(This is set seventeen years before the Peacock King Trilogy. Stevane is a wee five years old.  It is about parenting and dinnerware.)
 

* * *

"Daddy."


There's a dainty little tug on the lace-edged cuff of my sleeve.  I peer over the edge of my book.  Two very wide, very golden eyes peer back up at me.

I wonder why her voice was so hushed?  I make a show of looking to each side, checking to make sure there are no spies about.  Then I lean forward, eager to learn of what conspiracy is at play today.  "Yes, Stevane?"  I stage-whisper.

"Daddy.  You're talking too loud," she whispers back, "someone will hear you."

"Sorry."  I school my voice much lower.  I ruffle her hair, then check for more spies.  It seems to be the proper thing to do.  "What's the secret this time, Stevane?"


She frowns, lip jutting out, signaling her intense seriousness.  "There's no secret.  I want you to tell me about the eyeballs."  She looks around to make absolutely sure that no one's listening.

I understand her now.  I, too, want to make sure no one catches me telling Stevane about the eyeballs.

When the discussion really starts, we've relocated to the piano bench, Stevane's hands idly dancing over and around the ribbons trailing down her skirt.  It's hard to see her face under the thick red mop of curls surrounding her head.  Her hair's pretty, but it's almost a helmet.  We keep trimming it back and it does nothing.  I've tied bows in it that just plain disappear.  It's like her Mother is hiding in there.

...I check around again for her Mother, with that thought.  Stevane's eyebrows lift as she watches me.

"Is it safe in here?"  I nod.  She grins.  "Lute said I had to ask about the spoon."

I disguise a sputter with a cough into my hand.  "What was Lute doing telling you about the spoon?"

She sighs, looking to the side.  "Lute couldn't tell me anything about anything.  He said if he got caught he'd get in real trouble."  She pouts at me, as if any tragedy involving rules is utterly all my fault.  I chuckle, fighting to keep the mirth quiet for the sake of conspiracy.

"Lute knows better than to tell you something that's my job to explain."  Her eyes light up, which is good.  Telling her that is much better than letting her realize that Daddy can get into just as much trouble as his son can for getting caught saying certain things.  "Okay, okay.  Spoons.  Did he say which spoon?"  I fight to keep my voice low.  This is getting into territory that I'm very enthusiastic about.

Stevane shakes her head so fast that all I can see is a blur of bouncing curls.  "There's more than one?"

I just grin.

* * *

We're in the kitchen now.  I am of the opinion that every good lecture must have its proper visual aids.  Stevane sits up on the counter, watching me dig for another fork.  Spread out on the counter is a complex variety of dinnerware from shrimp forks to cheese knives.  (Cheese knife is as big as the knives get in this tutorial.  She's still young.)

I hold it up.  "This is an escargot fork."  Her eyes widen.  Yes, already I can see that she knows its potential.  "It's good for scooping cooked snails out of their shells."

She grins.  "Does it scoop out other stuff?"

I grin back.  "I can unsocket an eyeball with this thing so fast that most people don't even notice until they see me holding their own eye up to look back at them."  She grins and applauds.  "And see, the best thing about it?"  I point at the space between the two prongs on the fork.  Stevane scrutinizes the engineering of it.  "If my scoop is perfectly centered, this part here grips the optic nerve and yanks it right out of someone's skull by the roots!"

She snorts with laughter, pitching forward so fast that I have to remove the fork rather quickly so that she doesn't become a classroom demonstration.  After that we both dissolve into giggles.  I'm wiping tears from my eyes when I hear a subtle, quiet noise from the kitchen doorway.

"Ahem."

I feel both of our hearts sink simultaneously.  It's like the earth moves along with them in sympathy.

After her mother's ensuing discussion with me, I am no longer allowed to teach Stevane how to use silverware.

It makes me cry.  Elete knows his etiquette like any Xaillyndesse knows his hair, but he'll never tell her what you can do with two salad forks and a corn cob holder.