Orwa, Day 36 of Rhexia, Winking Moons, Eclipse of Petra, Year 602
"Ease is the enemy of precedence." —The Facerum
* * *
Evin passed her forearm in front of her face and blinked furiously to clear her eyes.
Someone grabbed her roughly by the bicep, attempting to drag her away from the scene. She heard shouting, but it seemed far away.
Unresponsive, she planted her feet and continued to scan the rubble.
There was the counter, the glossy wood impossibly charred now. The hundreds of tiny jars of ingredients and raw materials were burned away or had exploded from the impact. What tables were left in the cafe had either been overturned or blown apart.
And there, in a tangle on the floor, was a twisted piece of Wynn's burgundy eborel skirt, the first piece of clothing she'd sewn after marrying Cotter.
Evin saw charred bits of burnt hair and black, sticky blood fused to sharp, exposed bone.
She began to scream.
* * *
Beynon's favorite courtesan was sprawled in the bed next to him.
Treese was quite young, thin, and graceful. And she liked him. A lot.
He smiled a little as he watched her sleep. She clutched a piece of rumpled sheet to her chest and nestled her face tightly down into the mattress, almost assuredly creasing it. He wished at the moment she was buried in his chest and clutching him this way.
Then he grinned. All he would have to do was wake her up.
Beynon ran a finger lightly down her bare back, eliciting a satisfied moan from her.
They'd needed to be careful the night before as he was still dealing with his wounds. The scars on his back would be impressive, even after they healed.
A gentle knock came at the door—the inner door. Alisia's door.
"Enter," he said.
Alisia pushed the door in and took a step or two into the room. She was dressed and ready for the festivities today. As empress, and especially with Beynon's health compromised, she would have considerable responsibilities to attend to.
The Hunt was an annual occurrence in Daitak. Dignitaries from all over Heladrith traveled to the capital specifically to take part in the holiday.
Still fastening a glittering earring in place, Alisia glanced casually over at Beynon's sleeping visitor and then immediately ignored her.
Beynon watched her a little defiantly, daring her to comment, but she didn't appear bothered in the slightest. Beynon regularly welcomed companions into his chamber, and he knew that she must be able to hear them of evenings, separated as they were by only a door.
If he was honest with himself, he felt—something—today; a tiny twinge of a feeling that he couldn't name. It wasn't guilt, certainly.
"Good morning," Alisia said coolly. She made no attempt to keep her voice down.
He nodded at her.
"Will you still be addressing the populace at the orientation?" she asked. "Or do I need to see to that?"
Treese began to stir.
Bryn was capable enough. It involved appearing in public, properly dressed, and standing and speaking for a short time. "I can still do it," he said, noticing the way his voice sounded—deep, throaty, sleepy. His amorous nighttime activities voice.
If Alisia noticed, she didn't comment. "Good," she nodded approvingly. "I think everyone will be relieved to see you up and about. What do you need," and here she glanced over at Treesa again, just for a heartbeat, and back, "to be ready for the engagement? Should I send a servant?"
"Please," he said, a little airily. "That would be very helpful. Call Aymon. He should do quite well. He's been very patient with my progress."
By now, Treese was awake watching Alisia blankly.
Alisia moved to leave, then turned back. "Please," she said to him, "Will you allow me to order you a healing brew? Or even a fortifying one? You could be improving so much more fast than you are."
"Faster," he corrected, almost by rote.
"Faster," she said, a little frustrated, "than you are. Bryn, I know you would feel better."
"No," he said. "I told you, I want none of it. I have had plenty of standard salves and ointments administered to me in the past few days, and if I need more, I will ask you."
"But nothing imbued," she said. "Just think—"
He cut her off. "Yes. Nothing imbued. Precisely." She took a breath as if to continue, and he said simply, "Thank you. I will see you in the hall."
Alisia looked absently at a spot on the far wall, then turned and left, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
Treese looked up at him with a sleepy smile, and he leaned down and kissed her forehead, inhaling her scent.
"I'll want you later," he whispered to her, and she nodded.
After she'd gone, his gentlemen of the bedchamber entered to help him dress. Aymon was short and compact, with quick hands and a stoic manner.
"Good morning, Imperial Majesty," said Aymon.
"Morning, Aymon."
The manservant had brought Beynon's festival regimentals, clean and freshly pressed. "Still the burgundy and grey today, Imperial Highness?"
"Yes," replied Beynon. He meant to properly honor Daitak and all it stood for.
The hall was absolutely packed with people.
It surprised him every year. He always thought he had a fairly steady idea of what a typical gathering of nations looked like, and he was always a bit off. Eighteen long wooden tables lined the hall, and at each table sat eighteen of the most important representatives of their respective countries.
Everyone was dressed in their holiday finery.
Those from Eral, the Urdan colony, wore tight, thin clothing in a dazzling array of colours. Eralians were generally fair, with blonde hair and light eyes. There were guests from Ruradîn, Boradîn and Tengue, all dressed a bit too heavily for the weather, with high collars and even some hats. Guests from Cam and Forcannon were draped in oversized swaths of richly printed fabric, and had drenched themselves in jewelry and baubles to demonstrate their wealth. And the Urdinese had turned out in spectacular numbers, having traveled here from all over the continent.
Beynon took his place at the inner landing and peered out over the handrail into the hall. This part of the palace had been constructed specifically to amplify the voice of a speaker standing precisely in his location.
Out of the corner of his eye, Bryn noticed the interpreters rising from their tables so that they could translate everything he said to their parties. This motion drew all eyes upward, and the room began to still.
Longren, Kreen, Pineas, and several other officials stood nearby, and armed guards surrounded the emperor.
He took a breath and gave them his most dazzling, most imperial smile.
"Friends," Beynon said simply. "Welcome."
A low cheer began from the Tief Outlanders and guests from Gradl and slowly spread throughout the room. Soon, everyone had joined, clapping, whistling, stamping their feet. Beynon waited for the applause to die down.
As he spoke, Beynon could hear the quiet muttering of the interpreters, relaying the information to their groups.
"You have been invited to, and have obviously decided to attend, a celebration of a rich Urdan tradition here in Daitak Capital, the Seat of the World."
After a lighter applause, he continued.
"The order of activities for the day is as follows. Directly I speak, you will be served an excellent feast and entertained with several diverse performances. My staff has combed the Capital for the very best singers and storytellers we can find. I hope you enjoy them. After our meal, the most intrepid of us will be dismissed to attend the Hunt!"
There was a thunderous applause this time.
Honestly, thought Beynon. It's a bunch of birds that we murder, drag back here, and eat. How did this event evolve into such a symbolic and cathartic experience?
It had to do with the Divine Pantheon, he knew. According to legend, the gods and Goddesses held a feast very like this to celebrate the cessation of the Shadow War.
"After the Hunt, you are invited to return to the hall, where the evening's feast will be served, and which will hopefully include some of the afternoon's spoils. In conjunction with the evening feast, Daitak is pleased to present a ball and several other interesting amusements such as fortune-telling and debates."
The party guests were beginning to turn to each other and murmur excitedly about what they wanted to experience specifically that day.
"If at any point, you become lost or have a question or need, the palace staff will be positioned throughout the Capital and is happy to assist you. I would like to extend kind thanks to all of the interpreters for their service, and to the many citizens who have worked to bring us this momentous day. On behalf of Daitak, I bid you all Good Hunt! Enjoy!"
The crowd sent up a hearty cheer, and then the doors to the kitchen opened and servants began to cart in obscene amounts of food.
Beynon was escorted quietly from his perch atop the great hall and down into the throng. A small dais on the west side of the room had been set with a small feasting table for the emperor and his attendants.
Alisia was led in shortly by one of the grooms, looking fetching in traditional Daitak colours. She stopped by a banquet table of Eralians, giving gentle obeisance, greetings, and good wishes.
She joined Beynon and his men at the head table, and her groom spread a cloth napkin across her slim hips, leaning down and whispering something into her ear. She nodded.
To Beynon, she said, "The Governor of Craestor has come. Will you consent to entertain him here? I will be his conversation partner; you need not exert yourself."
He nodded curtly.
Alisia looked back up at the groom and gave him her assent, thanking him.
The sounds of merry feasting and casual banter filled the hall. The day was only eleven bells in, but neither of them protested when a servant filled their goblets with a dark table wine. The table was spread with fork-tender partridges and clove-studded cuts of ham. There were bowls of wild salads embellished with sundrench and red ring flowers, baskets full of salted hazelnuts, and crusty breads dusted lightly with flour.
A young-ish man with a small retinue was making his way toward the small group and he stopped before Beynon, giving a slight bow. "Your Imperial Highness Beynon," he said pleasantly. "How kind of you to include me at your feasting table. I am Anselm Watkyn, Governor of Craestor, at your service."
Beynon stood and warmly offered his hand, which the man shook.
"Please, be seated," Beynon said, gesturing to one of the empty chairs, and Alisia gave the newcomer an encouraging smile.
Waktyn nodded gratefully and sat, and a servingman plied him with victuals.
The governor of Craestor was handsome, with a straight nose and clear green eyes. "If I may say so, Imperial Highness, it's a relief to see you recovering so well," he remarked. "All of Craestor was grieved to hear of your incident."
"Thank you," replied Beynon. "And thank you for your concern. My staff has been remarkably helpful."
Alisia caught his eye as she took a forkful of food.
Watkyn leaned in a little. "Has the perpetrator been tried and punished yet?" he asked, a bit surreptitiously.
"Talebot is still being questioned," Beynon replied evenly. He saw no reason to be covert about the discussion—most nobles in Daitak already knew what was happening regarding the perpetrator, often making it a common topic of conversation in some households. "Evidence seems to suggest more and more that he did not act alone. If no new information can be drawn from him, it is likely he will be executed within the year."
"We're so glad you could attend this year's festivities, Governor Watkyn," said Alisia, changing the subject.
"I haven't gone on the Hunt in Daitak since I was a boy," he remarked, helping himself to the food. "My father tried to make a point of traveling to the Capital every year."
Beynon nodded. "I remember meeting him," he said. "Pleasant man."
"He was."
Alisia finished a bite of salad and asked, "How long did it take you to reach us this year?"
Watkyn regarded Alisia and Beynon saw him size her up, not rudely, but with unfeigned interest. "Just over two weeks, lady," he replied. "My party went by boat across the bay of Liminey and traveled south from there."
Alisia smiled. "I've never been to Liminey," she said. "I hear it's very quaint."
He nodded. "It's proximity to my home in Craestor makes it an important trade hub, even protected from the Boradîc Sea as it is. Perhaps because of its protection from the Boradîc Sea."
"I would imagine the reach of damaging storms is somewhat thwarted," Alisia commented, and the Governor agreed.
Beynon began to tune them out, relieved that he apparently did not need to contribute to the conversation. Alisia had warned him, he supposed.
The first few entertainers were summoned. A young Urdan bard strolled to the center of the room with a lute and quickly tuned it up, then began to sing. Beynon recognized a short, pleasant piece with complicated instrumental interludes rounding out each verse—this song was composed in dedication of Ko, the Beauty Goddess, and was meant to vilify her brutally powerful amulet.
"I sing of gentle pulchritude,
Of sweet allure and fair,
The shapely hips, and softest lips,
And silken veil of hair!
Her hands so light and nimble were,
Step so suffused with grace,
My fingers 'woke and longed to stroke
The planes of her sweet face!
Her slumb'ring breath so warm and soft,
My lady's heed I craved,
I held until my failing will
My desp'rate heart enslaved.
Awake, her gaze is cold and lean,
A flow'r encased in ice,
Would I her mien were evergreen
And I in paradise!"
Alisia seemed captivated by the performance. Beynon remembered that she possessed some musical skill; a relic of memory leftover from his half-hearted courtship of her. What was it she played again? He'd have to find out.
After the singer had left, a young woman took the center of the room and recited an epic poem—aptly, about the Divine Pantheon waging war against the Shadow People. Where most feast goers had continued to talk and laugh during the love song, everyone stilled during this solemn recitation, and a generous applause followed.
The dining party on the dais had finally begun to slow down and were sipping leisurely on their wine when they were approached by one of the emperor's fools.
Beynon kept several fools on the capital's premises and did not understand the practice of relying only on one for constant and consistent entertainment. He was more than ready to admit to anyone that his own sense of humor was as changeable as the weather. Most people's were, he had decided—and so why should he limit himself to only one fool?
This was one of the more popular fools in Beynon's employ. Jax, I think it is, thought Beynon.
The slight man walked mincingly up to the table on the dais and gave a courtly bow. He wore bright colours in fabrics that hugged his body tightly, giving him the startling look of a plucked chicken.
"Songs and poetry are so tedious, don't you find, masters?" Jax asked them liltingly and without preamble. "You know what I'd like to see? A proper dance."
Alisia grinned. "Fortunate then, that Daitak is hosting a ball tonight," she told him.
But Jax pulled a long face. "Nooooo, not tonight. I mean now. Right now. I want to see a jiggety-jig, precarious, too fast, and slightly overwrought." He placed a thoughtful finger to his painted lips. "Oh, wait," he said then. "What am I thinking? We have Governor Watkyn here to the purpose!"
There was an awkward pause while the governor coloured faintly. "What is your jest, man?" Watkyn asked. "Or are we to puzzle it out for ourselves?"
Jax gave a little waggle of his head. "Shall I bring you a Clarity potion to assist? Ah, but that should inform two thirds of you and leave the other part in darkness, for not everyone at this table cares for the art of brewing."
There was another brief and uncomfortable silence as those present tried desperately not to look over at the emperor.
"Oh, my apologies, your Imperial Highness," Jax said cajolingly, "my slicing tongue does not appear to know when to still."
Beynon looked warningly up at the man through his eyebrows.
"Tsk!" said Jax. "Such silent judgement! Come now, Imperial Highness. When the world is at the counting tables, it may yet be decided that a wagging tongue trumps a lazy one. And Empress Alisia, you can certainly attest to the latter, I'm sure. Hey-ho, for a lack of gratification. Want of a busy tongue has troubled many a grand lady, eh?"
Alisia's mouth dropped open, and Watkyn blushed even deeper.
Beynon glanced to the side, and one of the grooms hurried over. "This fool is a bore," he said quietly. "Have a new one sent this way immediately."
At Jax was ushered away, he cartwheeled jubilantly once or twice as if he had no idea how uncomfortable he'd made the remains of lunch for the rest of them.
Bryn noticed the governor glancing furtively from Alisia to himself with new understanding dawning on his face and decided quickly to strike up a new topic of conversation—something inane about the temple regulations restricting certain offerings in Daitak Capital. This was gladly accepted by the others, and the goblets of wine were finished with minimized social casualties.
The Hunt took place shortly after that. Daitak Courtyard teemed with mounts and horse masters as the guests flooded the hall in preparation.
Alisia stood, gratified when Watkyn assisted with her chair.
"May I escort you to the courtyard, Empress Alisia?" he asked her congenially.
She gave Beynon a quick glance, and he smiled at the two of them in response. "My condition at the moment unfortunately prevents my participation in the actual hunt," he said graciously. "My best wishes in the competition, and good luck." Then he gave them a short, gracious bow and turned to discuss festival details with Secretary Longren.
Alisia took the arm proffered to her and she and the Governor of Craestor strolled out into the fresh air.
The Hunt was rather chaotic in nature, if she considered it. Eral had no such traditional pastime as this strange and barbaric Urdan one.
The many butcher shops and farms in and around Daitak had been culled for the finest poultry available. There were geese, partridges, even swans. Some of the live animals were force fed bits of jewelry and precious stones, then released into the extensive grounds surrounding the keep.
Festival guests were encouraged to fan out and pursue their prey. Spoils were tagged and then brought back to the hall and kitchens, where they were butchered. The hunters were, of course, allowed to keep the booty.
Some of the meat would be cooked and served at the evening feast prior to the dance, but some would be sent home with visiting dignitaries as a gesture of goodwill.
Alisia didn't understand the appeal. Happy anniversary of a war ending; let's go out and slaughter a bunch of animals, she thought to herself a bit disgustedly.
But she was an empress now. She'd married Beynon. That was that.
Watkyn gave her arm a gentle squeeze to let her know their horses had been saddled and were ready to be mounted, and she smiled at him. He was rather handsome, this governor. And kind as well. Perhaps she wasn't doomed to see her story to a predictable end.
Amind much bustle and chatter, he helped her up onto her mare.
Surprised at the easy way she relaxed into her seat, he looked up at Alisia. "You ride often?" he queried.
"Not so often," she said, betraying a hint of disappointment, "but I take advantage whenever the opportunity presents itself."
Watkyn mounted his own stallion and received a longbow and quiver of arrows from a stable hand. He turned to her.
"Would the empress deign to favor me with her company for the next three bells or so?"
Alisia smiled, dimpling. "It would be my pleasure," she replied.
From one of the windows in the hall, Beynon watched.