Chapter Sixteen

Noah

 

With a fire blazing on its riverstone hearth, the large dining room was cozy, smelled of tobacco and mulled wine, and featured several paintings depicting northern lights, where intense greens and blues danced across night skies.

Clothed in a velvet long coat, the man sitting at the far end of the table set down his pipe and book, rising from his chair.

“Jaden! By the gods, you look so much like your mother.” His voice had the rasp of someone with a keenness for pipe smoke.

“Grandfather,” Jaden said with a smile, “it is truly good to see you.”

Instead of embracing him, Lord Fairlocks took his grandson by the shoulders and stared at him for a time. Lean and vigorous for his age, the lord’s blue eyes were sharp beneath silver eyebrows and hair, with laugh lines and a trimmed mustache and beard.

“You should have written!” he exclaimed as he let Jaden go.

“My apologies, I--” Jaden started, but his grandfather waved it off.

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind surprises. Life can be boring at my age. I do always tell my staff to keep at least a few guest rooms clean and tidy just in case. Your friends and yourself are proving me right.” His gaze darted to Noah and Kitera. “That dress,” he said, “is lovely on you, my lady.”

 “Why thank you,” Kitera said, and Jaden’s grandfather came to take her hand, dropping a light kiss on her knuckles.

“Right,” Jaden said, “grandfather, this is Lord Noah and his wife the lady Kitera.”

“Pleased to meet you, my lord,” Noah said, giving a little bow of his head.

Then he realized he had no idea whether he was actually supposed to bow.

Lord Fairlocks gave a dismissive flick of his hand. “Please, call me Lyonel. We’re all nobility here.”

“We sure are,” Noah smiled.

“Please, sit with me,” Lyonel requested. “It should be a little longer for the food, but let us help ourselves to some wine. Best mulled wine in all of Fellera!”

Kitera and Noah sat together, Jaden facing them, Lyonel returning to his seat at the end of the table. A maid swiftly came in, grabbed the silver pitcher’s handle and poured the hot, dark red beverage into four blown glass goblets, its spicy scent drifting across the air.

“Thank you,” Kitera said when the serving maid was finished.

The girl blushed and scurried away after an awkward curtsy, Lyonel staring at Kitera as though she’d just done something odd. Suddenly feeling a sharp pain in his calf, Noah realized Jaden had just kicked him under the table.

“Excuse my wife,” Noah said, simultaneously taking Kitera’s hand in his and smiling at Lyonel. “She still falls back in her peculiar Azurian ways, sometimes.” Kitera’s nails dug inside his palm, and Noah bit the inside of his lip not to wince.

“Strange,” Lyonel replied, “I thought the Azurians were even harsher with their servants than we are here. Don’t they still have slavery there?”

Kitera raised her goblet, using this as a pretext to remove her hand from under Noah’s.

“One of the reasons I left,” she said.

Lyonel gave a nod, and raised his goblet as well. Jaden and Noah did likewise.

“Let us drink to that,” Lyonel said, “and to my grandson. I hear tell of your prowess in the war. The finest archer in Fellera!”

“We still lost,” Jaden pointed out.

Noah kicked Jaden’s leg.

Stop being depressed, I want grandpa in a good mood. Noah tried to convey his thoughts to Jaden silently. Telepathically.

“Forgive me, grandfather,” Jaden said. “Little point in discussing the war, now. Let us drink. To our reunion, it had been far too long.”

There were loud clinks as goblets knocked against one another, and they all took sips of their wine.

~ You know, I don’t think telepathy exists, as powers go. ~

Ironic, coming from you.

“So you’re from Laethi, then?” Lyonel asked Noah.

 “Yes,” Noah said, “yes I am.”

“Your Felleran is remarkable, young man. It’s almost as if you were born here.”

Noah laughed it off. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m quite serious,” Lyonel insisted. “You’ve a gift for languages. And you taught your wife so well; I hear scant trace of an accent.”

Kitera leaned forward, brown tresses falling over her shoulder. “Of course, my well-spoken Felleran is entirely to my husband’s credit; I couldn’t possibly have learned by myself.”

Lyonel was deaf to the heavy sarcasm lacing her tone.

He addressed Noah again: “Where exactly in Laethi are you from?”

 “A small town by the Laeth Sea. Quite small, really. You wouldn’t know it. I must say, I’m truly impressed with this wine.” Noah peered into the red liquid.

Beaming, Lyonel began recounting the story of his cousin, who possessed his own vineyard to the south of the country. And later, when they broached the subject of Lord Noah and his penchant for travels, it took little time for Lyonel to start droning on about another cousin, who built ships for a living.

It turned out, the old man loved to talk.

The servants then bustled in with trays heavy with food. Each porcelain plate held thick slices of beef roast, pickles, onions and roasted potatoes. The servants placed a silver tray with slices of crusty bread and a dish of butter in the middle of the table, and made sure to refill their wine before leaving them to their meal.

Noah wolfed it down as fast as he could without, he hoped, seeming too un-lordly. Jaden ate almost as quickly, which Lyonel chose to comment on.

“You do have a scrawny air about yourself, Jaden. Then again, I suppose your mother was always very slight. And you do look so much like her.”

Jaden’s silver fork and knife stilled in his plate. Noah wished he could help him out, but telling Lyonel to please shut up about Jaden’s mother might not be polite.

“I know,” Jaden said.

Lyonel gulped down more wine.

“Tell me, how did she die?” he asked.

Kitera and Noah shared a concerned glance.

“I assumed you knew,” Jaden said softly.

“Well of course your sister’s daft messenger came in the late spring, claimed my daughter had hanged herself,” Lyonel said, blue eyes filled with scorn. “Overcome by sadness after hearing of the king’s death. As if I would believe such a farce. I wrote back demanding explanations but never got an answer, not from your sister, not from you.”

“Forgive me, I was away this summer…”

“I know you never got my letter! I was told you’d barely returned from the war and learned of your mother’s demise that the queen had already sent you away on some perilous mission.”

“Well, I’m here now,” Jaden said.

Lyonel didn’t seem to hear. “This summer the queen’s people came, and I was disappointed she hadn’t come herself to visit, but I thought perhaps I’d finally get the explanation I deserved.”

“I’m afraid I’m not sure where you’re getting at,” Jaden replied.

“But all they did,” Lyonel went on, “was arrest our priest for performing some perfectly normal centuries-old ritual. You see, the reaping was bad this season, and the cold is on us sooner than usual.” Lyonel took a sip of wine. “Village is short of a priest now, but it doesn’t take a priest to conclude that the gods are angry with us, let me tell you that.”

He stared at Jaden expectantly. Jaden dropped his fork and knife in the plate and joined his hands on the table.

“I’m afraid I don’t-” he started again.

“Don’t be dense, boy.” Lyonel spoke loudly, startling all three of them. Jaden was very pale, his jaw set. Lyonel went on, “I knew my daughter. She was obsessed with old legends, sure. She lived in her own fantasy world at times. But she wasn’t an idiot, and she was not crazy.” His face was becoming as red as his wine. “More importantly, she wouldn’t have killed herself over the death of one Damian Nightvale, king or no. I won’t accept that.”

Jaden took a deep breath, eyes glistening.

“You say you knew her. And you did, but only as a child. You married her off when she was fifteen. She spent most of her adult years cloistered in her chambers. Daydreams became her reality, and she heard voices... Some days she could make the difference, some days she could not. They didn’t call her the mad queen for nothing. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but that would be a lie,” Jaden finished.

Lyonel’s stare only hardened. “You haven’t answered my question. I demand the truth about what happened to my daughter.”

 “He doesn’t know,” Noah said before he could stop himself. “All right? You said it yourself; he came back from the war and found out his mother had died the same way you did. I understand you’re upset, but you need to stop.”

Lyonel’s eyes found Noah, and for a long time the only sound was the crackling of the fire, uneasy tension thickening the air as Noah held the old man’s gaze. The one to break the silence was Kitera.

“Forgive my husband,” she said with an apologetic tilt of her head, “he gets easily fired up after a bit of wine. I’m afraid he’s a lightweight when it comes to the stuff.”

Suddenly Lyonel tapped the table and laughed. “You two sure spend a lot of time apologizing for one another.”

Kitera shrugged one shoulder. “It was an arranged marriage.”

Lyonel reached out to slap Noah’s back.

“Marriage is never easy, arranged or no. You’ll make it work, lad.”

“I promise to try, sir,” Noah said, casting a furtive glance at Jaden, who gave him a reassuring smile.

“Good, good,” Lyonel said. “Now eat! Food’s getting cold.”

 

***

 

After the meal, Kitera excused herself and retired to her room. Jaden soon mentioned he was fatigued as well, though before retiring he made sure to enlighten his grandfather about Noah’s keenness for libraries.

Noah mouthed a silent thank you, to which Jaden replied with a nod before wishing his grandfather a good night and slipping away from the dining room.

                “You’re the bookish type then?” Lyonel exclaimed, his face flushed from all the wine, and his silver hair, perfectly slicked back earlier, much more disheveled now.

Noah smiled. “Knowledge is my joy.”

“You’ll find I have quite the trove here, though Kristine--Jaden’s mother--brought a great many old volumes along with her when she left for the castle, must be,” Lyonel rubbed at his nose while he thought, “gods, twenty eight years ago now if I’m not mistaken. I should have those books returned…”

Lyonel took out a little case from his pocket, setting it before him on the table.

“Do you smoke, Noah?”

“I don’t.”

While he watched Lyonel plucking tobacco from the case, filling his pipe to the brim and using a candle to light it, Noah got the irritating hunch that visiting this old man’s library would turn out an incredible waste of his time. 

There may not even be any information on the catalyst in there"let alone the bloody thing itself.

 “What types of works are you most interested in?” Lyonel asked, breathing out smoke into the air. “Fiction, non-fiction, war, history, astronomy"”

“My lord,” Noah leaned forward, ignoring the pipe smoke stinging his eyes, “I was wondering, have you ever heard of the legend of the catalyst?”

For a moment Lyonel didn’t react. Then a small smile appeared on his face.

“Where did you hear about that?”

“My tutor, he mentioned it once but didn’t say much, and I found my curiosity was not sated.”

“A very intriguing legend indeed. Are you familiar with the story of the winter elf princess?”

“Not very much,” Noah admitted. “I know it’s a song.”

Lyonel drew another long whiff of his pipe, oblivious, clearly, to the hammering of Noah’s heart.

“The ancients, the elves, it matters little what we choose to call them, for they went extinct five hundred years ago. If the story is to be believed the last of their kind married the lord of this place. First of all she wasn’t a princess"they added that in to make it sound better. As the story goes she brought with her a keepsake, a token if you will, of her people. Ever heard of white magic, Noah?”

“A thing or two,” he breathed.

“Well, it is said the ancients possessed such magic--without demons, without the marks--and it was very potent. So rumors spread that this keepsake of hers must be powerful, a catalyst for white magic. Of course,” Lyonel laughed, “it’s just a trinket. A simple necklace. Bandits stole it, a long time ago. I read of the incident in my ancestor’s journals. The lord at the time sent word of a great reward for the returned necklace; to him it held sentimental value, you see. Eventually reaching the conclusion that it was powerless after all, the bandits returned it, eager for the coin rather than the useless object. It’s been in this family since,” he finished, “though hardly a soul speaks of it anymore.”

Noah tried to keep his voice calm. “So it’s here then, in the manor?”

“Yes of course. It isn’t for sale, mind you,” he chuckled. “Much like that lord I suppose it has sentimental value to me, for my late wife quite fancied the old thing. Besides I feel it should remain in this family. In fact my daughter wrote to me many times requesting I send it over. I fear the poor girl actually believed it might hold real power. In not granting her wish I suppose I hoped,” a shadow crossed the old man’s eyes, “she would come back here, perhaps, seeking the necklace. But she never did. I may have been selfish…”

“I assure you, I don’t want to buy it.” Just to steal it. Though the thought brought a pang, now. Stealing from the old man…

“If you simply wish to see it,” Lyonel said, “I suppose I could show you.”