The Vampire & Her Witch

”Thank you, Lord Loghlan,” Ashlynn said as the scattered applause and cheers slowly faded away. ”Last night was an end to many things that bound us, and I’m certain we’ll find ways in the coming weeks, months, and years to break free of many of the other chains that held us back.”

”Today, however, is about new beginnings,” she said as she raised her own cup. ”Starting with Sir Hugo’s work to bring us all together as one instead of clustering around tables defined by the territories we live in and the lords we might be bound to. To Hugo,” she said, nodding her head at her steward and leading the room in yet another toast.

Most of the room took up the toast, though again, voices were muted. At the far end of one table, however, Valeri Leufroy and his son, Tulori, fumed as they watched the hall celebrate the Steward who had exiled them to a place as far from the center of power as it was possible to get while still having a place at the feast.

He could have accepted it, he thought, if not for Adala’s presence directly next to Lady Ashlynn. He’d done nothing wrong in all the years he’d supported the Inquisition, and his cooperation had not only prevented his barony from suffering from the Inquisition’s zeal, they’d been able to profit handsomely in the process.

Any baron worth his throne would have done the same, and yet, there was an almost visible bubble around Valeri and his family now that the entire march knew he’d been providing information to the Inquisition. The fact that he’d become a pariah overnight was only made worse by Lady Ashlynn’s next statement.

”So please,” Ashlynn said, smiling at the tables filled with the baron’s families and those of their vassals. ”Take the time this morning to speak more with your neighbors while we enjoy the feast that Master Jean has prepared,” she said as she gestured to the servants who had been waiting for their chance to present the feast that Master Jean was said to have worked all through the night to prepare.

The doors at the rear of the hall swung wide, and the servants came through them in a long, bright river of linen and silver.

Valeri watched them come, and he wondered, for one bitter moment, if Lady Ashlynn possessed the shamelessness to present the Imperial Bull Elk that Lord Owain had hunted for his wedding feast as the centerpiece of this morning’s breakfast feast. He’d missed the hunt, but Tulori had told him in great detail how impressive the massive elk had been, and how dangerous.

As the host of the feast, it was Lady Ashlynn’s obligation to provide a centerpiece fit for the High Table, and even if she’d moved the table to the center of the room, that didn’t absolve her of her obligations to her guests.

Yet there had been no hunt. There was no time for one, with the whole march turned upside down by her assault on Lothian Manor just the night before turning the whole march upside down, and a small, sour part of Valeri took comfort in the choice that Lady Ashlynn would be forced to make.

Would she shamelessly present the great beast her late husband had hunted because it was the only dish worthy of her table? Or would she embarrass herself by failing to present anything suitable for the lords she’d summoned to this breakfast feast?

If it had been him, he never would have tried to host a feast without time to prepare. Even if she’d been forced to send someone riding through the night to hunt for boar or stag that could be served tomorrow, it would have been better than demonstrating how little she knew about ruling the march by thinking she could throw together a proper feast overnight.

Let her choke on it, he thought, her and the rest of the lords at her ’Center Table.’. Whatever this morning became, it would not be a triumph. No lord or knight could stand tall and claim the head of a beast he’d run down himself, because no lord had run down anything at all. There would be no glory here.

Then the platters reached the lower tables, and the mocking words he’d prepared to say died in his throat.

The young couple sitting beside Valeri’s family, a knight named Bedwyr Riverstone and his wife Esme, looked all but giddy as they inhaled the rich fragrance wafting from the covered platters the servants brought out to the exile-ends of the lower tables, as if they were preparing for some kind of treat.

Valeri suppressed a snort at the sight of it. Only the most far-flung knight from the northern corner of Loghlan Dunn’s barony could possibly think that anything served to them here would be worth celebrating. Aroma meant nothing when heavy spices were used to cover up for poor, tough cuts of meat. Yet to hear the couple prattling on excitedly, you’d think they were about to dine on a feast like no other.

”Do you think we’ll get to try Lady Ashlynn’s cooking this morning?” Esme asked, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the dishes headed to the table. ”Lady Eira said that Lady Ashlynn cooked for them in Maeril and she made the most wonderful hand-pies.”

”I doubt we’ll get to sample Lady Ashlynn’s cooking this time,” Sir Bedwyr said, as he tried to quash his own hopes for something remarkable this morning. ”After everything she did last night, it would be too much to expect her to cook anything for us.”

”I know she’ll be counting on us in the future though,” the young knight added. ”With as much as she intended to expand Lord Dunn’s lands, there will be plenty of opportunities to prove our worth; we just have to find a way to work hard if we ever want to come closer to her table.”

”You’re right,” Esme said, blushing in embarrassment at forgetting how much it must have exhausted Lady Ashlynn to do everything she’d done the night before. ”Still,” she said, holding out the faintest hope for something special. ”She might have had a chance to stop by the kitchens to bless the meal. It could be something really special...”

”Special,” Valeri Leufroy muttered under his breath. ”We’ll be lucky if it’s edible at all...”

When the polished silver domes were finally lifted off their trays, however, Valeri’s eyes opened wide in shock, seeing nothing that resembled the meager fare that any Lothian Lord would have served to someone sitting so far from the center of power.

In fact... the meal before him looked almost... No, not almost; it looked distinctly more appetizing than the dishes served at his own High Table in Leufroy. But how? How was that possible?