The town of Eisenfall looks like one from a storybook—houses in brightly painted colors, manicured rows of pine trees, broad paved avenues. It’s handsome and idyllic. Hardly the place of nightmares I imagined when Noemi would talk about it.
But I know as well as anyone that beauty can help evil hide in plain sight.
Noemi catches me looking around and smiles wanly. “Father likes things to look nice,” she says by way of explanation.
She is saved from hearing my rude retort by our arrival at the castle gates, where we’re greeted by two harried-looking servants. We sent word ahead by graydove for them to expect us, and the servants have the wolves’ lodging prepared.
“Raw steaks are being sent down straight away, Alpha Stark,” says one of theservants, bowing. Neither of them looks at Noemi for direction or approval. My mood darkens.
Eisenfall Castle is grossly ostentatious: Tapestries line every inch of the walls in garish colors; thick carpets overlap beneath our feet, leaving no cold stone gaps; even the wall sconces are ornate.
Our guest rooms, however, are bare bones. I raise my eyebrows at Noemi after we’re deposited at them. “Do they not keep a dedicated room for you as a daughter of the lord?”
She scoffs. “Please. We’re lucky they didn’t place us in the servants’ quarters. You know the Eisenfall clan doesn’t think of me as family.” She turns sharply and heads to her own room to wash up.
Finally, after a long, dull wait, a servant informs us we are summoned to attend a minstrels’ performance in the great hall.
Noemi explains that these musical performances are common at her father’s court. “He doesn’t have much to take up his time, since he delegates all the duties of overseeing the fief to various cousins who want to curry favor,” she explains. “So entertainment like this and elaborate hunting parties are his two favorite pursuits. But his taste in music… let’s just say, it isn’t what I would choose.”
It doesn’t surprise me that her sniveling wretch of a father has shit taste. The decor in his home could tell you that.
The hall is packed when we arrive, the air hazy with smoke and the moisture of too many people’s bodies in too small a space. The minstrels are set up on a small stage in the far corner of the room, plucking at stringed instruments of various sizes.
“Who are all these people?” I ask Noemi, looking around at the motley collection of courtiers, most in some stage of drunkenness already.
“Cousins, second cousins, third cousins, cousins’ cousins…” Noemi catalogs, looking around. “Cousins’ wives, cousins’ex-wives, sons and daughters of cousins…”
“I get it,” I cut her off.
“Anyone who’s vaguely related at all shows up for these things,” Noemi says. “They know that Father values his music, and they want to at leastseemto like the things he likes…”
“Aha.” I weave around clusters of cousins, trying not to wince at the slightly off-tune harmonies drifting across the room.
Sweetness of life personified
My lady love so wondrous fair
The marriage knot we two did tie
My wife, who had the roving eye
Noemi squeezes her eyes shut as if that will somehow drown out the warbling voice. “Not this one again. He loves this misogynistic bullshit.”
I struggle to make out the words, and my mouth twists in distaste as the song continues.
… my brother’s mouth upon her thigh
Her fingers tangled in his hair
My untrue wife just moaned and sighed
My wife, who had the roving eye
Brother, this marks our last goodbye
My wife with you I will not share
Lock her away in tower high
