XIII; The Banquet

  It won’t come off. No matter how hard I try, it won’t. This ring, this blasted, infernal ring. That ruby on it, it’s watching me watching it watching me back, and I fucking hate it. I hate how it does that. It always did, back when my father wore it too. I remember…

  I remember this one time, he’d broken free from the stupor. He was screaming and raging, and he managed to get a hit in before mother put him back to sleep. Her blood was dripping from it. Like lava. The worse bit is, I’m not even sure it was a ruby at first. I can’t remember the ring before that day.

  “You should probably know something.”

  Professor Riscard is standing at the door to my quarters, garbed in the magenta tunic of the magi. His brown hair is combed back—like mine is, right now—and his stubble has been freshly shaven.

  “What?”

  “If you manage to take that ring off, I have orders to kill you instantly.”

  “Should you be telling me something like that?”

  “Probably not,” he replied, tapping the doorframe. “But here we are. Come, we’re expected at the banquet.”

  “Professor?” I call out as he moves to leave.

  He turns back. “Yes?”

  “Is it really so horrible? What this ring is keeping back?”

  Professor Riscard scratched his nape. “I don’t know. But a chance is a damned thing.”

  Out in the hall, the others were all dressed in their fine clothes. Fedwin had been afforded a nice blue doublet with long, drooping sleeves, Medlyn wore a beautiful dress of blue, Isla garbs of white, yellow and green linings, and Alice herself… she wore a green dress and thin, white silk shoulder cloak, tied in a golden string atop her breasts.

  “Group up with the opposite sex,” ordered the Professor. “Arm in arm.”

  I’ve no doubt that was for Fedwin and I alone. The others have surely been to a banquet before.

  Gett took his sister’s arm, Medlyn seemed like she wanted to take mine, but stopped at the last moment and settled for Fedwin, and I felt a hand slither through my left arm.

  To my left, Alice’s raised eyebrow laughed at me. “Green and black’s a fine pairing, don’t you find?”

  Don’t I just? “Is that the only reason?”

  “The only reason you need to know,” she replies, leading me forward.

  Up the stairs and into the hall.

  Professor Riscard entered first.

  “Primus Magi Riscard de la ‘Foxes’ of the Tower of the Supreme Sigel.”

  Gett and Isla next.

  “Gett vyn Helsmith, Nephew of the Grand Baron of Luchy, and his companion, Isla vyn Helsmith, daughter of the Grand Baron of Luchy.”

  Fedwin and Medlyn.

  “Fedwin of Clogane, and his companion, Medlyn of Sexport.”

  And lastly…

  “Gram of Talbot, and his companion, Princess Alice van Dynast vyn Angles, daughter to the King of Angles.”

  “How’d you manage to get them to say you’re from Talbot?” she slyly whispered to me.

  That’s not very important right now, though. It was probably Riscard’s doing, though. “How’d you manage not to tell me I’ve a princess in my arms?”

  She giggled. “I’m not in your arms yet.”

  Yet…

  Before us, a grand dais was set up in the hall. The Fat Duke sat in the centre, and hailed us. To his left was Lord Alderin, and to his right was Hans. Plates of roasted duck, glistening chicken, strips of bacon, potato and vegetable delights, and pots of fine broth and soup spread out across the dais. Dozens of servants, nobles and other folk sat around the dais and in the tables below, and there was a table reserved for us, on the far right.

  Sat down at our table, Fedwin immediately clawed himself a handful of food, warranting a smack from Professor Riscard. Gett poured himself a glass of wine from a jug, and offered it around. None took it, and I felt rather sad for him, so I said yes.

  It had a sour taste. It had some sweetness, sure, but sour all the same. It isn’t very good.

  “Perhaps I best inform you all what we’re doing here,” began the Professor in a hushed tone. “Which is nothing. For you lot, anyway. I suspect we’ll be here for close on three days, today of which is the first. Training will begin every morning at break of day, and you’ll be free to do as you wish for the rest of light. But bar events like these, you must stay in your rooms overnight. No venturing outside. At all.”

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  “And what are you doing here?” asked Fedwin.

  “Never you mind. Be on your best behaviour.”

  We all nodded.

  The night progressed. Singers and minstrels began and ended ballads of love, glory and war, fire-dancers and jesters danced and frolicked about the hall, and with the feast all said and done, the dance was heralded.

  If I, being as poor of nobility as I am, know anything, then it is—

  “Absolutely not,” said Alice, hitting my shoulder. “I don’t dance.”

  “Why not?”

  “Anglesian nobility are never taught to dance,” explained Professor Riscard. “It is beneath them, or so they believe.”

  “Well neither do I.”

  “I said no.”

  Right. “Shame, I’d—”

  I was interrupted by a servant, who leaned into my ear. “His Grace the Duke requests an audience.”

  With Riscard’s weary leave, I followed the servant to a solar behind the banquet hall, where Duke Estain sat at a table twirling a knife by its edge atop a hard, wooden table. A waxed candle, barely still holding its light, dripped onto a stack of papers, and a flagon of mead was in his other hand.

  “Gram.”

  “Your grace.”

  “Do you think I don’t remember you?”

  Cusping my hands behind my back, I looked down. “Your grace?”

  “I knew Gregor…” he explained, leaning back. “Your elder—former elder, I suppose. He was a good man. Leal. Most of Sandal was. And believe it or not, I do not blame you for what your awakening did to them. Do you know why?”

  “I do not, your grace.”

  “The night attack on the bank. Do you recall it?”

  I do, and I nodded. Our host was ambushed in the dead of night. The encampment was set alight, dozens of knights and man-at-arms burned in the flames. That was near the end of it all, right before peace was struck.

  “You saved me from the flames. I never told my son that, until the day he came to me spewing yellow filth, claiming a witch had hexed him and revealing what he’d done to you. And I never got to thank you properly, what with the war and all. I once did try to track you and your mother down, to offer you a place at my court, but none of my villages spoke of you, and the woods offered no sign. When did you move to Sandal?”

  “A year past.”

  “I see,” he replied, nodding. “And now you’re a magi-in-training. How high you’ve risen, due to blood alone. Men often say our blood grants us the right to rule, but that isn’t true. The first of us were warriors, and they won it through blood and triumph. I’m just reaping the rewards.”

  “There’s no thanks necessary, your grace.” I didn’t do it for thanks. I did it because I could, and there wasn’t a reason not to.

  “Nonsense,” he whispered. “Lifes a… beautiful thing. Regardless, you may be pleased to know that when tale was told of what happened in Sandal, I had your mother’s body—her head, at least—buried in a good spot—there were many a man who wanted it put on a pike. It was a small kindness I could do, for the life you gave me… and the blood you spilt so young in my pointless war.”

  “Thank you.” It may not be the tree, but it’s something. Isn’t it?

  “Good,” he said, placing down the knife. “Now that that’s out of the way, might I request something of you?”

  “Of course, your grace.”

  “Can you forgive my son? He was but a boy when he did what he did, and…”

  Growing up, my mother imbued one thing into my mind: never to suffer the act of forgiveness. It was a blight on your mind, she’d say, to forgive someone. Cause you never can truly forgive. It’ll always gnaw at you. Nag and burrow into your mind.

  Yet… my mother wasn’t all that, was she?

  “Wasn’t I?” a shrill voice whispered.

  “There’s nothing to forgive, your grace. We were boys, nothing more.”

  “Splendid,” he cheered. After a short silence, he rose. “We best get back to the dance, ey? My wife’s long gone, but there’s many a pretty maiden out there I might get myself upon,” he laughed, patting me on the back. “Come. Come.”

  Out in the hall, most of the people were engaged in dance. Even the Professor, politely waltzing with some old lady. Hans danced with his own wife, whose name… I believe, was Lenora, Isla and Fedwin twirled and kicked their feet, and Gett and Medlyn danced without a hint of humour, ever so rigid.

  Alice was gone though, so there was no reason for me to stay, is there?

  Down the hall, I walked and admired the paintings and tapestries. There were many. You shouldn’t have cast me aside. What? My legs feel weak, and I’m leaning on the walls. Wouldn’t it be something sweet, something kind, something meek, won’t you just mind, the world you could find, the sweets you could hide, the people are so kind, so kind, so kind, so kind!

  There’s a tapestry before me, and it’s a red-headed woman, garbed in leaves that cover only her groyne like a skirt. Her perky breasts are bare, and she’s laughing at me. Me! Stop it. Just stop it, they locked you up.

  No they didn’t.

  I’m on my knees, and she’s standing before me. Her red hair rests on my shoulders as she hugs me in her bare breasts. “I missed you, my beautiful, beautiful boy…”

  A cut pierces my hand as I try to grasp her hair. I’m crying now, and I’m not in the keep. I’m in front of a rose bush, in the garden outside. The moon is splendid tonight, but it’s entirely without warmth. Someone’s stolen the moon’s laughter, and it’s not smiling. Its gaping jaw is like half a circle. Its teeth are far and few between, and chiseled down. Some are sharp, others dull. Pink dots paint its white eyes.

  “Why doth ye run?” she asked. Mother’s behind me, in a strange, relaxed pose. A single foot is upon the grass, and she leans back, her slender belly holding up the stars. Her hair hangs, and a single eye scans me up and down. “Your father used to run.” She returns to a normal posture, and approaches me, kneeling on one knee with the other leg slung back against the ground. “You look like one of them, garbed in your riches.”

  “W-why’d you leave me?” I croaked, running a hand through her red strands. “Mama…”

  “You’re not the one without a head,” she laughed, stroking my wet cheek. “Or with it alone, depending on how you look at it. But never you mind, you sweet thing. I’ve a gift for you.”

  “What?” I smile. I smile like the moon. Like a little boy.

  “There’s a book,” she answered with a tilt of her head. “In the hut, beneath the brewing table, in a loose plank. Make sure you get it before you return to Sigel, alright—”

  “—good night,” said Alice, moving to slam the door shut.

  I stuck my hand on its face, and kept it open a moment longer. I’m back here? “How’d…”

  “So you can speak?” she laughed, forcing the door shut. “Good night!” she yelled from the other side.