The Night of the Lost Brides

Chapter 1 - Sven

Sven sprinkled some herbs over his soon-to-be breakfast and the smell of the grilled meat filled the living room. He smiled as the sunshine from the window warmed his back. Whistling a cheerful tune he flipped the meat to the other side. Since he injured his leg years ago he found it to be the perfect excuse to avoid hunting at dawn. As he no longer could chase down his prey, he had to rely on his excellent aim and that was so much easier done during the day.

The table was set for one - Alita was already out, called in to some emergency earlier that morning. He didn’t quite catch the reason - childbirth, measles or the spring fever all sounded the same to him through the bedroom walls upstairs. An over excited patient or a member of their family was desperate for medical attention with no regard for the time of day. As the only medic in town Alita was overworked, especially as she had to rely on knowledge and potions without any actual healing magic. Things took longer when done this way.

That’s why he was often the one to cook their meals. Tall and well built he looked out of place in the small kitchen. His appearance suited a hunter or a fighter, not a chef, yet he enjoyed food preparation. He found pleasure in the fact that he could not only catch an animal, but serve it too. And it wasn’t just food - his simple home was decorated with a collection of skins, furs and handmade hunting trophies. Though he did have a little help with the taxidermy of a few specimens.

He sat down to his meal and raised a fork with a steaming hot slice of meat. But before he could swallow the juicy morsel he was distracted by rushed footsteps and conversation coming from the outside. At this time of the day more than an occasional passerby was highly unusual.

Sven pushed the chair back and made his way to the window. A giggling group of young maidens rushed towards the town square. A few men hauling goods briskly walked in the same direction. He leaned outside the window and turned his head towards their destination. A smile formed on his face as he recognized the fluttering of merchant banners and the familiar voice of Gorbin, the owner of Gorbin’s Essential Supplies.

It has been a while since they had a merchant visit and Sven was glad it was Gorbin. His business required someone reliable and trustworthy. In fact, the lack of trade passing by was beginning to worry Sven, as he was eager to avoid the extremely expensive alternative.

Passing by the table he grabbed another bite and while chewing the meat searched the room for the tools he needed. He was beginning to regret putting of writing the letter. These matters shouldn’t be rushed, but he had no choice. Who knew when another merchant might come this way.

After a short search he found all he needed - a small bottle of ink, a few parchments borrowed from Alita’s supplies and the elegant quill made from an exotic bird’s feather - a gift from his mother. It has been a while since he had a chance to write, even longer since it was this important. With a trembling hand he proceeded to work on the draft.

“Dear Lady Santhia…”, too informal, he crossed out the words. “To the High Lady of the House Urheus…”, too impersonal he decided. “To the most gracious Lady Santhia…” - he played with a few other phrases before finally deciding on the most appropriate way to address Alita’s aunt considering the circumstances. And then the process repeated for every single sentence he put to the parchment.

“We would be honoured by your presence at the ceremony… I am writing to notify you of our arrival ahead of time… Your niece and I would appreciate your hospitality…”

As the son of the Aland ambassador Sven had plenty of training in dealing with court formalities. He often advised others on what phrases to use, how to address those above or below you on the social ladder and stay within law and tradition boundaries. Yet when it came to personal matters like this he always double guessed himself. Even though he was born and raised in Tradyr, to most he was still an Alandian outsider with little standing. No amount of black hair dye covering his blond shoulder length curls would change that.

He glanced down at the page full of crossed out words and small side notes and reached for a fresh piece of parchment from the pile that has grown visibly thinner since he started writing. Usually he would have Alita go through his writing before he calligraphed the final version, but on this occasion he would rather avoid the inevitable quarrel. She could not or did not want to understand he was doing this for her own good. He knew eventually his fiance would come to appreciate his actions, if not now then maybe in five, ten or twenty years, when she takes Lady Santhia’s place as the head of the Old Blood family.

He took out Alita’s family seal from the drawer as the ink of the finished letter dried. It would be more appropriate to use his own, but considering the tension between Aland and Tradyr after the recent war it seemed ill advised. Aland might have stayed neutral during the Desolation, but once the king was murdered and the dwarves took over Tradyr there wasn’t much to hold off the skirmishes at the north-west borders. Sven’s family’s open support for the king during the war made his situation now even more complicated. He dripped some ink on the envelope and pressed the seal hard into it. Now he could only hope the letter would be well received in Dwen Mar.