The Vampire & Her Witch

Breakfast at the Center Table had been going well, at least as far as Ashlynn was concerned.

There was tension in the air that was difficult for even her to dispel, no matter how much she tried to make the space welcoming. Without resorting to witchcraft, it was difficult to put anyone at ease when everyone was watching every move and gesture with sharp eyes, trying to attribute hidden meanings and intentions to every glance or gesture.

Having Adala beside her helped in some ways, even as it stung in others. The olive seed in Ashlynn’s chest left her alone because it knew, deep down, that Ashlynn wasn’t trying to replace Jocelynn with Adala. At the same time, as a young lady very close in age to Jocey, Adala benefited from Ashlynn’s desire for a closer, more familial register in her interactions with women her own age.

At first, Adala had felt stiff and hesitant about her place at the table, and when the food arrived, she’d immediately taken the position of the most junior woman at the table, offering to cut a piece of fish for Ashlynn as if she’d been invited to the Center Table just to wait on the Marchioness.

”That would be the proper thing to start with, wouldn’t it?” Ashlynn said, shaking her head at the young lady sitting next to her. ”But after all that,” she added, gesturing to Sir Hunold who looked like he was struggling to enjoy Master Jean’s sumptuous meal. ”I need something a little sweet, don’t you?”

”Here,” Ashlynn said, moving before Adala could react and piling up several of the golden coin-cakes on Adala’s plate along with buttery, flaky pastries filled with sweet pink, purple and blue cream. ”You have to join me so I’m not the only one starting with sweets,” she teased before adding a few to her own plate.

”Even if you just ate sweets, your Grace,” Adala said, staring at the mountain of pastries that Lady Ashlynn had deposited on her plate in a little bit of shock as she tried to figure out whether or not she could eat it all. ”Who would dare to say that you shouldn’t?”

After everything Lady Ashlynn had done last night, Adala struggled to imagine anyone who could tell the Marchioness what to do... The King himself and perhaps even the Saint in the Holy City might find it difficult to give orders to a person who could bring about the miracles she had, so who would dare to say she couldn’t indulge her sweet tooth if she wanted to?

”Lots of people,” Ashlynn said before biting into one of the buttery, flaky pastries and savoring the sweet, slightly tart cream that had been whipped with raspberry preserves, bringing a taste of spring’s brightness all the way into the depths of winter. ”Mother would always chide me for that, and since she’s not here, I’m sure that Isabell will keep me in line,” she said, nodding to the silver-haired engineer.

”Not a word,” Isabell said, holding up a finger and waggling it back and forth before reaching for a silver decanter to refill her goblet with wine. ”The day after battle, anything you can manage to eat is a good thing. You could stuff yourself with a whole bowl full of whipped cream and honey-cakes, and I’d still applaud you for it.”

”Now, if you’re still doing that a week from now, I might say something,” Isabell admitted as she moved on to serving herself a small portion of the fish before nudging Ollie to pass her a piece of toast topped with the soft, fluffy eggs. ”But today? Today eating and keeping it all down is its own victory.”

”You sound like you’ve seen your share of war,” Tybal Aleese said from slightly further down the table. The southern baron looked a little uncomfortable sitting between his wife and son at the center table. Or, more accurately, he looked distinctly uncomfortable sitting next to his son, Reynold, who was the only heir to have received a place at the Center Table.

For the moment, Tybal Aleese had escaped Valeri Leufroy’s fate of exile to the lower tables, but having his son join him at the table felt like a pointed reminder that he could be replaced, and while he’d opted to take his time to decide where to stand, his son chose to stand with Lady Ashlynn before her duel with Lord Owain even began.

Reynold’s move might very well have saved the Aleese family from grave misfortune in the same way that Lady Adala’s family had likely saved the Leufroys... But whether or not that move saved him was something else entirely.

”I’ve seen too many battlefields, Lord Tybal,” Isabell said as she cut herself a small bite of the tender, flaky fish. ”I feel like I’ll see too many more in the years to come. For now, I’m just going to be happy that last night didn’t become a tragedy. I never expected to find something like the Lothian throne here,” she said, raising her goblet toward Ashlynn in a minor toast.

”I’m glad you made so many preparations to face the Church’s sorcery, Ashlynn,” Isabell said honestly. ”Things would have been much worse if you hadn’t.”

”I agree,” Serle Otker said in a voice that was a touch too loud. ”Your Grace, I don’t know where you found a hero like Sir Heartwood, but we’re all beyond blessed that he was here to save us from the wickedness of that throne,” he said as he fought hard not to glance at his wife’s darkening expression when he mentioned the throne.

Last night, Serle had put as much distance between himself and her as he could while one of the throne’s dark tendrils attacked her. Only their son, Serge, had stepped up to protect her before he understood that Sir Ollie had come to help, and Melsinde still hadn’t forgiven her husband for his self-serving cowardice last night.

”Still, I couldn’t help but notice that you lack a suit of plate, Sir Heartwood,” Baron Otker said, pressing forward despite the glower he was receiving from Melsinde. ”You saved my most precious treasure, my beloved wife, and I, I want to thank you properly for that. The Otker treasury is more than deep enough to commission a suit of armor every bit as fine, no, even finer than Lord Owain’s,” he said in a rush.

”Saying ’thank you’ is far from enough for what you did,” he said. ”So please, let me express our gratitude with more than words,” he said, reaching out for Melsinde’s hand to include her in the gesture and all but sighing in relief when, for the first time since last night, she didn’t draw back from his touch.

”Oh,” Ollie said, glancing at Ashlynn briefly for her nod of approval before giving his answer. ”It’s fine, I don’t need anything,” Ollie said, addressing Melsinde rather than Serle. ”I’m just glad that you’re fine this morning, and I’m sorry I had to cut off so much of your hair to get the comb out,” he added a touch awkwardly.

”It’s just hair; it will grow back,” Melsinde said, blushing slightly as she touched the soft, intricately embroidered cap she’d worn today to hide the mess of her hair that had been left behind after Ollie used a cleaver to cut the cursed comb out of her hair in order to save her from the evil throne.

”But my husband is right,” Melsinde said, giving Serle’s hand a gentle squeeze. ”We heard that you were injured in the battle and that you had to fight a duel with Sir Franc wearing nothing but a coat of mail while he wore a full suit of plate.”

”A knight’s armor is a treasure and an expensive one,” Melsinde added. ”But it protects your life as much as you protected mine, so please, let us commission an armorer for you to see that you’re properly outfitted before the Holy Warriors from across the sea arrive and the real war begins,” she said.

”No, really, there’s no need,” Ollie protested. ”Lord General Thane and Dame Sybyll already commissioned a suit of armor for me. It’s just that Master Erkembalt has to finish Ashlynn’s armor first. So, really, I’m fine...”

”I see,” Serle said, stroking his chin as he realized the humble young knight wasn’t without his own supporters already. ”In that case,” the Otker baron said, glancing briefly at the lower table where Charlotte sat next to his son, Serge. ”Tell me, Sir Ollie, have you given much thought to marriage? Is there already a woman in your heart, or are you betrothed?”