Chapter 79

How long do I have to be polite to this bitch?

"Excuse me, madam." The waiter behind me, with the first course.

All aside from giving me the excuse to ignore Irene, it smells divine. Some kind of soup, creamy and fishy, sprinkled with parsley, and thick enough to qualify as a stew. I reach for a spoon, then…

Damn…

The place in front of me is set out left and right, with battalions of cutlery. And now that I look, four different wine glasses are ranked to my right.

Uncertain, I turn to my Master, but he is distracted, talking to Chancellor Wilmore across the table. As I hesitate, Irene watches. Heat pricks at my cheeks.

Something nudges at me, Grace's elbow in my ribs. Behind a napkin, out of Irene's line of sight, she wriggles fingers, then picks up the rightmost item, a spoon. Dipping into her soup at twelve o'clock on the dish, she drags the base of the spoon over the rim, clearing the drips. Bringing the spoon up to her lips, she sips from the edge.

Watching from the corner of my ey