The Archshade

Thirty-Two

The banquet hall is tiny compared to the massive Hall of Honor, but it's far from less magnificent. A solid, wooden table extends from one end of the room to the other, seating several dozen nobles. Platters of food and crystal tableware cover every bare spot along its surface as servants and thralls stand at the ready to instantly replenish any of the delicacies. I take it all in with dull eyes. Though I've never been enticed by the wastefulness of nobles, the gaudiness of these royal events now leaves an especially sickening taste in my mouth.

Syris guides me to a chair, motioning for me to sit. I obey. Do nobles ever do anything other than throw dinner parties? There's a moderate amount of chatter, but thankfully none is directed at me. Syris, on the other hand, becomes the object of much attention as soon as he takes his seat. I fix my eyes on the table and don an icy aura, consciously willing every person away from me.

The door to the banquet hall opens. Everyone falls silent. I look up to see Prince Darcron striding into the room with several royal guards in tow. He greets key political guests with an incline of his head and casts casual looks of interest at several ladies of the court. Darcron walks straight to the head of the table without stopping, seizes a goblet of wine, and begins making a toast.

"I thank each of you for coming on such short notice. It came to my attention today that I have been bereft in my duties as a gracious host to provide an intimate meal for members and associates of the higher council. As such, let us all raise a glass!"

All the nobles raise their cups with gracious smiles. I reluctantly pick up my own goblet, raising it barely a hand's width off the table. I thought I could numbly move through the motions, but the sight of Darcron's face causes roiling waves in my stomach.

"A toast to Arcadia! Prosperity to its friends..."

I don't realize I'm glaring at him until his Darcron's eyes lock on mine. My gut clenches.

"...and death to its traitors."

The high prince takes a sip from his goblet. All the nobles mirror him. When he lowers the cup, his wine-slickened lips are red like blood. I look away, setting my goblet down and putting my hands under the table to hide their shaking.

Syris' presence beside me is little comfort. I watch his carefree charisma from the corner of my eye. He speaks and laughs with ease, greeting what seems like hundreds of nobles and shamelessly flirting with a dozen gorgeous ladies.

I fiddle with a loose thread at the hem of my sleeve as my eyes restlessly flit from one noble to the next, searching for a face I've still never seen. Every flash of a dark robe or glimpse of a black glove makes my breath stutter then sigh in a strange mix of relief and disappointment.

At a lull in his attention, Syris leans over and whispers while barely moving his lips. "You should eat," he says. "Everything is fine. Let us make it look that way, shall we?"

He turns away and I straighten up, forcing the crease of worry from my brow. I stare at a platter of lavish foods, completely disgusted by it. My stomach is too tangled to even think of taking a bite. Yet, after receiving Syris' covert whisper, I begin to feel the familiar prickling heat of eyes upon me. I look around and several gazes quickly flutter away like startled birds. They're watching me. With the Archshade absent, they're all looking to me for some hidden reason.

As soon as I pick up the spoon beside my place setting, a thrall instantly appears in front of me, serving me sizeable helpings from the platter. I politely raise a bite to my lips, fighting the urge to grimace as the extravagant food turns to ash on my tongue. I take several more bites then wash it all back with a long sip from my wine goblet. The drink is bold and dry. I cough into my hand at the flavor, but the liquid sends a calming shudder down my spine. Its false warmth settles in my belly. I take another sip. And another. The instant I drain my cup dry, a young thrall boy appears to fill my goblet again.