Luminous

114 - The Dance (3/3)

Back in the grand hall, the music had quickened to a merry tune. Blossoming young women had gathered in a wide ring, surrounded by an even wider circle of young men, shunting their parents and grandparents to clapping admiringly on the sidelines. They pranced in clumsy unison, left to right then back and over again, kicking and twirling their feet, laughing and singing. The vielle and shawm swelled and ebbed in turn, egged on by drums, like witty banter between the sexes.

Kellis smiled as his younger son swung back into view. Zier blew a kiss to Arinel, who giggled as the song carried them apart once more. The soft, warm weight of Sylvia's braided head nuzzled against his neck. He smoothed his hand down the curve of her waist.

"Kellis."

His hand froze just before it found home. Kellis shaped his lips into the smile that had vanished at the sound of that familiar voice, slid his hand to his wife's back, pressing slow circles to calm her, then together they turned to face his nemesis.

"Grimthel."

Grimthel Graye accepted his nod with a serene smile. His eyes strayed to the rings of dancing youngsters, and Kellis followed it. Zier and Arinel met again. This time, the lad managed to snatch a whiff of her rosy cheek before she tore away in a whirl of blonde tresses.

"Isn't that Arinel of Crosset?" asked Grimthel.

"Yes."

A pause of silence followed while Grimthel digested the new development. He cocked his head, his empty smile returning.

"Pity. Our children would've been dancing hand in hand, save for a stroke of fate."

"I thought your daughters were reserved for king and deity," said Kellis.

"And Fyr has claimed one, Chione the other." Grimthel sighed, then raised his head high, his voice colder, heavier now, "Loyalty betrays and honor punishes when made to serve an unworthy liege. Now I am wiser."

Kellis whipped around and glared at the man. Graye served no liege, he'd always known. What alarmed him was Graye sharing his sentiments with him, for Graye knew full well he'd never entertain the notion.

"You speak words of treason, Grimthel," Kellis lowered his voice as he peered into those bottomless eyes, shaking his head. "I cannot harbor them in silence."

Graye's lips curved into a pitying smile. Before he retorted, the blare of trumpets swallowed the minstrel song. The spinning circles broke in half then flattened into meek lines before the three emerging figures, who trailed purple robes trimmed with snow-white ermine. The herald cried their royal titles, and the gathering bowed in submission.

As the king gestured for his guests to resume their positions of ease, Grimthel straightened and tossed Kellis a parting smile,

"Fear not, old friend. Today is not his turn to fall."

With a flutter of his white cloak, he set off silent and swift as he arrived. Kellis stared after him until his last sliver of white melted into the crowd, pondering his cryptic remarks, King Alden's speech echoing faintly at the back of his mind.

"Esteemed lords and ladies of the six duchies, thank you. Far, far indeed have you traveled to join us in our humble abode. We are honored to receive you. We see tire linger still in your faces. If by the midnight bell it has not been purged, we shall consider ourselves to have failed abysmally as your host."

A smattering of laughter rose in reply. Kellis wagered it was more encouragement than amusement. The Queen had honed her husband's public mask to a shine, yet stubborn burnishes refused to be sanded. Alden was a warrior, an idealist. Man delivered flattery as if he were scraping sap from his tongue. Even Coris could've done better.

A hill woven of hair and cloth stretched between him and the royal family, rippling here and there as the young and fidgety craned their necks for a glimpse of the handsome king or the adorable ten-year-old prince, and the opportunistic jostled for a spot within the king's sightline.

A decade on the throne had buttered over the sharp angles of Alden's face and leeched ruddiness from his cheeks, but otherwise he remained knightly. His honey-brown locks hadn't retreated fully from his now wrinkled forehead. His blue eyes gleamed bright with youth as they flitted nervously across the sea of people spread out before him.

Queen Zephyr pressed her hand on her son's shoulder to still the squirming boy. Six braids of ash brown, threaded with ribbons of gold, fell to caress her ankles. Her almond-shaped brown eyes swept the crowd like a gliding hawk, her thin purple lips perfectly straight as she took her husband's hand in her free one. Heartened, the king mustered his smile and soldiered on,

"We have news of great importance to announce. Thereafter you may drink, dine, dance to your hearts' fill, and suffer us no longer."

King Alden looked to his herald, who in turn nodded to the guard standing sentinel before a door to the side. He opened it, and a golden-haired girl of no more than five emerged, shadowed by her heavily pregnant golden-haired mother, both resplendent in robes of apricot and silver.

Sylvia dropped her goblet with a clang.

King Alden flourished his hand towards the pair as they approached, his eyes roaming the crowd.

"It is decided our humble House of Corbyn shall be joined with the great House of Amplevale. As proof of this union, Lady Serella of Amplevale shall be betrothed to Prince Halcyon."

"Why haven't we heard a word? How could they—Why?" Sylvia hissed in panic at his ear, her voice drowned by the roiling chatter of the crowd. Kellis grasped her hand tugging his sleeve as his heart thundered against his ribcage. Yet, the worst had not come to pass.

"Amplevale has also asked to represent themselves on the Council, for their pleas are no longer voiced by those they trusted to speak for them."

The King extended his hand once more, gesturing for the pregnant lady to step forth. The woman Kellis had known from his earliest memories—

"Lady Kyrel of Amplevale, who speaks for the ailing Lord Sytus."

"Ailing? It hasn't been two months!" Sylvia scoffed, yet her fingers were claws of ice between his. Their worst fears were befalling them—the ever looming doom kept at bay by The Axel.

"As our first line of defense against Nostran invasion, Amplevale's concerns must be heard. And thus, I have called a convening of the Council to cast vote on this very issue."

By all rights, Baron Hadrian shouldn't be on the Council. Maxus bargained with Philip the Usurper for the seat that belonged to Lord Amplevale. As Hadrian must now guard The Axel against dragons, it was only fitting they control Amplevale's army and the defense of Zarel Pass, he reasoned.

But the Wynns' blood of oath had run dry. And Maxus's threat had always been hollow. Hadrian would never betray Latakia to dragons, even at the cost of their lives.

"However, 'tis a matter for tomorrow! Tonight, we celebrate Freda. Let the feast continue!"

The king threw his arms wide, and once more, minstrel song rose to fill the bursting hall. The gathering took a while to shake off lingering chills from the news, then all but few sank blissfully back to merrymaking.

Kellis peered through the whirling dancers to find Zier rooted at the heart of the ring, Lady Crosset in his arms, his blue eyes wide and fearful on his bloodless face.