“How many more?” Elda whispered.

“I don’t know,” Mortain replied. “Father invited all his vassals. I know at least five counts will be here, and just as many barons. But so far every count has brought his own vassals as well, not to mention all the knights.”

Elda let out a sigh as she ran her fingertips along the rim of her cup. She sat at the head of the hall, placed on the right side of the ducal table. Her back already felt stiff from sitting upright for so long in the posture Lady Merinda demanded of her. Before her she saw the great hall, long and wide, with the doors opposite her. Long tables lined the room, forming a path from the entrance to the duke. Six stone pillars, three on either side of the hall, supported the vaulted ceiling like strong trees bearing a heavy canopy. The windows along the south wall, to Elda’s left, allowed the last pale daylight to filter in. Inside, the space was lit by candelabras and torches. The murmuring had grown louder as more guests had taken their seats. At first Elda had been able to catch fragments of conversations: bursts of discussion about the ailing king and his prospects, war stories both heroic and tragic, and other matters she did not understand or could not place. By now it had become impossible to follow any one conversation among the lords.

For more than an hour the heralds had been announcing one lord after another, each of whom walked the length of the hall and greeted the duke and his wife. Some exchanged a few words with Mortain, and a few offered Elda a polite greeting.

“At this rate we’ll still be sitting here at midnight,” she muttered wearily. Her shoulders sagged as she fidgeted with her cup. She could feel Lady Merinda’s disapproving stare burning into her back. “We’ll never get answers from your father.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Mortain said with a grin. His eyes swept across the hall. “Most of the tables are already filled, so I think we’re only waiting for the last few guests.”

“Could they not at least start serving the food? I was already hungry when they announced the first guests.”

Grrr. Her stomach seemed determined to confirm her words.

“Soon you’ll be able to eat as much as you want. Father has ordered the meal to be grand. There’ll be game, stew and pies, the finest bread, and wine from Varlia. I personally like our own wine best, but the one from Varlia—”

Trumpets cut him off. A new guest was announced. The herald stepped forward, lifted his chin, and called out loudly: “Arrived is Lord Jolmer of Fallar, Count of Fallendal and Baron of Esdur and Araplyn, accompanied by his noble consort Countess Mya and their retinue!”

Behind him appeared an elderly lord with a grey beard and short grey hair that grew in a ring around the bald spot atop his head. He wore a simple tunic of red and white over a dark hose. Over his right shoulder hung a white mantle woven with a fine pattern. Elda found his clothing far less extravagant than that of the other lords present, and his bearing seemed less proud. The count’s hand rested in that of his wife, who looked much younger than he. She too was dressed in a simple yet elegant red gown. Behind the couple walked two knights, one in a red tunic and the other in white. Out of the corner of her eye, Elda noticed Mortain wrinkle his nose at the sight of the lord.

“Who is that?” Elda asked him.

“That is Count Jolmer. He stole my father’s titles.”

Elda looked from Mortain to the man now walking toward the ducal table. Lord Jolmer hardly seemed powerful or imposing enough to steal anything from the duke. Nor could she imagine why such a man would be welcome at the feast.

“Why is he here if he stole your father’s titles?”

“Well,” Mortain began hesitantly, “he didn’t steal them, exactly. When my grandfather died, he was crowned count before my father could travel to Fallar to inherit the title. Today he has come to swear an oath of fealty to my father.” A smile curved Mortain’s lips, and he gave a short, satisfied huff through his nose.

By now, Lord Jolmer had reached the table and made a long, deep bow to the duke. The duke rose and opened his arms in greeting.

“Greetings, my esteemed Duke Deiniol of Arnallan,” Lord Jolmer said in a deep voice. “It is an honor to be welcomed by you. It brings me great joy to see the rightful ruler of these lands returned to his court.”

Elda did not miss the way he tried to flatter the duke. He was undoubtedly aware of his precarious position, she thought.

The duke answered politely. “Your presence is greatly appreciated, and far from insignificant. To have the Deliverer of Danithal among us is a great honor. Without your heroic arrival we surely would have lost that battle. I am therefore grateful that you chose to leave your fair city, as you did then. I would not easily leave her myself were she mine.”

Lord Jolmer lifted his chin proudly and smiled broadly. “Nor would I, were the occasion not so extraordinary. I can already see that this feast will do justice to your magnificence.”

The duke replied with a smile and a faint, dismissive lift of his nose.

Elda watched the two men with interest. Standing opposite each other, the contrast was stark. Lord Jolmer wore modest garments in simple colors and fabrics, while the duke was dressed in lavish, commanding attire. Over his right shoulder he wore a cloak of thick ivory wool embroidered with golden floral patterns. Beneath it he was clad in a red velvet tunic, golden flowers and stars stitched across his ceremonial mail, its rings alternating between metal and gold. Upon his head rested his ducal crown, gold set with red and brilliant white gemstones.

Lord Jolmer gestured for his squire to step forward and addressed the duke once more. “It goes without saying that I have not come without gifts!” The knight in red, a young lad, produced a flask filled with clear water.

“This is water from the harbor of Fallar, from the Bay of Arnac. I present it to you here today as a symbol of access to my harbors, and thus to the bay I now grant you.”

The duke accepted the flask carefully, studied it for a moment, then handed it off to a servant.

“I thank you kindly, Lord Jolmer,” Deiniol said solemnly. “The servants will show you to your place and—”

“Pardon,” the lord interrupted, “before your servants escort me to my seat, I have another gift for you.”

Elda glanced at the duke’s face, searching for a reaction, and noticed the way his shoulders tightened.

The second knight, the one in the white tunic, stepped forward and produced a rough stone, about the size of an apple. “My lord, I also present to you a stone taken from the gatehouse of my city, as a symbol of the access I grant you to my lands. May your presence grace them often.” He bowed his head to the duke.

Deiniol accepted the stone and immediately handed it to a servant, who carried it away. “Thank you, Lord Jolmer, your gift is greatly appreciated. However, your greatest gift is still to come later this evening. Now follow the servants who will guide you to your place.”

The duke bowed after speaking, though Elda noticed that he bowed shorter and shallower than he had for the other lords and ladies.

Lord Jolmer seemed unbothered and turned his back on the duke with a carelessness Elda had not seen from anyone else that night.

He was escorted to a seat well beyond the higher-ranking guests, far from the duke, where he and his wife were placed among several barons and knights.

“I don’t get the impression those two like each other,” Elda said to Mortain.

Mortain didn’t look at her. He pulled a sour face as he watched Jolmer chatting with his neighbors.

“Can you blame him? No one likes a thief, least of all a thief like Lord Jolmer. But apparently he’s brought another gift. A gift my father seems to expect will make up for a great deal. I’m curious to see what it is.”

“I’m more curious about what your father has to say tonight,” Elda replied. “I haven’t been able to think about anything else since last night.”

“That too, yes,” Mortain said, finally tearing his gaze away from Lord Jolmer. “Although my curiosity has already faded.” He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the armrests. “The presence of all these lords promises nothing exciting, and I’m starting to suspect Father will simply announce new laws, rights, duties, or some combination of all that.”

“Well, I hope your father has more to share than just that. I’d very much like to have some answers for once, instead of nothing but more questions.”

“Oh, Elda,” Mortain said aloud, and for a moment, Elda was startled by his candor, “what could have happened in the capital that concerns you so much?”

“Well, that’s just the problem. I don’t know.” Elda drew a deep breath and leaned back in her chair as well. “Lately everyone has been acting strange whenever they see me. They stop whispering, or they look at me with pity. The girls definitely know something, but say they’re not allowed to tell me. Even Lady Merinda has been less strict with me. Normally that would make me happy, but now, now that everyone is treating me differently, I almost wish she were just as strict as she used to be.

I don’t know what’s going on, but it started the moment the news of your father’s return reached the castle. That’s why I think it must have something to do with whatever happened or was discussed in the capital.”

Mortain was silent for a moment. “I understand,” he said softly at last, his eyes fixed on the gathered guests. “In any case, Father said he would share more today. I think you’ll learn more tonight.”

Elda sensed that Mortain did not want to look at her while he said this, and that gave her an uneasy feeling. Did he think she would get answers tonight, or did he know?

“You’re the only one who hasn’t treated me differently,” Elda said. “If you had heard something about me, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

Mortain did not answer right away and seemed to weigh his reply. His hesitation did little to ease Elda’s growing suspicion.

Especially now,, when everyone seemed to be hiding something from her, she wanted to be able to trust Mortain.

“You would tell me, wouldn’t you?” This time her voice sounded more like pleading than asking.

Mortain finally looked at her, his eyes as kind as they always were when he looked her way. She studied them carefully, more carefully than usual, searching for any sign of deceit. But she saw none, and that soothed her.

“Elda, I—” Mortain began, but he was cut off as a trumpet once again announced the arrival of a new guest.

The herald stepped forward for what felt like the hundredth time and called out in a ringing voice, “Arrived is Lady Muira of Soldon, Countess of Tharafeld, accompanied by her husband Lord Rowan of Harling and their retinue!”

This time a striking woman entered the great hall. Lady Muira was tall and strong, moving with a proud yet graceful step. She held her chin lifted and her chest forward, exactly as Lady Merinda always commanded Elda to do. Instinctively Elda straightened her back and raised her chin.

The lady was dressed in a long, heavy gown of cobalt-blue velvet. Over it she wore a bright white asymmetrical mantle draped over her right shoulder, its end fastened to her left sleeve. Both the gown and the mantle were adorned with flowers: golden blooms on the gown, red blooms on the mantle.

Her face had soft yet defined features, but what truly drew the eye were her large, dark eyes, fierce and alert. Waves of walnut-colored curls framed her face and flowed down to her lower back, and atop her head she wore a simple yet elegant crown.

The grace with which she crossed the hall reminded Elda of the duchess, and her eyes darted briefly toward Lady Karyn. She sat upright and unmoving beside the duke, her gaze fixed ahead. Elda did not see even the hint of a smile.

When Elda looked back at Lady Muira, she noticed that the murmuring in the hall had fallen silent in a way it had not for any earlier arrival. It was difficult to look away from her, as though Lady Muira possessed a kind of magnetic force that demanded every eye.

Lady Muira’s husband had a far less commanding presence, and in fact Elda had hardly noticed him until the countess and her husband were nearly standing before the duke. He was at least as tall as she was, his blond hair cut short. Instead of standing beside her, he seemed to stand slightly behind her, and somehow, that felt appropriate. Lord Rowan did not strike Elda as a man who sought the forefront.

That much was clear from the way he was dressed. His clothing mirrored that of his wife: a blue mantle worn over his left shoulder, draped across a white tunic with red hems. Yet the rich embellishments that adorned the countess’s garments were absent, giving the lord a modest appearance.

A few paces behind him stood three knights, a man in front, flanked by a male and a female knight. The two behind wore blue tunics over their mail, with white trousers and mantles. The man in front wore a long tunic of blue and white over a mail shirt. He also wore a dark red cloak. Under his arm he carried a helmet. His eyes were a clear, striking blue, and his blond hair was tied back, with loose strands that made Elda think it was not very long. His features were sharp and stern, and a long scar ran across his cheek.

Now Lady Muira bowed to the duke and duchess, and her husband and the knights followed her example. The duke returned the gesture by rising and giving a deep bow of his own. The duchess followed suit, though she did not bow nearly as deeply as the duke.

“Welcome, Lady Muira! And welcome, Lord Rowan!” The duke’s gaze rested solely on Muira. “You are the final guest we expected, and late at that. I would expect nothing less of you.”

“Thank you, my lord!” Lady Muira replied, her voice sweet as honey, filling the room with a warm glow. “I would ask your forgiveness for my late arrival, but I know you well enough to be certain you have already forgiven me.”

While she spoke, a bright, playful spark flashed in her eyes. Elda expected a stern response from the duke, but instead he appeared relaxed, almost amused.

“You are quite right. And besides, it does me good to see you here. I was nearly convinced you would deny us the pleasure of your company tonight.”

“You should have known better, although it is true that it has been too long since I last enjoyed the hospitality of Caer Twyrif.”

“Too long indeed. But now you are here, and our gathering is complete. Take your place at the table, and your knights will be shown theirs by the servants. Then the feast may begin.”

The countess gave another deep, though nonchalant, bow to the duke and duchess. The duke returned it. The duchess, however, seemed in no way amused. Her expression remained unmoved, her jaw visibly clenched, and her bow was barely a nod. Lady Muira appeared unbothered and walked along the table toward the seat reserved for her. After her came several men and women who were introduced as vassals of the countess. They stepped forward and exchanged respectful words with the duke.

Lady Muira glided gracefully along the table, but paused before Mortain and looked warmly at the young lord.

“Greetings, Mortain!” she said, dipping her head lightly. “It is good to see you again. The last time I saw you, you had only just begun your swordplay. You have changed so much, but I see you still have your grandmother’s bright eyes.”

Elda glanced instinctively at Mortain’s eyes. She had never known his grandmother, but she had often heard that Mortain’s eyes resembled his father’s. That was something she could not deny. When the two stood side by side, the resemblance was unmistakable, and that applied most of all to their eyes.

“Thank you, Lady Muira,” Mortain replied politely. “I never saw my grandmother’s eyes, but I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It most certainly is,” the lady said with a smile. “They were the brightest eyes I ever beheld, blue as the sky on a clear summer’s day.”

“I wish I could have seen them,” Mortain said courteously.

“You can,” the lady replied. “You need only look in the mirror.”

Grrr, grrr.

Startled, Elda placed a hand on her stomach. The countess turned her gaze to Elda now and regarded her with a smile.

“I assume you must be Eldryssa?”

Elda nodded awkwardly at the countess. “Yes, my lady.”

“You are correct, Lady Muira,” Mortain added. “Allow me to introduce my betrothed, Eldryssa of Asterfyld.”

Lady Muira offered a modest yet respectful bow. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Eldryssa! I have heard much about you, and nothing I could not appreciate.”

Elda did not know how to respond, and before she could think of anything, the lady continued.

“You are surprised,” Lady Muira said in a gentle tone. “That is understandable. This place can be overwhelming for those who are not from here, but I see more than surprise in you.”

Elda had no idea what to say. All evening the guests had exchanged nothing more than polite pleasantries with her, a handful of formal words at most. No one had given her this much attention, no one except perhaps Lady Merinda, whose frustrated stare she had felt burning into her back whenever her posture faltered.

But now Lady Merinda had nothing to complain about; Elda sat perfectly straight as the countess spoke to her, her hands folded before her stomach, her chin lifted.

For the first time, Elda studied the countess closely, and could see her large, dark eyes from up close. They were lined in black, and their brown was deep, like a lake concealing unfathomable depths. And yet, there was a warmth in them that made it pleasant to brave that depth.

“I hope we shall have a chance to speak later this evening,” the lady continued, and Elda was not entirely sure whether she meant Mortain or her. Then she bowed once more and walked to her seat.

Elda watched the lady go, seeing her take a place not far from them at one of the foremost tables. Lord Rowan sat beside her, while the knights settled on the long benches along the wall.

Grrr.

The lady cast Elda a glance and a smile. Elda feared she had heard her stomach and quickly averted her eyes. She felt almost caught out, though not only because of the rumbling.

Elda turned to Mortain. “Who was that?” she asked, unable to hide her astonishment.

Mortain glanced toward the lady and offered a polite smile. “She is an old acquaintance of my father’s. I believe they are nearly the same age. When I was very young, she often visited Caer Twyrif, but since the war she comes here far less often.”

“Why doesn’t she come anymore?” Elda asked curiously, resting her hand on her stomach, which rumbled for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Times of war hardly seem suitable for festivities,” Mortain said in a playful tone. “Besides, my father was away from home often in those days.”

“I would remember if she had been here before, I’m certain of it.”

“No, you’re right. The last time Lady Muira was at Caer Twyrif was during the summer festival, just before the Fourth Campaign. That must have been…” He looked upward as he thought. “That must have been in 1249.”

Elda wanted to ask more, but before she could open her mouth, the duke began to speak.

“My esteemed guests! Noble vassals, knights, and subjects, as well as honored lords from beyond Arnallan! Your presence fills my heart with joy, and now that we are all gathered here, it is time for the festivities to begin.”

At those words, servants entered the great hall and the meal was served. Long rows of dishes were placed upon the tables. It was as Mortain had said, and better. Fresh vegetables, fruits, and herbs were displayed, with a bowl of salt, fine as sand, placed before the duke.

For a moment, Elda forgot her worries. At last, she could surrender to her hunger.