Wintertide (The Riyria Revelations #5)

The music stopped.

“Your attention, please!” shouted a fat man in a bright-yellow robe. He held a brass-tipped staff, which he hammered on the stone floor. The sound penetrated the crowd like cracks of thunder and stifled the drone of conversations. “Please take your seats, the feast is about to begin.”

The room filled with the sounds of dragging chairs as the nobility of Avryn settled at their tables. A large man with a gray beard was to the monk’s left. To his right, dressed in a pale blue doublet, sat none other than Sir Breckton. The resemblance to Wesley was unmistakable. The knight stood and bowed as a large woman with a massive smile sat down on Hadrian’s left. The sight of Genevieve Hargrave of Rochelle was a welcome one.

“Forgive me, good sir,” she implored as she struggled into her chair. “Clearly they were expecting a dainty princess to sit here rather than a full-grown duchess! No doubt you were hoping for the same.” She winked at him.

Hadrian knew a response was expected and decided to take a safe approach.

“I was hoping not to spill anything on myself. I didn’t think beyond that.”

“Oh dear, now that is a first.” She looked across the table at the knight. “I dare say, Sir Breckton, you may have competition this evening.”

“How is that, My Lady?” he asked.

“This fellow beside me shows all the signs of matching your humble virtue.”

“Then I am honored to sit at the same table as he and even more pleased to have you as my view.”

“I pity all princesses this evening, for surely I am the luckiest of ladies to be seated with the two of you. What is your name, goodly sir?” she asked Hadrian.

Still seated, Hadrian realized his error. Like Breckton, he should have stood at Genny’s approach. Rising awkwardly, he fumbled a bow. “I am—Sir Hadrian,” he said, watching for a raised hand. When she lifted it, he felt foolish but placed a light kiss on its back before sitting down. He expected laughter from the others but no one seemed to notice.

“I am Genevieve, the Duchess of Rochelle.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Hadrian replied.

“Surely you know Sir Breckton?” the duchess asked.

“Not personally.”

“He is the General of the Northern Imperial Army and favored champion of this week’s tournament.”

“Favored by whom, My Lady?” Sir Elgar asked, dragging out the seat next to Breckton and sitting with all the elegance of an elephant. “I believe Maribor favors my talents in this year’s competition.”

“You might like to think that, Sir Elgar, but I suspect your boasting skills are more honed than your riding prowess after so many years of endless practice,” the duchess returned, causing the monk to chuckle.

“No disrespect to her ladyship,” Breckton said in cold seriousness, “but Sir Elgar is correct in that only Maribor will judge the victor of this tournament, and no one yet knows the favor of His choice.”

“Do not speak on my behalf,” Elgar growled. “I don’t need your charity, nor will I be the foundation for your tower of virtue. Spare us your monk’s tongue.”

“Don’t be too quick to shun charity or silence a monk,” the robed man across from Hadrian said softly. “Or how else will you know the will of God?”

“Pardon me, good monk, I was not speaking against you but rather rebuking the preaching of this secular would-be priest.”

“Wherever the word of Maribor is spoken, I pray thee listen.”

A squat, teardrop-shaped man claimed the chair beside the duchess. He kissed her cheek and called her dearest. Hadrian had never met Leopold before, but from all Albert had told him, his identity was obvious. Sir Gilbert took the empty chair next to Elgar.

No one sat to Hadrian’s right, and he hoped it would remain that way. With the duchess protecting one flank, if no one took the seat at the other, he only had to worry about a frontal assault. While Hadrian pondered this, another friendly face appeared.

“Good Wintertide, all!” Albert Winslow greeted those at the table with an elegant flourish that made Hadrian envious. He was certain Albert saw him, but the viscount displayed no indication of recognition.

“Albert!” The duchess beamed. “How wonderful to have you at our table.”

“Ah, Lady Genevieve and Duke Leopold. I had no idea I ranked so highly on Her Eminence’s list that I should be given the honor of dining with such esteemed personages.”

Albert immediately stepped to Genny, bowed, and kissed her hand with effortless grace and style.

“Allow me to introduce Sir Hadrian,” the lady said. “He appears to be a wonderful fellow.”

“Is he?” Albert mused. “And a knight, you say?”

“That is yet to be determined,” Sir Elgar challenged. “He claims a Sir before his name, but I’ve never heard of him before. Has anyone?”

“Generosity of spirit precludes judging a man ill before cause is given,” Sir Breckton said. “As a knight of virtue, I am certain you know this, Sir Elgar.”

“Once more, I need no instruction from you. I, for one, would like to know from whence Sir Hadrian hails and how he won his spurs.”

All eyes turned to Hadrian.

He tried to remember the details drilled into him without looking like he was struggling. “I come from…Barmore. I was knighted by Lord Dermont for my service in the Battle of Ratibor.”

“Really?” Sir Gilbert said in a syrupy voice. “I wasn’t aware of that victory. I was under the impression the battle was lost and Lord Dermont killed. For what were you knighted, and how, pray tell, did his lordship do this? Did his spirit fly overhead dubbing you with an ethereal sword saying, ‘Rise up good knight. Go forth and lose more battles in the name of the Empire, the empress, and the Lord God Maribor’?”

Hadrian felt his stomach churn. Albert looked at him with tense eyes, clearly unable to help. Even the duchess remained silent.

“Good evening, gentlemen and lady.” From behind him, the voice of Regent Saldur broke the tension and Hadrian felt the regent’s hand on his shoulder.

Accompanying him was Archibald Ballentyne, the Earl of Chadwick, who took the seat to Hadrian’s right. Everyone at the table nodded reverently to the regent.

“I was just showing the earl to his seat, but I couldn’t help overhearing your discussion concerning Sir Hadrian of Barmore here. You see, it was the empress herself who insisted he attend this festival. I ask him to grant me the guilty pleasure of responding to this honorable inquiry by Sir Gilbert. What do you say, Sir Hadrian”

“Sure,” he replied stiffly.