Page 170 of Silverbow
“Did you know about the gnomes?” He asked in a hushed voice.
“What gnomes?” She asked, but Leon and Alsbet swept in.
Liam mouthedlater.
Enya sighed. It seemed that mountain of laters was content to just keep growing.
The Prince and Princess of Dwarves settled into the high backed chairs at either end of the table as the children shoved and elbowed for the rights to sit beside their guests. The girls, Gitaela, Bargitelin, and Gargitrud, all of dark brown hair and eyes filled the bench around her. Dothebelle, the youngest and fairest with big blue eyes and blonde hair, climbed onto the bench to squeeze between Bargitelin and Enya, much to the elder’s dismay. With one look at her mother, the girl thought better of making trouble with the youngest.
Enya blinked at the dark haired twins that flanked Liam. It was uncannily like seeing double as Orhuck and Orobryn peppered him with questions about the knights of Estryia. The older boys, Dozmac and Dezamri, were quietly fawning over stone-faced Bade, while the eldest turned his attention to her.
Orimum was dark of hair like Leon and all courtly manners as he planted a kiss on the back of Enya’s hand that made her grin. All around the table, she saw brows flick up in surprise. Alsbet buried a smile in her wine cup.
“Orimum, lead the prayer,” she ordered.
The young dwarf cleared his throat and bowed his head. Enya looked around wildly at the demi-elves and saw they sat with their eyes downcast.
“We thank Simdeni for the mountain, Solignis for the forge fires, Mosphaera and Sakaala for the food on our table, and Nimala for old friends and new.”
“Here here,” Leon boomed, raising his glass.
Enya smiled at Liam over her plate as their hosts and their children launched into endless questions. The clinking of cutlery was lost in the roar of conversation and despite being assailed by small interrogators, neither she nor Liam hardly got a word in edgewise.
Oryn
Oryn watched with amusement as Alsbet rose to push a second piece of pie onto Liam’s plate. Enya had long since given up and laid her fork down in surrender. It wasn’t Mistress Alys’s cooking, but starving in a dwarf’s hold was as impossible as freezing in Zeskayra in summer. Despite sitting at Leon’s right hand, he only half heard the conversation eddying around him. His attention was split, listening to her exchanges with Alsbet and the girls. From the corner of his eye, he watched Dothebelle wriggle into her lap.
Leon’s youngest had been a mewling newborn babe the last time Oryn had stayed in the palace. Now she seemed to hold a court of her own with flocks of handmaidens and ladies-in-waiting chasing after her. He wondered if it was that wild, kindred spirit that drew her to the Silverbow as she twined chubby hands into her copper hair and pressed her face close to Enya’s.
“Thank you again for your hospitality,” Enya was saying to Alsbet.
Alsbet waved a hand. “It’s the least we can do.”
Her claim of sanctuary would have been enough to see she had what she needed in Drozia. Had she been just any other bounty, Leon likely would have paid handsomely to have her gift at his disposal, but she wasn’t just a bounty, so he had claimed for her what he’d never claimed for anyone. Guest right made her a member of the court for the duration of her stay, however long that would be. Regrettably, it was likely to be little more than Alloralla’s required two weeks. They would need to reach Highgard before summer faded to autumn. The risk of early season snow in the mountains made the trek more dangerous than it already was and when it came to Enya, time seemed determined to work against him.
But his arrival in Drozia with a woman in tow, a woman he’d claimed guest right for, had snagged Alsbet’s intrigue. He could see her plotting at the other end of the table. “Any friend of Oryn’s is a friend of ours. Isn’t that right, Leon?” Oryn doubted Leon even heard over the clamor of their children.
When Liam finally gave up his battle with the half eaten slice of pie, Alsbet clucked to her little chicks. They excused themselves from the table as they raced for pursuits more interesting than dinner. The elder lingered, Gitaela and Orimum taking up places in the sitting room to entertain their guests. That too was new since his last visit. Leon’s children were growing up.
Oryn settled into an armchair as the prince opened his snuff box. The stable boy declined the offer of a pipe, reclining back into the cushions beside Enya. Leon chuckled as he took in the boy’s heavy lids, but Oryn eyed the arm he sprawled across the back of the sofa in annoyance. He busied himself with his pipe and fished in his coat pocket for the purse he’d taken off the ship captain in Westforks. He tossed it onto the table.
Leon nodded his thanks. “No trouble, I presume?”
Oryn opened his mouth to answer, but a padded toy arrow sailed through the sitting room and struck Enya in the back. Behind his eyelids, the horror of the crossbow bolt flashed, sending a jolt through him. She blinked in surprise, but she set her teacup on the low table and looked around at the children. Then, to squeals of delight and great peals of laughter, she was grabbing at her chest as she sank onto the floor, feigning a wound. As the youngest crowded in, she popped up, chasing Orobryn for his toy bow.
He darted a look at Alsbet. The Princess of Dwarves lay sprawled on the chaise, chuckling as she watched Lady Silverbow roll across the stone floor in her borrowed silks. It was entirely unladylike and entirely something he should have expected. She wrested a bow away from one of the children and sent a soft tipped arrow into Liam’s heart. Despite his drooping eyelids, he followed her lead, collapsing in a heap. With a whisper from Enya, he disappeared in a heap of limbs as the younger children piled atop him shouting, “Robber! Robber! Robber!”
Leon puffed at his pipe, watching the flames as his wife watched the chaos.
“You’ve redecorated,” Colm remarked.
Oryn shot him a warning look. He had noticed that all of the furniture had changed but hadn’t wanted to set Alsbet off on a lecture about how often he visited.
She twined a curl around her finger. “We have to every time Dothebelle has a tantrum.”
Oryn blinked in surprise. “She’s a singer?”
As predicted, her head snapped toward him. “A goldsinger, no less. You would know if you cared to visit.”
