ear that made his expression turn thunderous.

“She said what?” he demanded, but Wave stepped forward and laid her hand over his arm again.

“It’s all right, Marki-bear. I can sit in your lap if they don’t have enough chairs.”

The servant choked, and Marc grinned. “Yes. You tell the harpy that. Either Wayla is seated next to me or on me. Her choice.”

The servant was gone for less than a minute and returned red-faced. He swapped the card on the table and, calmly, Marc pulled the chair out for Wave, who made a production of oohing and aahing over it, the table, and everything she could think of.

They had just taken their seats when Hatty appeared on the other side of the table with an older man.

“Father,” Marc greeted the man, civilly, but without any warmth. Wave just smiled and waved, taking a middle ground in her country pumpkin routine. The man had the same black hair as Marc and Tanner, and the same shaped eyes, but again, that was where the similarities ended.

Wave squeezed Marc’s hand, noting how tense he was while everyone else found their places. Hatty glared daggers at Wave, and she happily ignored her.

An older lady was sitting on her other side. She lifted her nose when Wave greeted her with an outstretched hand.

“I can’t believe you actually brought her,” Hatty hissed at Marc. She wasn’t trying to keep her voice down or present a polite front. Marc’s father frowned slightly, but didn’t say anything. He just sat down and waved for the servers to bring out the food.

The first course was a cold soup, and Wayla made a production of grabbing the dessert spoon.

Hatty murmured something snide to Marc’s father and then to a lady sitting next to her.

Her insults were direct and crude, and inwardly, Wave rolled her eyes.

She had a lot to learn if she wanted to mingle in high society.

Marc had called the woman a harpy, but in Wave’s somewhat educated opinion, that was an insult to harpies everywhere. Marc’s father was no better with his lack of participation. Wave wondered what kind of marriage they had, if he happily ignored the woman trying to pull him into her games.

“Heather,” Marc sighed, sounding resigned as he threw her an apologetic glance. Why he felt the need to do that was beyond her. He had brought her here for this exact purpose, to drive his stepmother crazy.

“I’ve always told you to call me Mom.” Now the woman looked like she was swallowing tears. “I just want the best for you, Marshall.”

“Wayla is—”

“She couldn’t possibly understand what it takes to marry into a family like ours. I mean, she’s a storm spirit .”

Despite the delicious food on the table, Heather wasn’t eating and neither was Marc. The servers cleared out the soup and brought in some sort of chicken dish.

Wave looked over to the other table and noticed Tanner was pushing his food around his plate too. Shrugging, Wave picked up a fish fork and shoveled some of the potatoes into her mouth. She placed her elbow on the table and leaned over the plate for a good measure.

Hatty gasped. “Marshall! Look at her! You can’t possibly think she’s a suitable partner for you!” The woman’s voice kept getting shriekier by every sentence. Inwardly, Wave grinned so wide her cheeks hurt.

The table was laid out with fancy plates, a plethora of cutlery, and several glasses. She could navigate this display in her sleep, and several steps fancier displays, too. She could, but she wasn’t going to.

She kept using the fish fork and then reached for the water glass and filled it with white wine.

She could deal with one glass. Wave hesitated and then decided to take the risk.

She shouldn’t be using her powers at a dinner party in any case.

It was a bit of a shame to drink the delicious stuff down like water, but she lacked manners, breeding, and everything else that was important to Heather the Harpy Ulrichce.

When the woman sputtered, Wave patted Marc’s leg under the table.

That got his attention, and Wave tried to convey to him with only her eyes that she was fine and he should get on with the roast and lobster that the staff was now loading next to the chicken.

Either they were in a rush to get the fuck out of here, or Hatty had no idea how to instruct them to space things out.

He didn’t seem to understand, since he gently pointed to the correct fork for her to use.

“Oh, oh my. I’m so, so, so, so, sorry!” Wave gushed and then picked up the fork next to the one he had pointed. That finally drove the point home. Marc bit his lip and turned to his plate, eyes sparkling.

Good. Father had always made a point of not skipping perfectly good food because there was upset at the dinner table.

That only gave one’s opponents an edge. A well-fed body produced a sharper mind and all that.

Wave had learned to gather every advantage that she could during the very formal, very upset dinners with her grandparents over the years.

Grandmother didn’t judge based on what fork one used. She judged by the way you picked up the correct one, by the angle at which you held it, and by how tightly you squeezed. Clutching the cutlery like it was going to run away was crass, something only peasants did.

Yes, she had used that word in that context more than once. Heather Ulrichce wouldn’t last past sitting down at the table with Angestilica Stormwell. The way she fidgeted in her chair and tugged it closer to the table offended even Wave’s sensibilities.

“Marshall, you should listen to your mother,” the old biddy next to Wave decided to open her mouth. “It’s important to marry in the same social circles and your… little friend, doesn’t really fit in the high society, now does she?”

Wave couldn’t help it. She snorted so hard that some of the wine she had been about to sip came out of her nose. She couldn’t have made a better scene even if she had planned it, and certainly not as believable.

“That’s it, we are leaving,” Marc snapped and pushed his chair back. Wave noticed Tanner getting up too, with a fierce look on his face, and she hurriedly waved her hand. Since he was the one paying attention to her, he saw and reluctantly sat back down.

The old hag next to her, on the other hand, had been going for her own wine glass, and Wave managed to slap it into her lap. It was actually an accident, and as the red wine spilled over the old lady’s front and lap, Wave fought an urge to laugh and apologize at the same time.

That resulted in another unladylike snort, and the woman’s face turned pale and then red in quick succession.

“Oh, you little,” her hand was flying toward Wave’s face, but didn’t get far as Marc pushed his arm between them.

When Wave had mock-punched him, her hand had stung.

As the woman’s palm made contact with Marc’s forearm, she shrieked in pain, like she had slammed her hand into open flames or a brick wall. Maybe a burning brick wall.

If there had been anyone unaware of the drama unfolding, they weren’t anymore. An older man on the other side of the woman sprang to his feet and started shouting. Hatty was on her feet, shouting too. Marc was vibrating with controlled fury.

There was shouting, tears, threats, fallen chairs, challenges, and more spilled wine. Most of the table was on their feet. Wave dried her face, straightened her glass, and forked another piece of the lobster into her mouth.

As she chewed, her eyes landed on the one other person still calmly sitting down and eating. Marc’s father lifted his water glass in a toast to her, and Wave could have sworn he was hiding a smile behind a piece of roast.

She decided to test her theory, and for just one bite, her whole posture changed, she held the fork properly, and lifted the piece of lobster to her lips daintily. Under her lashes, she observed as the man’s fork stopped midway.

Wave let her posture relax and chewed with her mouth half open. Yep, that was a smile that flashed over his lips. So, older Mr. Ulrichce had a sense of humor.

“Wayla, come on,” Marc urged her. “We are leaving.”

For just a fleeting instance, older Ulrichce’s fingers tightened around his fork and Wave turned up to blink at Marc.

“But the food is so good, Marki-bear. Can’t we stay until the dessert? I’d love to have some.” He blinked down at her, and she gave him her widest, most empty-headed smile.

“Absolutely not,” Hatty screeched. “This is my celebration, I want her—”

“Sit. Down.” The command came from Mr. Ulrichce with such a crush of power that everyone but Marc folded into their chairs immediately. Marc took a moment to straighten his chair and sit down in a more controlled manner.

Murmurs died down, and everyone looked at him expectantly. “I think I agree with Ms. Spinwell. I’d like to have some dessert,” he said and laid his fork down, indicating that he was done. Immediately, an army of servants swept in to clear the plates.

“But Henri,” Hatty whined.

“Not now, Heather,” he said. “This is still my house, and we will show some courtesy to our guests.”

“Courtesy,” Hatty spluttered. “But she—”

Marc’s father flicked his eyes to Wave and then to his wife. “She behaved as expected.” He held up a hand and cut her off before she could even start. Wave wondered why he was covering and standing up for her. When Marc wrapped his arm around her shoulders, she had her answer.

No matter what was going on between the father and the son, he was willing to stand up for his son, even if it was done so covertly that Wave wasn’t sure if even Marc realized what he was doing.

“Ah, here’s the dessert. I hope it’s to your liking, Ms. Spinwell,” Henri said.

“I’m sure it is, Mr. Ulrichce. All the food has been delicious. My compliments to your chef,” Wave replied calmly. Henri’s eyes twinkled as she picked up her soup spoon. She had used her dessert spoon with her soup already.

“To many more entertaining dinners, I hope, Ms. Spinwell.” He toasted her again with his water glass and Wave lifted her dessert wine glass in return, the first piece of proper tableware she had used the whole evening.

“One can always hope, Mr. Ulrichce.”