“They have the Autumnal Beast Fete every year, you know?” Algar says during the carriage ride.
“Do they?” I ask.
“Yep. I remember reading about it somewhere. It always begins on the twenty-third day of autumn, and lasts for about three days, I think.”
“Hmm. I’d never heard of it until today.” I point my gaze out of the carriage window. “What are they celebrating?”
“Apparently, it’s tradition for the beastials of Bernwood to come together and give thanks to Orvena for allowing them the opportunity to flourish near the Alvanite Mountains.”
Ah, yes. Orvena, the goddess of life and prosperity. Makes sense. It surely is a blessing to have direct access to one of Thelanor’s greatest resources. Many would kill—literally—to have it.
The fete is celebrated in expansive courtyards in the heart of the village. I see the raging fires licking the sky as our carriage approaches. The music grows louder, as well as cheers and laughter. I’m so intrigued that I slide closer to the edge of the bench to get a better look outside.
Once we’re out of the carriage, we take a path that leads us directly to the heart of the event, which is in a massive square surrounded by towering bushes and trees peppered in gold-and-purple flowers. Colored crystals and lumps of alvanite stone sit at the base of the various fires.
“Oh, I forgot about that.” Algar’s voice is loud as he speaks over the music. “Every person in the kingdom brings their own crystal to place around the flames so they can receive a blessing.”
“Oh! Maybe we should’ve brought one out of respect.”
I take a look around. There’s food, drinks, desserts, music—and I love it. For the first time in a while, I’m actually feelingjoy. I almost forgot what that emotion feels like. Joy. Such a simple three-letter word that many, including myself, can’t seem to keep ahold of. It’s only been a few days since I left Meriva, but it feels like so much of my peace has been destroyed already.
A sister slowly dying in a dungeon.
Attacks in Redclaw and Ruvain.
Getting nearly choked to death by a murderous Grim sorcerer.
Almost eaten by a damn swamp monster.
Truth be told, this journey is triggering me. The Ember Coast attacks from my childhood linger in the back of my mind during every hardship.
The reminders of being forced out of my kingdom. Watching the fires swallow our homes and demolish everything we owned. My fingertips lingering on my father’s just before he pulled away to save more people—never returning.
And Mother promising to find us but—
Someone bumps into me, snapping me out of the tragic memories.
“So sorry, love!” A woman giggles as she clutches the hand of her lover and melts into the crowd.
I clear my throat and anchor myself in the present moment.
Beastials make up nearly the entire population here. It’s such a rare sight. Meriva has a diverse blend of all living beings—mortals, beastials, charmers, and sorcerers. Apparently skrellins, too. I spotted a few mortals in the castle working as helpers, but as far as the festivities are concerned, I can only spot three other mortals around—one selling hot honey cakes, a charmer making candies levitate for children before giving them away, and that woman who just passed by.
I smile when I catch sight of a beastial with charmer magic as well. He throws his fingers into the air to light up the sky, creating mini, vibrant fireworks. The children squeal while the adults applaud. Some of the beastials who already seem drunk stare up in awe, their glistening eyes reflecting the bursts of colors.
Algar catches up with me in the crowd, now carrying a tin mug of ale in hand. He walks by my side as we pass a band playing a lively tune on string instruments and flutes. A woman with gray feathers on her arms offers us skewers stacked with roasted meat and veggies. I take mine gratefully and bite into it, moaning as the savory flavors explode on my tongue.
I could get used to this.
“Have you ever been to a fete like this?” I slow my pace so Algar can catch up again.
“The closest thing to this that I’ve been to is the Crystal Festival in Meriva.” He scans the crowd as he bites off a chunk of meat.
“Oh, I love that one. They always have so much honey loaf and wine.”
“Idolove wine.” Algar raises his mug to his lips.
“Where’s Zephra?” I ask.
