Page 39 of Feathers and Thorns

Baz swallowed thickly. “I was adopted,” he explained. “A couple from Draestel took me in after my parents died trying to flee the country, and Byron Greymark was my mother’s, Laraline, father. He left the sword to her, and she passed it on to me.”

“Ah, that explains it, then. I myself am an adoptive father of sorts. Found these two”—he nodded toward the guards—“along a mountain pass at the age of five. They said they came through a portal from the Esinian Isles.” He smiled fondly at them. “Kids, I tell you. I raised them as my own, along with Callan. He is my blood son.”

“They are lucky to have you,” Baz acknowledged.

The king chuckled again and stood, clapping Baz hard on the shoulder. “They might not tell you that, though.” He gestured to the three of them, his eyes twinkling, “Come; we must celebrate that the heir to such a great ally has come to visit us.”

“But, sir, we have much to discuss, and you haven’t told us what happened in Patrivah,” Soren said, exasperated.

“All in good time, my dear,” the king replied, already heading for the doors. He turned to Callan and said, “Prepare them for the festivities. We can discuss more serious matters in the morning.”

“Yes, Father,” he replied, bowing.

“But—”

Callan caught Soren’s arm as she tried to interject.

She glared up at him, wrenching her fist away. “I wasn’t finished speaking with him,” she said sharply.

Callan smirked. “Well, he was finished speaking with you. And take it from me, he will talk when it pleases him, not the other way around. You would do best to try to enjoy the evening, and you will have your answers in the morning.”

“We have friends in Edras Mora who would be greatly affected by the king’s death,” Soren said, worry for Jai filling her heart.

“If it puts your mind at ease, your friend is not in any danger. I do not know the details, but my father did inform me that the perpetrator has been caught and has been sentenced to death.”

She pressed her lips together and looked to Baz and Enara. “What do you guys think?”

Baz spoke first. “I think Jai is one of the most resourceful guys we know. He can make it a day or two more without us.”

“Yeah,” Enara joined in. “Besides, this may be a good way to show the king we mean well. I say we join in the festivities.”

“Okay, then.” Soren nodded then looked to Callan. “I hope you know how to throw a good party.”

Callan took Baztien to get ready in his quarters and left Soren and Enara with a lady’s maid named Saoirse. She had piercing green eyes and wild red hair that curled out from the top of her head in a large mane. Her pale skin was flawless, and her long legs had her towering above even Enara by a good six inches.

“I can not wait for tonight,” she said with a large grin splayed across her striking features. Her voice lilted like a song but was made rougher by her thick accent. “Hallival is the best event of the year,” she continued. “You are lucky to have arrived on this day.” She practically skipped as she led them down a hall and into a large dressing room.

“What exactly are you celebrating?” Enara asked as she took in the cream-colored pouffes and large mirrors that lined the left wall.

“Oh, I’m so glad you asked,” she said with a mischievous grin. “Come; bathe with me, and I’ll tell you the history of Hallival.”

Without warning, Saoirse stripped naked and padded to the large bath that ran from wall to wall at the back of the room. She immersed herself in the steaming water and beckoned them to join. After a moment’s hesitation, they did.

Communal bathing was not common practice in Vreburn, but Soren and Enara had gone skinny dipping on more than one occasion, so how different was it really? At least this water was warm.

The large bath was filled by a hot spring that flowed from further up the mountain. The water traveled over the rock that had been heated by the molten lava below, resulting in a luxurious bath that never cooled. Enara marveled at the ingenuity.

They scrubbed away the previous days’ travel as Saoirse began explaining the origin of Hallival.

“Hallival, or Festival of Dathan—or color, in the common tongue—has been celebrated in Braexmirth for over three centuries and is always held on the final day of the autumn tide. In the old days, the men would set out to hunt at the start of the autumn tide, wearing only white to show their prey who their masters were.”

“That had to be nearly impossible,” Soren said in awe. “They would be seen from a mile away.”

“Exactly.” Saoirse nodded. “This is what made the hunt so exciting. They had to earn the trust of the animals over the course of days and weeks before making the kill.”

“That’s kind of sad, isn’t it?” Enara asked. “Making the animal feel safe before ending its life?”

“I could see how you would feel that way, but their deaths were quick, better than any they would have received in the wild. No part of the animal was wasted, and any beast younglings were off limits. When the hunt was over, they would come back wearing the pelts of their chosen familiar and celebrate. They would eat sweets and drink until their hearts’ content, dancing under the stars as the last of the leaves fell from the trees.”

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