11. Silva

Silva

The last people she expected to run into in the parking lot at Gildersnood and Ives were Ris and Ainsley.

Tate rolled his eyes at Ainsley's amazement to find him there, and Ris exclaimed at the sight of them, their twosome becoming a foursome as they turned toward the door.

Silva smiled, but she couldn't pretend that her teeth weren't grinding a bit as she did so. She was still hurt over the incident in the break room with Tannar, and time spent with Ainsley was hardly her favorite thing to do. It doesn't matter, he's Tate's friend. She had decided some time around Tate's party that she was done trying and failing to change Ainsley's mind about her. He had decided to dislike her, for whatever reason, and Silva was inclined to let him.

"Is a booth okay? If it is, I can seat you right now."

AJ, a satyr who was one of their regular servers, gestured towards the back of the long pub, the bar and every high-top table they could see already bursting with bodies.

"A booth is fine with me," Ris said, glancing back at the rest of them questioningly.

"I suppose I'll just have to tolerate him playing footsie the whole night." Tate's sardonic words simultaneously earned Silva's giggle and Ainsley's gasp of offense.

"I will not!" Ainsley exclaimed. "It's not my fault I have long legs!"

They followed the satyr across the dining room, through a huge booth on the end of the aisle. "These were designed for ogres," AJ said to Tate as he took Silva's bag, allowing her to slide in first. "So if he tries anything, you know it's intentional."

"I am being attacked!"

Once Ris and Ainsley were settled across from them, the latter looked from Silva to Tate, his dark eyebrows drawing together in a gleam of metal. Beside him, Ris's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. The dimly lit parking lot had shielded the worst of it, clearly, and the area around the host stand had been too crowded for either of their unexpected companions to take too close of a look.

Now, though, Silva knew exactly what they were seeing. Their lips were healing, but the initial red puffiness of the bite marks had blossomed to bruises on her and Tate both. A dark purple flush on her, and a deep green stain on him, their lips still swollen.

"What the fuck happened to your faces? Like, no offense or anything, but really, what the fuck?"

Silva shared a swift glance with Tate, who was already shaking his head, resolutely saying nothing. "Piercing party," she explained, barely able to get the words out before dissolving in laughter. "Not a very good one. Clearly."

She didn't offer any further response, finding his hand beneath the table and squeezing.

"Is this your first time visiting?" Ris asked Tate with a smile. Are they serious? Sorry, I can't think beyond my own terrible choice in men to answer . . . "Someone who shall remain nameless is back at his main campus in the city this week, which he is just thrilled to pieces over. But the bonus is he gets to stay with me."

"You should've told me you were coming," Ainsley added, "I would have designed a whole tour for you. All the important sights, annotated by me, of course. I fancy myself a bit of a Cambric Creek expert now."

Ris rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "You're mostly an expert at parking badly."

"How dare—"

"First off," Tate interrupted, "fuck off. It's not me first time here. And you park like fucking muppet, everyone already knows that. Secondly —"

Ainsley had just thrown up his hands in offense when their drinks were delivered to the table, pausing the conversation for the briefest instant.

"Perfect, now I have something to hold and slosh at you as I tell you to fuck off. I don't need you to lecture me about some Kitteridge Clague book you read, Ains. I'm already an expert. Let me tell you about this mad town, lad. The whole thing was almost burned to the ground by a fuckin' dragon."

"That was just one house!" Silva laughed, batting at his shoulder. "And it was a dragonborn!"

"And she fuckin' torched the place. Used this pathetic human as her kindling. And as a reward for a job well done, there's a whole bleedin' room devoted to her at the museum. And an observatory."

"The observatory is named after her sister," Silva wheezed, burying her face against his arm to absorb her laughter. "You got a lot of these details mixed up. I knew it was a bad idea to drink at lunch that day."

"Yeah, and it wasn't a human," Ris added. "He was a werewolf."

"Fucking worthless humans twenty-nine days out of the month, excuse me. And what did they do after she was gone? Do you think they outlawed dragons? Do you think a single one of these brainless werewolf cunts had an ounce of sense between them?

"She was a dragonborn, actually —"

"Fuck no, they didn't. Now you've got more dragons, all just waitin' to have a bad day. Does anyone stop them? You already know they don't. You've got araneaens strolling through the middle of town. Are they eatin' people? Nobody cares. You've got grown trolls walking around with their bollocks swinging down to their knees in public, practically fornicating with themselves in plain fuckin' view. You've got fuckin' shadow folk owning businesses like they're not from the other side of the veil, calm as can be, and nobody blinks. It's brilliant. What a fuckin' time to be alive in this place. So no, Ainsley, I don't need you to take me by the hand and show me the bleedin' coffee shop. I've already been there a hundred and eighty three times in the past seventy-two hours. We're managing just fine."

Silva was laughing so hard she was in danger of peeing herself, which would've made the situation a million times worse, as she likely would have screamed.

"Wait a minute, there's a history museum?! And I've never been there? I really am being attacked now! Holding out on me all this . . . why don't you just stab me with a butter knife while you're at it, Nanaya?"

Ris was leaning over the table, tented over her untouched glass, shoulders shaking. "I completely forgot about it! It's a tiny little thing . . . and it's called the heritage museum, for your information. You know, if you're considering changing careers," she choked out to Tate, wiping the tears from her eyes, "I would like to purchase the first ticket to one of your historical tours."

"Aye, that's a thought. We can go in together," he told Ainsley, clinking their glasses and making good on his promise to slosh. "You can drone on with your historical accuracy and rubbish no one gives a fuck about, an' then there's me, just standing on the corner in front of the coffee shop, givin' out for an hour."

"You know, I really don't think I appreciate the way you are denigrating the importance of a handsome tour guide full of charisma and accuracy. This business is over before you even get off the ground."

"Aye, because you'll be too busy fuckin' following people to their cars, not shutting up or realizing they're actually running to get away from you, Ains. 'The tour is over, sir. We've tipped you. We've already left a five star review on Tripstatic. Please, for the love of Aemmondel, we have children at home. Won't you let us be.'"

Ris had dropped her head against the booth, her laughter having ascended sound itself. Her shoulders shook, mouth open, and every few seconds she would gasp in a breath to continue.

"You know what? Fuck all of you. I came out to have a nice time, not to be insulted by someone who thinks hummus is a condiment. Hey, do you remember that guy who used to give tours in front of our building?"

Tate began to laugh as Ainsley cracked his knuckles, finally taking back the conversational spotlight. Silva wasn't sure how anyone could talk as much as the tall, punkish orc and still have enough oxygen left to breathe, but somehow, he managed.

"So, apparently the alley side of our old building in Bridgeton is the alleged last resting place of some shifter socialite from the 1800s. Six days a week there would be a crowd standing on the corner for a ghost tour around the neighborhood with this goblin wearing like, some steampunk get up, telling the story. The legend goes that she was buried alive and was ringing her little grave bell . . . you know how people used to be buried with bells, right? It's where the saying –"

"Ainsley, get the fuck on with it."

Ris hunched in laughter again, as Ainsley scowled at Tate across the table.

"Whatever. Anyway, buried in the alley, ringing her bell, no one answered. The goblin is out there, wearing his little goggles on his hat and his long leather coat every night and we noticed over time he starts embellishing the story. Like, just really laying it on thick, you know? Goring up the details. The girl went from being unconscious when she was buried to kicking and screaming, her bell ringing for one night to a whole week. But his crowd starts getting bigger, so it's obviously working. Less historical accuracy, but more ghosty ghost bullshit."

"I used to get home every night right around the same time this group would be squatting on the pavement," Tate cut it. "This gowl is waiting for me on the fire escape, can't put him off, and we'd stand out on the landing smoking before I made my escape from all of them."

"Hey!"

"So one night, I have the cat's collar in my jacket pocket. Down on the pavement the guide gets to the bit about how the girl was screaming and all the folks in the buildings ignored it all. These fucking humans he's got around him are slack-jawed; they're eating every word of it. He gets to the part about the bells and the dead girl ringing them just as I reach into my pocket for a lighter and I remember the cat collar. Obviously you see where this is going."

"Oh no, those poor people!" Silva gasped as Ainsley began laughing once more.

"They scattered like ants. One minute there's a whole crowd right there at the corner, the next minute you see people running down the street to get away. Grown, rational adults! And they never thought for a minute that it might be some asshole with a cat collar. They were there because they wanted to believe in ghosts. We just gave them their money's worth."

"I think," Ris laughed, leaning in to kiss Ainsley on the cheek, "this is something you need to consider. Think of the showmanship you could bring to education!"

The conversation shifted, Ainsley telling them about a museum exhibit he and Ris had gone to Starling Heights pointedly ignoring Tate's snort of laughter. Ris mentioned that her ballet studio was talking about doing a recital, and that she wondered if she ought to try out for one of the featured roles.

"Wait, I told you I joined that balalaika group, right? With that troll that used to come in with his brother? Ivor? We're playing at the Tula House in Bridgeton next week."

Silva had no idea what a balalaika was, but Tate piped up before she could decide if it was worth asking.

"Ainsley, I would rather chew screws than have to sit through an hour of you playing button accordion with a couple of balalaika trolls. No offense. Invite ‘Shona to that shite. Let us know when the big band gets back together."

Ris leaned over the table, grinning as Ansley sputtered once more. "Have you talked to Lurielle? I wonder how she's getting on with your binder. I feel bad, she left a message asking if I would look at flowers with her the other day, but I didn't get it until the next morning."

Silva sipped her drink daintily, avoiding Ris's eye. "I haven't. I've been working from home since then. Hey, didn't you say that Dynah has a double next to her? In your complex? I think I might need to move soon. I wonder how heinous it would be to have a roommate in one of the condos."

"Why are you moving? Your place is adorable! Are there neighbor issues, or something?"

It was the first time she had mentioned moving out loud, and Silva could feel Tate's eyes on her, but he said nothing.

"I'm just trying to reevaluate my finances, once my lease is up in the spring. I make nothing at work, which is fine, considering they forget I exist most days. But I don't want . . ."

She drifted off, not wanting to continue in front of Ainsley. She didn't want her parents to continue subsidizing her existence, not when she was doing everything in her power to get out from under their thumb. You keep saying that. It's time to start actually doing it. "I just need to start thinking a bit smarter."

"Sure, I can ask Dynah. You're right, I think she did say something about doubles being in the next building, but I'm not sure on what end. We'll make sure to find out."

"So, you're here the rest of the week?" Silva redirected at Ainsley, quickly changing the subject. No reason not to be nice.

"Yeah, just this week. We're going to a performance at the Symphonia this weekend, on Friday. If the two of you are interested, I know they have tickets available."

Silva was surprised by Ainsley's invitation. Beside him, Ris beamed.

"I think we're crashing a wedding on Friday?" Tate turned her with a raised eyebrow, and she found his hand beneath the table once more.

"That's right. Tea, history, and wedding crashing. What more could you want?"

"Can't think of a single thing. Best holiday I've ever had."

When they returned to her apartment that night, Silva felt drowsy and sated, wanting to do nothing other than crawl into bed beside him. She was exhausted, had been for the last week or so, falling to sleep the instant her head hit the pillow. She was a bit annoyed with herself, wasting a single moment of having him in her bed, but she couldn't help it. When she found herself laying against Tate a short while later, hovering between sleep and wakefulness the last thing she expected was a heavy conversation.

"Have you spoken with your grandmother recently, Silva?"

Her lungs tightened, eyes fluttering open. Her disclosure about her finances was obviously not something he'd missed, or was willing to let go.

"Is this because of what I said at the pub? About my apartment? I can't keep accepting money from my parents if I want to live my own life. Why, is that what you think I should keep doing—"

"I didn't say a single word about your apartment," he cut her off. "I think you need to do whatever you need to do to survive in this world, I've done so myself many times before. But that's not what I asked. Have you talked to your grandmother recently?"

The question wasn't what she was expecting, and she didn't know how to answer. At least not in a way that didn't make her face heat and her guts churn. They want me to choose, and I won't do it.

"Not recently," she admitted at length, breathing against him. "You don't know what it's like, Tate. I mean . . . I know that you do." His fingers pushed through her hair, tucking a stray strand behind her ear, saying nothing. "But it's worse for girls. It's harder for us from the time we're little. Our entire existence is boiled down to one thing. That's it. It doesn't matter who we are or if we're happy or what we want out of our lives. That one act is all we're good for. There's so much riding on our choices . . . And then our choices become not our choices at all. It's my life."

Tate was quiet for what seemed like a small eternity, but when he spoke again, his voice was sad and steady. "You're right, Silva. I don't know what any of that is like. Not a jot of it. I only know what it's like to have a grandmother who loves you more than she loves herself. And I know that you told me you were very close with yours. I don't want to be the wedge that keeps you from mending things with your family."

It was her turn to be silent. She'd had the whole month to think on it. She couldn't explain why Tate was the way he was, why he held her at arm's length. She could only assume that his relationship with his family had much to do with it. A father he'd never known, a mother with whom he had no meaningful relationship. He had loved his grandparents, clearly, but they had died when he was young. There was no other way for her to explain his inability to let her in.

"Silva, I had a family that loved me once," he murmured into the space between them, as if he'd been able to clearly hear her thoughts. "And I still walked out the door. I turned my back on them and I walked out the door. I've done a lot of unforgivable shite in my lifetime. Things I can't take back, things I wish I could undo. But the biggest regret I have of my entire miserable existence is walking out that door. I don't want you to make that same mistake. Your family is only thinking about what's best for you, dove, whether it seems that way or not. No matter what you decide to do, with me or anyone else, I don't want you to look back in your jubilation and regret walking out the door."

She sniffled, and immediately his arms opened, pulling her in close. He wasn't wrong. It tore her apart to know that her absence was likely breaking her grandmother's heart. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that she should have to give up her own happiness for her grandmother to get the happiness she deserved, to be surrounded by the family she loved in her jubilation years. It wasn't fair that Tate had been shunned from every side, wasn't fair that he couldn't simply claim her as his and have them both be happy with that choice. She was tired of having the same circular argument with no resolution, and she suspected the truth of it was that there never would be a resolution. She couldn't have everything she wanted, no matter how hard she wished for it.

She didn't need the club. She didn't need Cevanor?, didn't need her friends and neighbors, didn't need their judgment and their stares. She needed him and her family, and that was all.

"I'll call my Nana this week." She didn't need to bring the whole world to heel — she only needed to make her own world a bit smaller, a little more important. "I'll call her tomorrow, and I'm going to go see her this week."

Another stroke down her back, before his hand settled against her hip, pulling her in close. "Good. That's good, dove. That's what you need to do."

"Right this way, Miss."

Silva smiled at the ma?tre d' who greeted her in the corridor before the hall. The dining room wasn't open yet, wouldn't be until the dinner hour. Silva looked around as he led her through the giant room, seeing it as though it were her very first time.

It was airy, white and gray jacquard walls, crystal sconces every few feet, and huge floral arrangements at the center of every white linen-covered table, arms of eucalyptus reaching to the sky beneath the giant, glittering chandelier. She wondered if he would consider the excess gauche.

She had been up since the crack of dawn, throwing her guts up in anticipation of this meeting. She'd gone to work as normal, throwing up twice more there, feeling lightheaded and breathless as the hours ticked by, her entire future seeming to balance on the knife-tip of the next few days. Now she was here, back at the club.

She was lunching with her grandmother in the smaller tea room, off the main dining room and before the glassed-in terrace. This had always been her favorite part of the club. The tea room was lush and warm, peach and blush colored, with fat-headed pink peonies spilling from crystal vases and apricot-colored table linens giving the entire space a softer, more intimate feel. Beyond, in the terrace, Silva had liked to sit at the windows when it rained, when she'd been just a tiny elf, taking tea with her beloved grandmother. The water would cascade down the windows, giving the whole world a blurry, faraway quality. She would be like a little fish, safely tucked away in her bowl, happy as she watched the world go by.

Her grandmother looked up as she entered the room now, her green eyes widening and her hand tightening around her linen napkin. Silva felt the desolate look in her grandmother's eyes like a prick to her heart, but she wasn't that little fish anymore, and she could not be happy in this beautiful bowl, watching the world at a distance from the safety of Cevanor?.

"Darling, look how lovely you look. Come, sit, sit. I've already ordered for us." Her lips pressed together tightly, another squeeze to the napkin. She was trying so hard to pretend as if nothing were amiss, that Silva had not abruptly walked away from all of them for the last several months, after a lifetime of being her grandmother's little shadow.

Silva reached out, pulling the napkin from her grandmother's hands and replacing it with her own. "I'm so glad to see you, Nana."

For the next half hour, her grandmother chattered about everything and nothing — catching her up on club gossip she had missed, without making it seem as if she had missed it at all. Telling her about the banquets that were being planned, the winter fundraiser, the spring fashion show. All things Silva should have known. Committees she should have been on, events she should have been planning. Nana spoke of them as if Silva's absence in the stories were not a glaring omission.

"I-I hope you be able to come to the harvest banquet, darling. I would so love to see you there."

Their tea service consisted of a three-tiered tray of sweet and savories. Delicate, sugar dusted petits fours with tiny candy violets and cucumber and watercress with dill cream on pumpernickel rounds. Silva's cheeks heated. He didn't like watercress, never had, he'd told her the afternoon they'd gone to tea in that tatty little tea room, the weekend of his party. The weekend everything had changed.

"I had tea at that little shop off Main recently," Silva confided, changing the subject away from club matters.

That was the problem, she thought. She understood the value of the club. Understood the necessary need for camaraderie for Elvish women, who would otherwise be left alone once their husbands were gone. The problem that she could see as clear as day, now from the outside of her little fishbowl, was that if one never left the confines of their controlled environment, the environment was all that mattered. She couldn't be happy here again. Couldn't listen to the same recycled gossip, wouldn't tolerate the nonstop competition and scheming. The world was huge outside of this bowl, and she wanted to see more of it.

She knew her grandmother and mother had not visited Azathé tea room before. They had discussed it when it first opened, but word quickly spread through the dining room of how strange it was, the macabre atmosphere and decor, the strange automation that manipulated the serving tables and brought out the tea service. Now, Silva knew better.

She had marveled over the little cat at the host stand who had seated them — seated them and then refused to leave. The cat had butted Tate's ankles, rubbing its body against his shins and eventually jumping up into his lap as Silva laughed. The cat looked as if it might have been content to stay there, but something caught its attention and it hopped down, trotting back to his little cushion at the front door somewhat unwillingly. The interior of the shop was covered from floor to ceiling in strange curios and bric-a-brac, towers of books, and instruments of the occult. It was strange, but she had spent enough time at Clover and the Pixie to understand that it was likely a gimmick, merely something to set the shop apart.

That was, until they were served. Tate turned slightly in his chair, doing a double take at something just behind them. He looked as Silva chattered; looked again a moment later. She was just about to ask him what was wrong when he'd turned fully in his chair.

"Do we have a problem, lad?"

He was addressing the empty air. Silva's mouth had dropped open, concern heating her cheeks.

"Because if there's not a problem, I'm going to ask that you stop gawking at us like we're a couple of common criminals. We're just trying to take tea; I thought that was the point of this shop."

"Tate, there-there's nothing there," she'd hissed urgently, slightly panicked over his overblown reaction to the empty room.

"Silva, they're standing right there, plain as day. And if you're not sliding teaspoons into the front of your dress, I'm not sure what we've done to earn the scrutiny."

To her amazement, the empty air he'd been addressing rippled and she'd gasped. The creature melted from the shadows, made of shadows.

"I apologize most sincerely. I truly didn't mean to cause you any —"

"I'm not interested in hearing about your perversions, mate. The lady's just trying to enjoy her tea."

Silence, and then they solidified a bit more. Their voice was a sinuous whisper, and she'd shivered. "Of course. My apologies. It's just that . . . I've never seen one of your kind. That's all."

Tate smiled, wide and horrible, his mouth as crowded with jagged teeth as she'd ever seen it. "Not many to see."

"Quite."

"I didn't realize the shadow realm was given a free pass. Good to know. Now, if you don't mind."

The rest of their lunch was uneventful, and very good, if she was being truthful. The incident had left her discomfited, but Tate only shrugged on his way out the door, after pausing to scratch the cat behind the ears, talking to the feline in a language she did not understand.

"Shadowfolk. That's who runs this. It's not magic, just very clever."

"What did you mean about a free pass?"

He'd said nothing for a moment, taking her hand and threading their fingers. "The shadow realm exists in between this world and the otherworld. I suppose it's a bit of a neutral territory. Where are we off to now, little dove?"

"It was very interesting," was what she told her grandmother. "A bit strange. But the tea service was quite good. They have a huge selection. Maybe . . . maybe we could go there for lunch sometime?" That was what she needed to do. Get her grandmother and mother out of this club once in a while, show them how big the world was beyond these gates.

"I'd like that, darling." Her grandmother squeezed her hand, her eyes filling with tears, face crumpling for a moment. "Silva, I don't know what we've done to make you so angry with us. No matter what sort of row you had with your mother, darling, there's nothing done that can't be undone."

Her heart squeezed. Of course her grandmother knew nothing of their fight. That, more than anything, showed that her mother was counting on this being a temporary bout of rebelliousness. Are they serious? Of course not. It's only a matter of time before she goes running back to her family. Silva took a sip of her water, sucking in the fortifying breath.

"Nana, I'm not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. I know —" she paused again, thinking of Tate's words in her bed. "I know you're just trying to do what you think is best for me. Mommy and I didn't have a fight, not really. But — but I've met someone. I've met someone and I love him, Nana. And she doesn't approve. I love you too, both of you, so much, but I'm not willing to give him up. I know if you met him, you would all change your mind . . ."

Her grandmother looked shocked at the revelation, and Silva wanted to scream. She didn't know if this was better or worse, breaking the news to her from scratch. Better, maybe. You get to control how she hears it. Another deep breath. "His father was Orcish. But his mother was Silm? and he was raised in an enclave with his mother and his grandparents. He owns a business and he's so good to me . . . I know you would love him if you gave him a chance."

Her grandmother was opening and closing her mouth like she was gulping water, with no sound coming out. You're probably going to give her apoplexy, are you happy? Silva didn't need to wonder to know exactly what was running through her grandmother's head. What will the ladies group say? What will the dowagers say? What will they say about our family?

"I-I knew you had gone out a few times with a man you were working for, but . . . but I didn't think . . ."

"I know. And I'm sorry that we've not talked. I hate that. But . . . I just want you to be happy that I'm happy."

A waistcoated server glided by, taking away their plates. She could tell her grandmother was at a loss on how to proceed.

"Will you meet me for lunch on Saturday, Nana? We can go to that little café in town across from the bookshop that we've always liked. It's been so long since we just had a nice day together."

Away from the club. She wasn't going to tell her grandmother that she would be bringing Tate. She knew her family well. They were too well bred, too concerned with appearances, and they would never make a scene. Especially out and about in the wider world beyond the enclave's gate, in front of the rest of Cambric Creek. "We can talk more about it then, I promise. I know you have liltenu this afternoon."

Her grandmother nodded, eyes wide, gripping Silva tightly by the hand once more. "Of course, darling. That's all I want. For us to go back to where we were."

They hugged tightly outside the room, and Silva felt like a little girl once more, begging her grandmother for a dab of perfume behind her ears. "I love you so much, Nana. I'll see you on Saturday."

Once her grandmother turned out the doors, heading back to the main clubhouse, Silva crossed the long hallway past the banquet hall once more. She kept her head held high, walking as serenely as she could, telegraphing to anyone who looked her way that she had not a care in the world, turning into the ladies' room as if it were a last-minute thought. The second she was ensconced in the sweet-smelling bathroom, Silva careened into one of the stalls, barely getting the door closed behind her before she heaved into the toilet, expelling the meager contents of their tea.

You do not wear anxiety well, she told herself as she splashed her face with cool water, rinsing out her mouth and spitting into the sink. But at least it's over. This, she told herself as she turned out the door, was the hard part. Once Tate and her grandmother were sitting together, sharing a pot of tea, she would see that he was as well mannered and refined as any elf from the club. As handsome as any man they could have handpicked for her from a catalog. Twice as clever and entrepreneurial as any of the men her own age, living off their trust funds.

They would have fun the following evening at the wedding, and then Saturday her whole world would change.