Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 32
could a man ask for?
So he said nothing. It was desperately necessary that the
peace of the supper table not be disturbed. His mother's careful
preparations, her cleanliness and little touches such as the
chrysanthemums in the center of the spread, were talismans,
protective as was his father's way of hovering about all
problems without alighting his attention on any, and smoothing
all troubled waters with belittling wit.
His father had said something more. "Hmm? What?"
He blinked around the table.
"Where’s your head?" His father's smile was puzzled,
traced with a little sadness as it often was. "Have more
potatoes, they're good for you," he said, but he looked like he
wanted to say something else.
What he did add was, "I met a man today, a courier for
the Ravenon forces named Chan. You know about the war
they're having with the Seneschals?" Emmy nodded dutifully.
Jordan sat up straight, his food forgotten.
"This fellow said there was a battle yesterday. On the
border."
"Is the war coming here?" Emmy asked.
"No. I don’t know if the war is going to continue. It
seems the Winds intervened in the battle. Stopped it.
"The Winds are mighty," said their father. "That's the
lesson; though truth to tell, this fellow Chan seemed more
amused by the tale than anything." He shook his head. "Some
people..."
He turned his attention to Emmy. "Your brother did well
today, didn’t he?" he asked.
"He did okay," she said in a monotone.
"Okay? Well, aren’t you proud?" She said nothing.
"Well, how about you?" he asked. "Did you get to see our