Page 223 of Sword & Shadow
As they took their seats at the grand table, Renaul gestured to the Mage at Evylin’s side. “Allow me to introduce mysteward properly,” she said smugly. “This is Highlady Aterian Isla Freye. She’s my insurance to keep our precious Warrior in check. Highlady Freye came to me from the Order of the Wind years ago, but we recently learned of the tragic loss of most of her brethren. Isn’t it shocking, such a number of dear friends murdered so brutally?”
The comment was accusingly pointed. The deaths of the highlady’s Order had been at their troop’s hands.
Highlady Freye sat beside Evylin rigidly, the reason for her frosty demeanor all the more clear.
“She’s reserved,” Renaul continued, “but immensely loyal.”
The troop took in the lady’s words. Evylin noticed Deckard’s hand gripping the seat of his chair fiercely. Undoubtedly, he was remembering his role in the death of those Mages. Evylin wanted to reach out to comfort him, but she remained still, knowing her manacles would alert the whole table to her actions if she tried to touch him.
Renaul signaled the servants, and they opened a side door, ushering in more men and women who bore platters and trays filled with food. The savory, robust scent of roasted meat filled the air, causing Evylin’s stomach to twist with anticipation. She’d been deprived of quality meals like this long before their time as captives.
Dish after dish was set before them. Sumptuous venison and smoked pork. Boiled potatoes with dried herbs and butter. A medley of cooked vegetables. A creamy, cheesy soup with crisp, yeasty bread. Fresh-cut apples, pears, and berries adorned the table.
The servants filled their crystal glasses with deep crimson wine as Renaul clapped her hands with gaiety. “Wonderful,” she said, passing a superior grin to all of them. “My cooks have outdone themselves, haven’t they? As it is to be your last meal, I did want it to be quite the feast.”
The casual remark hit Evylin like a blow to the head—an experience with which she’d become frightfully familiar. The Ephrians exchanged worried glances.
“Ourlastmeal?” Thom repeated.
“I’m afraid so, pet,” Renaul said, golden and bejeweled rings glinting in the firelight as she lifted her glass. “But as a consolation, I will make this evening ever so exciting for you.”
“How so?” Rafferty asked, the only one of them intrigued by the proposition.
Renaul sipped her wine languidly. “As a little, mm... Let’s call it a farewell, shall we? I will answer any question you have with total honesty. But let’s not allow this dinner to grow cold, darlings. Tuck in.”
Slowly, the men began to fill their plates, all of them silent. However, Evylin latched onto Renaul’s offer, the value undeniable.
Evylin caught the noblewoman’s gaze. “Anyquestion?” she asked.
Renaul stabbed a slice of venison. “Whatever your heart desires.”
Appetite all but forgotten, Evylin leaned closer. “Do you work for Blount?”
The men froze while Renaul and Highlady Freye continued to pile their plates high.
“I do hope you aren’t referring to His Majesty, the king,” Renaul said. “I thought even Ephrians were taught to respect the crown.”
“I’m not referring to the king,” Evylin said. “I’m asking about his son, who deserves no respect.”
Deckard’s hand brushed Evylin’s in a gentle warning, then returned to his meal. She understood and appreciated his concern, but if they were going to die, she saw little point in caution.
Renaul didn’t reveal any offense at the statement. In fact, she grinned. “Rouland said you have cheek,” she noted, the remark as good as an admission.
“So you do work for him?” Evylin pressed.
Deckard leaned in to murmur a cautionary “careful” before he began filling her still-empty plate for her.
Renaul popped a berry in her mouth teasingly. “I don’t work for anyone, my dear.”
“But you are after the reward?” Rafferty said from his seat between Thom and Ethenn.
“I don’t need or want the money,” Renaul replied flippantly. “You’re all my gift to Rouland.”
They all paused again. Deckard cleared his throat and finished setting a scoop of potatoes on Evylin’s plate. Thom and Ethenn resumed chewing.
Thoughts churning, Evylin tried to remember if the Calders had mentioned whether Blount had a family. She eyed the noblewoman thoughtfully. Renaul was older than she would have expected for the prince, but then the Calders were likely the lady’s age themselves. Though she’d imagined the prince to be Deckard’s age, there was a good chance he was vastly older.
Working to deduce Renaul’s relationship with Blount, Evylin asked, “You’re his wife?”
