I should be paying more attention to the bridesmaids on either side of me, or the guests filing by with their pleasantries. After more than an hour of dry speeches and greeting strangers and family friends, though, I think I’ve earned the luxury of letting my mind drift between making small talk with Hanna’s side of the guest list. The same goes for much of the rest of Max’s, too. A few bits of excitement do keep me from nodding right off to sleep, though.
First off, the music is exquisite. Violas and a pair of trombones mix and meld with a harp, all without tripping over the muffled tempo set by the timpani. Even though the troupe is on the opposite side of the banquet hall, their melody comes in clear enough for a few folks to keep dancing in the space between the wedding party’s tables and the guests’ seating.
And maybe it’s due to the fact that I’m sitting at the big table with the main wedding party, but I finally understand what Mom sees in makeup. It’s not so much – foundation, a little blush, some light lipstick, a couple of shinier hairpins than I possibly would’ve considered before – but the extra preening does help me feel like I belong up here. Add in my little orange gloves, and it’s almost enough to make me forget about keeping my pale yellow stole around my shoulders. I’ll have to thank my new sister-in-law for her help; Lynne is much more patient than Hanna, even under normal circumstances.
Most excitingly – well, second only to the wedding itself, anyway – is the fact that Benicio Benoit-Esperanza has yet to make his way down the wedding table. It’s enough to put me half out my body, getting reacquainted with the most sought-after new travel writer in the periodical circuit. It won’t be much longer before he writes something other than some foreign cuisine puff piece, no matter how delightful its prose would be, I can feel it.
I can also feel the waves of disinterest radiating off of my security chief. He has to wait for each guest, on their own time, to chit-chat their way past each member of the wedding party.
The wedding party sits on the same side of the table to oversee the rest of the guests. Max and Hanna sit in the center. The five groom-kin sit to Max’s right, and the bridesmaids sit to Hanna’s left. I only just made it into the bridal party, so I have to sit next to Hanna’s maid-of-honor, some sorority sister named Kaylin, at this end of the table. As the groom-kin-of-honor, Daddy sits all the way at the other end of the table. Behind him stands Janet, the silver-trimmed construct I met the night of his accident. Daddy didn’t care much to rename her, but she let me use his late sister’s name for her.
Judah was much less accommodating.
Not only could this not be fun for him, but he has long minutes to anticipate each coming interaction.
For instance, a pair of middle-aged swiffoks with mahogany-colored skin and slightly lighter suits chat with Max and Hanna. Even though they’re the bride’s godparents, they have the facial features of human children and stand only a head or two taller than me.
Regardless, I know Judah watches them like a hungry, wary wolf.
Mrs. Silverfold and her brother finally detach from the bride and groom and continue down the table. They nearly raced through the conversations with my brother’s side of the party, but they’re taking their time to catch up with the other bridesmaids.
Most guests know one side of the party better than the other, but they wouldn’t want to seem ungracious by ignoring either. For those close to both the bride and groom, the party greet is an endurance test. But I’ve met Mrs. Silverfold and Mr. Brewer exactly twice before. Although they were nothing less than kind, I expect nothing more from them than different versions of the same questions the last eight guests have asked.
I brace myself as Mr. Brewer leads his sister to the spot across the table from me. The makeup may be fine now, but I hate having to try to impress people with my “eloquence.”
He puts on a polite smile and bends just enough at the waist to count as a bow. “What a pleasure to see you again, Miss DiRossi. That certainly was a splendid ceremony, yes?”
“I agree, Mr. Brewer.” I clasp the stole with one hand and reach out with the other. “How do your children and grandchildren fare?”
Mr. Brewer takes my gloved hand, gently shakes it, and pats it twice. “They fare quite well, overall, thank you. My littlest one’s littlest one caught a touch of the pine flu a week ago, but he should recover—”
Mrs. Silverfold leans toward him with her arms crossed. She glances above me, then looks me in the eyes. “My brother will jaw on about the family forest all night if you give him half a chance. It’s good to see you’re enjoying the reception—”
She whips her hand toward me, ready to shake mine. Before I can release Mr. Brewer, Mrs. Silverfold yanks her arm close with a yelp. My seat-neighbors lurch away from me. I duck, as well, although I don’t know why until I look up.
Judah leans over me, peering at Mrs. Silverfold’s hand.
I don’t think he moves at all unless someone on the line approached me. He usually just looms and scowls (if I could decrypt so blank his expressions) until the person leaves. Then it’s right back to standing like an old scarecrow. This time, though, it’s like he’s looking for something.
For all of Judah’s heightened perception, he is equally the most socially inept creature I’ve met in my life. His bluntness bordered on rudeness throughout the first two weeks of our acquaintance. We always met in Daddy’s office, but I didn’t once see him come in or out of the house. I would talk to him (he rarely talked first) for an hour or so around sunset, but he hardly seemed interested in what I had to say. Even when I asked him questions about himself, no matter how broad, his response would be something like “the resolution of that inquiry has no bearing on my objective.”
Yet, when I approached him with the name “Judah,” like from the stories of orcish warrior princess Phasia Chao, he almost seemed to form an opinion (probably a negative one) on the matter. Either from a limited pool of sweetness or a mandate from Daddy, Seven accepted Judah as his new “designation” just hours before the wedding ceremony. I came up with a couple of options right after we met, but I pored over my library for days before I found something fitting.
Maybe having to adjust to a new name around a hall full of strangers is enough to keep him on edge.
Mr. Brewer puts an arm around his sister’s shoulder and grins sheepishly at Judah.
“Forgive Doris, please. She had a poor encounter with a simpler, gem-cutting construct when we were children in Tir Farrey. She meant you no offense.”
Judah settles back, and I breathe again. I put a hand on a lukewarm plate on his side. I try to calm Mrs. Silverfold and my table neighbors with a smile.
“Please, don’t worry about Judah. He takes his job very seriously, you understand. I apologize for the confusion Mr. Brewer, Mrs. Silverfold. I do hope both of you enjoy the remainder of your evening!”
The swiffoks bid farewell with mixed amounts of cordiality. The women on either side of me compose themselves as the swiffok siblings step in front of the maid-of-honor to talk.
All of my previous bodyguards at least attempted to resist literally repelling other folks. I let my smile drop and turn my back to the maid-of-honor.
“Judah,” I say, facing him, “can you please try to relax? We’re all here to enjoy ourselves and celebrate. You know as well as I do that there’s no threat to be found here.”
“Your father assigned me to your protection for a reason. I must not perform my duty in a subpar manner.”
“You and your classmates are the best at what you do, right?”
“Am I to take your compliment as an attempt to flatter me?”
I cover my mouth to hide my giggle. “You can, if you’d like.”
“As I have the option, I decline your flattery.”
My shoulders sag. “What I was going to say is that you can stand to walk around, maybe mingle a little.” I sit up straight again. “Your vision goes all around, right? You can still see me if you work the room some.”
Judah tilts his head so that his eyes flicker straight at me. “How would I ‘work the room some’?”
He sounds like a broken puzzle box.
I roll my neck around my shoulders. “You know, just walk around, talk to people, find out their hobbies or their stories?”
“You would like an in-depth threat assessment of your family’s guests?”
I sigh. “Yes, that’s fine.”
Judah turns to leave, and I put my head in my hands. I’d not have thought he’d be so exhaustingly single-minded. He may like the busywork, but as long as he’s not threatening the various guests as they walk by…
Is that what he meant by “threat assessment?” I stand, pivot, and grasp his arm before he gets out of reach.
“No, wait, not at all!”
Judah stops. He turns to me and leans forward. He talks in a strange whisper – not soft, breathless speech, but as if his normal voice were just farther away.
“Why do you insist on frustrating me?”
I clench my jaw. “You’re certainly one to talk about—”
I take in a deep breath and shut my eyes. I hold the breath as I return to my seat and face the table once more. I savor the smell of spiced and seared salmon and buttery bread, mulled ciders and wines. A wave of laughter washes over the center of the hall as someone fails to sing along with the octet.
I need to be in this moment. I need to remember that this is a happy day. It’s no time for anger or lashing. This is a celebration of family and friends, for family and friends.
I open my eyes and exhale. I muster a smile and turn around to my security chief.
“I have an idea, Judah.”
He’s quiet for a second. “What is it, Young Miss?”
My smile falters. I hate that “designation.”
“Why don’t you have a talk with Teresa or Janet? I’m certain either one would be willing to share performance notes, or…hmm, threat assessments.”
Judah straightens up. “I will go to my classmate for a situation report. After we exchange information, I will return here to my post. I will maintain my observation of you throughout this period. Do you understand, Young Miss?”
I barely disguise the ball of disgust that rises to my throat.
“That sounds fine to me.”
Judah walks behind the bridal party and wends through the nearby tables and guests toward Teresa. She, of course, stands right behind Mom at the round table closest to the groom-kin. Mom sits with Bastien, Angelo, Dimitri, and Lisani. All of them wear some variation of red and gold except for Teresa, who looks nearly just like Judah with green symbols instead of yellow ones. When he stands shoulder-to-shoulder with her, I relax.
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