Of Thorns and Teeth | Book 1 of The Fall

1.1 The Welcoming (Part 3)

Yrian Balmere leaned over the stone baluster, in full view of the arriving party. The tourmaline ring on his finger flashed as he stroked his chin, then his cheek, then his lower lip.

The first to step in was the new Baron of Samarna, casting a long shadow across the polished marble. Elliard donned a black, high-collared longcoat with silver buttons, and looked convincing enough as an Acastean gentleman. The self-assured strides he took mimicked his late father's own. The sight alone was enough to elicit a snicker from Yrian.

So the exiled heir has returned. At long last.

By his side was his Acastean bride-to-be, her face still half-concealed. She arrived in a gown of emerald green with hanging sleeves, making her look smaller and slighter than she already was.

"Here they come," Yrian said, grinning widely. "Say hello to our new sister, Creseia. I hear that she's just about your age. Perhaps you'll be the best of friends if the gods will it so. Imagine sharing each other's things-"

"Don't you even dare suggest it," Creseia snapped. "I'd sooner die than have her clinging to me like a lost little bird. I wager she can't even speak proper Caradrin."

"I'm rather curious as to what she looks like," said their mother. "Warun Haywood boasts of how beautiful his daughters are. But I suspect him to be stretching the truth somewhat."

"But to turn down Lady Isviel for some slip of a girl," said Yrian. "Perhaps he's already lost his better judgment."

But as the bride-to-be removed her veil, Yrian saw that the girl was slightly older than they were led to believe. About three-and-twenty, and certainly striking. She had an oval-shaped face, framed by untamed, ash-brown locks of hair.

"Well, well," said their mother. "Seems that he was not exaggerating after all. She is exquisite."

"Though she appears so...dull," Creseia piped in. "Doesn't she? And that dress is horrible. Doesn't really do her form any favors."

"I agree," said Yrian, absently. "That aside, this one probably has a fat fortune to her name, and even more valuable connections."

"Enough of talk," said the Dowager Baroness, with a light clap of her hands. "They're coming right this way."

Yrian straightened up. His mother met Elliard halfway down the stair and opened her arms to embrace him.

"Oh, stepmother. Please don't," Elliard said. "You're embarrassing me in front of everyone." He gestured toward the young woman. "May I present to you my betrothed, Sirrin Haywood of Roeston Hall."

"Very honored to finally meet you, Lady Nesima," said Sirrin, speaking with a faint Acastean lilt. "My dear mother sends her regards."

"Ah, yes, the Lady Ashya Kastelan...was it? But of course I would never forget the Margrave's daughter." Yrian watched as his mother clasped the hands of Elliard's wife-to-be. "If I recall, it was at the Fete of-"

An excited squeal interrupted her, as Creseia rushed down the staircase.

"Little Cresi-not so little anymore," said Elliard, catching Creseia in his arms. "I must have been gone too long. I regret I wasn't there at your introduction to society."

"Shame, really," muttered Yrian. Immediately, Elliard's attention turned to him.

"The years have done you well, Boy," quipped Elliard. "Yet it seems that some things never change."

"True," said Yrian. "Once a scoundrel, always a scoundrel."

Elliard turned then to his bride-to-be, and placed her in front of him. As the old Baron did with Yrian's mother, as if she were a prize he had won at a tourney. "Let me introduce to you the dagger-tongued Yrian."