Amari laughed, and then he was there, and in some wonderful way, with two babes between them, he drew close and kissed her.
His lips were warm, dry, and wonderful, a firm pressure against hers, tasting of kavage and porridge and sweetness. Then the sensation was gone and Amari opened her eyes.
Orval stepped back, his cheeks red, and bowed to her.
Another cheer rose, and suddenly everyone started waving red cloths. Amari looked around, stunned. How did they know?
Orval cleared his throat. “I might have done a bit of research.” He looked quite proud of himself.
Amari laughed. Dalan started wailing again, clearly unhappy.
Orval fumbled again, drawing out a bag. “Only coppers, my friends,” he called as he scattered a few handfuls of coins in a circle. “Though there might be feathers among them, who can say? May they bring you luck this day!”
Amari didn’t see any feathers in his hands, just bright copper coins that were scooped up by the crowd.
Winter tipped the water back into the well. “Time for home and hearth,” she said, and the crowd laughed and started to dissipate.
They started back, and the return walk was quicker, because the winds were picking up, the cold piercing cloaks and scarves. Still, more greetings were exchanged before the well-wishers who peeled off to return to their work day.
“Such a crowd,” Orval said, his pride clear.
“What did you mean, feathers?” Amari asked softly.
“Ah,” Orval gave her a grin. “A nickname for an old copper coin that can still be found, although rarely. It has an airion on the one side and a royal portrait on the other, although no one knows who, they are so worn. They’re considered a token of good fortune. ‘Good to have a feather in your pocket,’ or so they say.” Orval smiled. “I keep one in my pocket, one my father gave me.”
When they got back to Winter’s establishment the guards stopped at the base of the stairs, but Winter scolded them. “Freezing out here will do no good. Come with me and get warmed at the very least. These two will not wander off, not with babies to warm and feed.”
Orval and Amari mounted the stairs, laughing at Winter’s teasing as she hustled Ussin and the guards off. Amari felt the rush of home as the door opened and the warmth surrounded them. Lara was nuzzling, warm in her blanket but clearly in need of a feeding. She’d need to—
Orval stopped moving, suddenly silent.
There on the wooden table was a scroll, pristine and white, except for the red and black seal.
The Royal Seal of the Wyvern House of Xy.
Chapter Twenty
Caris’s bond mark burned raging hot as she ran to the Queen’s chambers, Mira close behind.
King Xyrath was exiting the room as they arrived, his expression forbidding. He raised a hand as they paused to curtsey. “Don’t. Just get in there.” He held the door open.
“Clumsy fool,” Satia snarled, sitting on her lounge, weeping. Broken crockery and spilled tea were everywhere and the Queen was gesturing at the mess and screeching at the staff. Her eyes were red and swollen, her puffy, tear-streaked face set in a mulish pout. The air held the foul odor of vomit and ginger tea.
Caris exchanged a swift glance with Mira. They’d left her with a pot of tea and a full mound of honey cakes. What had—
“In the future, you’d best obey me the first time I speak,” Satia spat at Rosalind, who stood silent before her, head bowed.
“Where have you been?” Satia focused on Caris and Mira, her voice tight and shrill. “You left me alone with these—” she choked back a sob, then spat, “these churls,” gesturing at the pair of chambermaids, one of whom held a chamber pot, who were doing their best to become invisible.
Caris caught the glint of anger in Rosalind’s eyes.
“My tea is cold,” Satia sobbed. “And this stupid girl spilled it on me and dropped the tray and spilled the honey and just look at me,” Satia grew angrier and redder as she waved her arms helplessly. “And my stomach…” she groaned.
Mira took the chamber pot, looking in as she swirled the contents. Caris knelt at Satia’s side, ignoring the mess. A quick glance showed no honey cakes left on the broken plates. She made soothing noises and offered the Queen a handkerchief. “Perhaps it would be best if you were to leave,” she said to Rosalind.
“Yes, go! Get out, all of you!” Satia waved them away with an imperious gesture.
Mira shoved the pot at Rosalind, whose curtsey was swift and abrupt. The Royal Housekeeper drew the chambermaids out with her, departing with a sharp click of the door.
