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The waiter has spilled some tea as he put down their cups (distracted, no doubt, although by whom is anyone's guess) and Fiona is drawing circles on the table in the now cold liquid, her expression distant as she listens to Flora reeling off her story about why she's here, in Shadow, like she's no better than an exile, instead of at court, in Amber, like she's actually a player in this game of trumps.
(And the irony is that Flora does, in one sense, have an ace up her sleeve, a wild card that could turn the game and twist the rules, if she chose to use it, and if she did so wisely; Fiona, Flora thinks, would not have waited even one century, let alone two.)
Flora wonders if the circles are some sort of spell Fiona's casting, to give her a sore throat perhaps, or the opposite - to make her talk more freely, more like they're two women who've known each other for years, having breakfast together.
She's never felt the urge to learn more magic than the amount any woman can call hers, if she wishes it. Part of it is that it requires time rather spent on other things; part of it, too, is knowing that with greater power comes greater responsibility.
Flora thinks she much prefers not to be responsible. She'll do her duty, if called upon. That's enough.
"Consider," Fiona says, "your position, my dear Flora."
Her back is to the wall, giving her an excellent view of the room. The small cafeteria is nowhere near filled yet - it's the weekend, and people in this city prefer to sleep as late as they celebrate, which is to say: late. Fiona's back is to the door.
"It's good of you to feel such concern for me." Flora doesn't feel any particular concern for Fiona, although she might admit to feeling the fondness a younger sister may feel for an older and (in her own opinion) wiser sister.
Fiona's eyebrows rise slightly, as if she considers the words a threat, or perhaps a warning.
*
Last time Llewella visited her, she looked out of place because of the color of her hair - now, having green hair no longer sets one quite so much apart. The young man who brings them their lunch is blue-haired (and clearly considers Llewella a kindred soul of some sort, giving her puppy-looks) and Flora's last girlfriend used to dye hers a different color every other week.
Even so, Llewella stands out, if not quite in the same way Fiona did, or Flora considers her due.
People seem to either notice Llewella, in which case their reaction appears to be much like that of their poor waiter, or barely register her presence enough to not bump into her. If Flora had had impression the effect was deliberate, she might have taken notes - sometimes, it can be quite useful to blend in.
As it is, Flora merely finds herself wondering where Llewella's mind has wandered, and (inevitably, against her will) how she can get it focused on her, here and now instead.
"So," Flora clears her throat, and as easy as that, Llewella is looking at her. "Would you like to order some coffee?" The one thing she found herself missing most during her returns to Amber. Other Shadows produce comparable beverages, naturally - only in the Golden Circle, no nation produces something quite like the coffee they produce on Earth.
"If you wish." Llewella shrugs, and Flora wryly reflects that if she seeks allies in her just decided upon campaign to bring coffee to Amber, picking Llewella would be pointless. She spends even less time in Amber than Flora does, nowadays - and unlike Flora, she does it out of her own free will. Probably.
"We could get some ice-cream to go instead." Dessert is not typically a part of lunch, but as long as it's a warm day, icecream is acceptable any time, be it morning, afternoon or evening.
It's also yet another product not truly available in Amber.
Llewella looks faintly interested, which is, Flora decides, good enough. She signals the waiter, offering him a friendly smile she knows will go unseen.
*
It is not so common anymore, nowadays, to find a place where good food is served along with live music, but Flora takes a certain pride in being able to settle quickly in a new environment and to make do when the comforts she has grown used to may not be readily available.
One of these days, she thinks she might tell someone she doesn't miss Amber and all and almost believe it herself. Almost. (She wonders which colors are in fashion this season, if it might be time yet to order a new green dress, up to the current standards of high fashion.)
"You're quiet all of a sudden," her dining companion says.
"Forgive me." Flora makes herself smile. "I was merely lost in thought."
Deirdre nods, seeming to accept the explanation at face value, takes a sip of wine. It's not Bailey's, but it's not bad, in Flora's opinion.
"You want to go home," Deirdre says. "Don't you." It's not a question.
"I am not unhappy here." It's easy somehow, to be honest with Deirdre, to lower her guard. Fiona has a reputation for intrigue which makes people wary of her, and Llewella never seems to care about anything much, which simply doesn't encourage trust.
"But you're not happy here, either."
Of course, Deirdre can be as sweet and sympathetic and genuinely interested as she wants; Flora still can't quite afford to trust her. They're still sisters, after all. Bound by blood, but not by loyalty.
"It's not so bad," Flora says airily. "Would you like another glass of wine?"
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" Deirdre's smile seems genuine, without a hint of disappointment at Flora not breaking down and confessing there's a limit to the interest she can muster in observing some Shadow slowly climb up the ladder of civilization, from having kings and queens, to having a parliament, a congress, an elected government.
The throne of Amber will always be held by one person, Flora thinks, and it will be a king.
"Perhaps."
Deirdre looks around. "This doesn't really seem the right place for it. And I don't like getting drunk by myself, anyway. So. Is there any place around here where two ladies can get a decent drink or three and not worry about being bothered by some jerk who thinks two women alone are two women looking for company?"
"I believe so."
"Then lead the way, sister dear."