Page 25

I am very much aware that Erik still holds my arm, though he loosens his grip just a bit to turn toward me.

“What do you mean?” Though a part of me is curious about what lies ahead, I cannot imagine it will be more magical than this moment, with this man.

He holds my gaze as he speaks. “To some, it is a symbol of freedom. When King Onry named Aiden’s twin as successor, those who followed him over the mountains called Aiden valiant and adventurous for rejecting his father’s decision and leaving court. Unafraid of the repercussions of his actions, which later led to Meria splitting into two.”

This is precisely what my father believes.

“Others call Aiden disloyal. For disobeying his father, abandoning his brother, and weakening the Isle. They see the Tree of Loigh as a source of evil and ill-gotten gains at the expense of the whole of the Isle.”

“Merians believe this.” I know it already.

“Nay.” Erik shakes his head. “Not only Merians. But others loyal to Edingham and the Borea line.”

Was he saying . . . ?

“Do you believe it so?”

Erik doesn’t answer. Instead, he asks, “Most important are not my beliefs, or your parents’ or your brother’s. What do you believe?”

I blink. “I believe . . . I do not know? None have asked me that question before.”

His smile is like a thousand May Days in one afternoon.

“Give it some thought,” he says, “but not this eve. Havefest is not for politics.” His smile falters, just a bit. “Even if the world weighs heavily on us just now.”

His words prompt us to begin walking again, but he hasn’t finished. Stealing a look at me, he says, “It is for celebrating. Enjoying life and every one of its pleasures.”

A pleasurable shiver runs through me.

“Look.”

As we round the corner, I cannot help but do so. A small courtyard, small by this castle’s standards at least, is lit by torch after torch, candle after candle. Not only from the usual places but from seemingly everywhere.

And the flowers! Some are familiar to me, but others . . . they are everywhere.

In the center of it all, a fire. Not like the small campfires back at the tents, but the largest fire I’ve ever seen, contained in the middle of the courtyard behind the main keep. Great lords stand about, their wives dressed as finely as if they were at court, the latest fashions, like sleeves down to the ground, evident.

“How does everything not catch aflame?”

The light and heat of it beckons as we walk forward.

“By respecting it.” Erik looks at me as if he wants to say more.

An odd answer, to be sure, but an interesting one too.

A maid approaches us with a silver tray. “Wine, my lord? My lady?”

I wait for Erik to take the goblets, but instead he looks at me.

“She serves both red and white. What is your preference?”

My preference is to be asked which wine I would like or my thoughts on politics. The only decision of importance I’ve ever made at Blackwell is the choice of a husband. A decision, I will admit, most in my station do not have.

But most decisions are made without consulting me, and no one has ever asked for my opinion about politics. I find it to my liking.

“Red wine, if you please.”

He takes two goblets from the tray, thanking her.