Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1

Forty Two: The Hallow Festival

"You girls are going to get yourselves in such trouble," Jan whispered, stalking over to fix Nova's ruffled hair. "And in the lord's apartments, too, Kiel's beard, you must have a death wish." She pinned Nova with a stern glare. "If you ruin this dress the lord will have my head for it, you remember that."

"Sorry, Jan," Nova murmured, not feeling sorry at all. Grace met her gaze over the housekeeper's shoulder and burst into a fit of silent giggles.

Jan rounded on her. "And what are you laughing at, miss? If I were you I'd get downstairs and join the other girls before you're left behind."

"Sorry, Jan," Grace said, still stifling rogue splutters. "I'm going."

The next time Nova caught a glimpse of Grace, the procession was underway. The household went first, as was traditional, marching under a moonless sky with braziers blazing, out of the gatehouse and down the street towards the Threadneedle. Faellian was mounted on his black stallion, which was decked out in gold harness, its breath steaming in the night. The lord himself was in a purple full-skirted coat, a black leather waistcoat and white cravat, and his hair was iron-straight and beaded with tiny pieces of gold. Due to the obnoxious finery of both their outfits, Nova wasn't required to share the lord's saddle like she usually did. Instead she rode a mare whose reins were controlled by a member of the guard, while she sat astride it with her hands chained. She still had bare feet; while she was permitted to wear a gown to the festival, Faellian had to keep up appearances.

The market square was the traditional place for processions from all the religious houses to join the royal column, to make the journey to the plaza where the Night Fire would be lit. The Orthanians would join first, followed by the Kelians, the Varthians – provided they showed up – the Heretical Orders and the Nicts. When the procession reached the square, the heads of house awaited the lord's arrival on their own mounts in the centre, while their houses waited in rows in their own sections of the square, all wearing their colours.

The Unspoken contingent was the only one that was separated, cloaked figures just visible at the fringes of the gathering, guarding against demons that might be attracted by so much life in one space. Yddris waited on foot with the heads of houses. Looking past him, Nova spotted Jordan standing with four other figures in brown apprentice cloaks, the only ones who were not part of the defensive corral. She could tell it was him immediately, not only by the relative familiarity of his aura but also by the nervousness bordering on abject terror in it, and the way he fidgeted as Grace came into view.

Nova made the mistake of looking down as the procession came to a halt, and her gaze immediately found Grace's. The girl made a minute jerk of her head towards the apprentices. Nova glanced at her guard, made sure he was looking the other way, and then nodded .

"Welcome," Faellian called. All around the square, people were hanging out of windows to watch the proceedings below. This procession was for the houses only; the public arrived later, when the houses had dispersed, so that the Unspoken weren't stretched too thin.

"This is a night of welcomes," the lord continued, as he did every year, "and a night of farewells. The darkness is upon us, but we stand strong together on this Hallow night to defy it. To strengthen bonds. To celebrate life. To celebrate light, and look forward to its return." Faellian nudged his horse into the square so that all could see him, so that he stood side by side with the heads of the houses. "To celebrate the work of those who keep us safe and whose predecessors enabled our city to stand strong in the face of the monstrous hordes from the mountains and plains."

"Oi," the Varthian chieftain interrupted, and a rumble of laughter echoed around the square. The new chieftain – it was never the same one twice in a row – was a vast mountain of a woman, hardened and sinewy from a life eked out in the wilds. A ram skull made up the centrepiece of her headdress, the vast horns framing her face.