Another had an image of a warrior being knighted by the king himself in the middle of the battlefield. They were both surrounded by the heads of fallen crytons, each with fangs and forked tongues hanging from their grotesque mouths as the king laid his sword upon the kneeling lad’s shoulder.
Four shimmering crystal chandeliers hung from the loft ceilings, each one sparkling from the light of the bright oil lanterns hung everywhere. No one commented on the ornate scenery, as they had seen it many times before. The guests gossiped away as they sat at the twenty-foot oak table in the center of the room. The fine table was sanded smooth and painted with a dark lacquer finish.
The sturdy chairs of equal quality displayed ornate carvings set into the backs of each one. Servant maids continued to scamper about with fine white porcelain pitchers, topping off crystal wine glasses that were still plenty full. The table was set with fine Athsmin dinnerware that the Queen had shipped in, along with many other elegant goods Taron was more than willing to overpay for.
Queen Ilirra Marosia sat at her royal table up on the dais at the front of the dining hall. With her head held high, she continued to pretend to be interested in the small gathering, which took a real effort on her part. Just shy of her middle years, the Queen’s beauty was the envy of most girls half her age. Ilirra’s fiery red hair was tied back in two long braids that flowed halfway down her back. Her lovely green eyes held all the command and prestige of a queen, yet had a softness that could melt any man’s heart. Her blue silk dress with white lace gracing the neck and shoulders was stunning even by the standards of royalty as it hugged her slim figure. Long, sparkling diamond earrings that dangled to her shoulders and a necklace embedded with light blue opals would appear gaudy on anyone else, but the Queen made them seem modest.
Etiquette required that the Queen have formal gatherings now and again. Among the folk attending the small dinner this evening were the steward, marshal, and constable of the castle. All three sat at the large table below, along with other rich merchants she was obligated to show great respect for. The ladies continued to speak of the latest fashions as well as the new shipment of silks coming in from Athsmin. The men were having a spirited discussion about the latest round of the games they had attended.
They had been getting quite interesting lately with the level of skilled fighters that had been acquired. One of the slaves, who had made quite a name for himself by cutting down everyone he had faced so far, was the main topic of discussion. Morkel or Morceller, something of that nature. The fact that nobles were even trying to remember the name of a slave spoke wildly of the impression he was making. Rumor had it he might win his freedom if he kept up this pace, a feat that had not been accomplished in decades.
Queen Ilirra was having a difficult time trying to focus on entertaining her guests. She was generally quite witty and worldly, as she could turn the conversation from religion to politics in the blink of an eye. The Queen related to common folk rather easily, as it seemed to her they had a better understanding of the world than people born into power and or money. An ongoing perception of the Queen was that she was just as comfortable seated in a tavern as she was on her throne. What people didn’t realize was just how close this was to the truth!
A few of the serving maids disappeared into the kitchen, returning with silver carts filled with hot food. While one placed bowls of soup in front of each guest, the others began to place other courses around the table. A large silver platter of roast lamb was placed at the center of the table, which was quickly followed by trays of roasted potatoes, salads, and bowls of beans. Red wine had been flowing the entire time, and now was no exception, as the girls continued to race back and forth with their pitchers, filling glasses that were more than half full. The violinist, wearing green britches and a matching vest, played an upbeat tune as he drifted around the large table, flashing a smile at everyone as they enjoyed the feast. Queen Ilirra sat at her private table along with the captain of the guard, Azek Lamanton.
The tall, graying man had been in the service of Taron for decades. His piercing dark eyes were that of a hawk’s, and commanded unquestioned authority. Although well into his middle years, his lean, hard frame still held the explosiveness of one many years his junior. He and the Queen sat in relative silence, both of their minds distracted by the same troubling thoughts, but each knowing better than to speak of it here.