She stepped out lightly to the ground and arranged her skirts.
Usually Captain Roth was at the door when carriages arrived. But tonight there were only guards in the Wyvern colors and a courtier to greet them.
“Master Scribe Orval of the House Airion, be welcome.” The courtier bowed low. “I am instructed to bring you unto the presence of their majesties for an audience immediately upon your arrival.”
“My thanks,” Orval said.
“This way, if you will, Master Scribe.” The courtier plunged into the crowd of those seeking audience. “Make way,” he called out, heading the couple through the doors of the castle. “Make way for Master Scribe Orval and his wife, Amari of Uyole.”
Orval huffed. Amari raised a questioning eyebrow as she placed her hand on his.
“Not an honor I am usually afforded,” Orval said under his breath as they started to follow. The stiffness in his leg eased a bit as they walked. “Not sure if it’s an honor or a way to track the prey.”
Amari tilted her head slightly, her face fixed in a warm smile as she looked ahead.
The halls were crowded, filled with the murmur of voices and the sound of music coming from the throne room. The courtier had slowed to allow them to catch up, apparently realizing that Orval wasn’t up to trotting along. That was fine, it let Orval look at the changes.
And there were changes.
The blue and white of the Airion Crown were gone, stripped away. The red and gold of Wyvern House had replaced them where possible. The ancient tapestries had all been taken down and the bare stone walls made the palace seem shabby and cold. Hopefully the tapestries had been placed in storage, but Orval wouldn’t put it past the Wyverns to have burned them. But there was something else, something—
“So different from when I was here last,” Amari whispered. “There is so much tension in the air. So much…fear.”
She was right.
Orval had walked these halls, though before the civil conflict had broken into open warfare. He’d greeted friends and avoided the more obnoxious cousins and Aunt Xydell. There had been an ease about the place, then. Now, everyone seemed to be avoiding his gaze, but this wasn’t the usual disdain for a poor, crippled man outside the currents of power. Somehow, he and Amari were the center of attention, and not in a good way. Orval hoped that the buzz that arose after they passed was normal, spiteful gossip.
There was a slight wait at the door to the throne room. The courtier tried to attract the attention of the Royal Herald, who controlled access.
Orval caught a movement out of the corner of his eye; it was the Royal Master Librarian.
“Jacoben,” Orval called out, pleased to see a welcome face. “Have you fixed your translation of Moravek’sPhilosophiesyet? I sent you those corrections months ago.”
The man jumped liked a startled deer. He hesitated, then bolted, disappearing into the crowd.
“Odd,” Orval muttered. “He hadn’t made that many mistakes.”
“Did you offend him?” Amari kept her voice low.
“Oh, we always argue,” Orval said. “Usually over cataloging or translations. Still, that was odd.” Odder still that he hadn’t heard Aunt Xydell’s shrill tones yet or been greeted by the Royal Housekeeper, Rosalind.
The door opened and the Royal Herald struck his staff on the floor. His deep voice rolled over the room, silencing the music and chatter.
“Your Majesties, may I present Master Scribe Orval and his wife, Amari of Uyole.”
Orval and Amari stepped within.
The throne room seemed to stretch for miles, as it always had. Orval was pleased that he did not grimace at the length of red carpet between them and the thrones. Amari’s fingers pressed ever so slightly between his as they walked forward together.
It would all be over by the next feeding.
The silence was unsettling as the court watched them draw close to the thrones. When they stopped, Orval managed a steady bow. Amari sank down in a graceful curtsey.
“Cousin!” King Xyrath sprang up from his throne and strode forward, his face open and honest in a wide grin. He looked the same as he always had, a picture of energy and vitality. Bold and brash and full of life, his golden hair was more of a crown than the crown itself. Xyrath stood tall and tanned and strong, making Orval feel all his inadequacies. Orval had known Xyrath when they’d fostered together, and while that had been many years earlier, Xyrath would always be Xyrath.
The King wrapped Orval in a huge bear hug, then grabbed him by the shoulders when he staggered a bit. “Orval, it is good to see you. And this must be your charming wife?” Xyrath turned his winsome smile on Amari.
“Your Majesty,” Amari said, and curtsied again.
