He motioned to the table, wincing as something clattered upstairs, followed by a bellow from Oeric. “Judging from the mess and the thundering I hear throughout our not-so-humble abode, I am guessing that they have eaten without me. Completely forgotten me, in fact.”

He pulled out his own chair and sat down. Not a pyre moved to help him.

“Have you eaten? Your plate seems empty. Unless you’ve licked it clean? Isther will have loved that! Have you met my sister, Isther? Of course you have, for you are wearing one of her old dresses.”

His sister? I was introduced, painstakingly, to each of the Rennington siblings. They even mentioned a little boy, Oeric and Poppy’s son, who was not present. There was no talk of another brother. Could he be deceiving me?

He picked through the food, deciding on a bit of spinach and chewing it with a grimace. “The feast of the masters is never as good as the scraps of the cooks,” he said. “Would you like to come on a journey? I can show you where the kitchen is! I like to thieve my own supplies from there.”

He smiled, and it seemed warm. I glanced at Willoughby, who stood opposite me and behind the strange Braun with the warm smile. Willoughby nodded, and a hint of a smile played on his own lips.

Friend, then. And not foe.

I stood up, more than glad to leave the table before Isther returned to subject me to more introductions.

The boy noticed my glance at Willoughby, and he turned in his chair, his grin widening. “Did you give the nod for me, my man, Will? I’m honored!”

<<The strangest of them all>. Willoughby grinned back. A few of the other pyres held back their own smiles.

The boy whose name I did not know stood up, knocking over a glass of bubbly drink as he extended a thin hand to me. “Oh dear,” he mumbled, righting the glass, only to knock it down again as he removed his hand. He set it back up and extended his hand once more. “Niall Rennington.”

I had never experienced a Braun offer me his hand in that manner before. I took it swiftly, shaking it firmly, trying to memorize what it was like to be given a hand I could shake as I desired to.

“No name in return?” He tilted his curly head, studying me. “A silent type, then.” He turned toward a side door reserved for slaves. “This way, if you want to tag along. Sylvie will be baking bread by now. If we hurry, she will let us finish the kneading for her. How I love the squish of soft dough beneath my palms in the morning. No better way to escape the day.”