Page 26 of A Waltz with Lord Death
“No, I am quite all right.”
He nodded. “Then we will make haste to the castle. Only another few miles and we will be there.”
“But my things are missing. Everything I brought with me.”
“We will find it,” the soldier promised. “You do not need to worry.”
The soldiers kept close as they led her forward. She suddenly remembered Death, but when she turned to find him, he was gone.
Chapter 11
Boisterous laughter echoed in the great hall, bodies filling the large space with enough warmth to create a nearly unbearable heat. The king dined with his family at a small table near the front of the room with several guards on each side of the table. They scanned the hall with hands on their weapons as if expecting an assassin to leap out of the fray at any moment.
Rumbling voices and laughter dwarfed the lively music several couples danced to in the middle of the room. A swish of colorful skirts. A bow over a lady’s hand.
Meira grimaced as the man beside her brushed against her in his drunken state. A layer of perspiration rubbed off on her arm. She didn’t bother to hide her wince as she wiped it with a handkerchief.
A night and a day had passed and the king still hadn’t requested an audience with her. How long was she to wait?
She craned her neck over the crowd in search of a familiar female face, one she hadn’t seen in many years. A smile grew across her face when she spotted a woman wearing a purple and black dress, her long blonde hair cascading all the way to her lower back. Elise sat stiff in her chair as her husband leaned over her to speak to the gentleman on her other side, all while tearing large bites of meat off the bone and chewing in her face. Her expression remained stoically passive through the entire ordeal.
She remembered her friend’s wedding five years ago. Elise had married at age eighteen. Meira felt like a spinster in comparison at age twenty-four.
Thoughts of Death filled her mind, of his alluring smile, his pleasant laughter, and the giddiness he all too easily placed in her heart. She hadn’t seen him since her arrival, but she knew from experience that hardly meant anything. He might still be here in the room.
She surreptitiously glanced over her shoulder and scanned the faces in the great hall, but only a few were familiar and none belonged to Death.
A sudden hush stretched over the room, and she glanced toward the source. King Armand stood at the front, his arms outstretched in welcome. The man bordered on the age of sixty, a gleaming golden crown sitting atop gray, wispy hair. A belly pouch hung over the side of his belt, covered by gold, red, and black attire. A gaudy golden necklace hung from his neck and skimmed the top of his rotund stomach.
“As I look out over all of your faces,” the king began, “I see many great and wonderful people part of my court. There are some old faces, some new, and…”
His gaze landed on her.
The blood drained from her face as everyone in attendance shuffled in a rumble of movement to turn in her direction. Apprehension squeezed the breath from her lungs under everyone’s scrutiny.
She had wanted to meet with the king, but not like this.
“Some of you may recall the warning I received about the plague headed in our direction. Many of you were skeptical, others frantic. There is no need to be frantic, even though what our fortune-teller here has foretold is true.”
Murmurs traveled from the front of the room to the back as a wave of fear rippled from the king’s words. All eyes turned to her again.
“It’s true?”
“The plague is coming.”
“We are all going to die!”
The room silenced with a command from the king’s hand, which promptly turned into a beckoning for her to approach. “Fortune-teller, join me up here and tell us more about this plague.”
With shaking legs, she stood from her seat and forced bravery into her straight posture. She held her head high as she approached the king with everyone’s gazes following her every movement. His soldiers tightened their grips on their weapons, but otherwise made no move toward her.
As she stopped before the royal table, she dove deep within herself to find her words. She curtsied low. “I thank you, my king, for inviting me into your home. I am honored to find myself in your presence.” When she straightened, she plunged even deeper to find the words she needed. However, a voice in her ear caused her heart to jump in alarm.
“You are going to get yourself killed, Meira,” Death whispered, his breath tickling her earlobe. “One wrong piece of information and you will be hunted for witchcraft and for consorting with demons.”
“Then aid me,” she murmured.
Death paused for a moment, but she didn’t dare turn to look in his direction. Not with every eye in the room on her.
