Jeff was led away to the barracks to have dinner with the other soldiers and the rest of us trooped after me chamberlain as he escorted us back to His Grace’s great hall, now filled with tables. All eyes snapped to us as we entered, the muted roar of conversation dropping to near silence while the chamberlain neatly separated out the embassy staff and sent them to the lower tables with the scaff and raff of petty officialdom and high ranking clerks. The ships’ officers and Lieutenants Groskin and Falkin were sent to the middle tables with the minor elfin nobles. All eyes at his table snapped to Falkin’s northern fairness as the first officer approached, and I saw frowns form on several faces. I started to follow, worried about hostilities over soup, but the chamberlain stopped me and I was herded with the rest towards the front of the hall. I then tried to sit with Captain Javes, Lord Esclaur, and Doyen Allwyn at the table right below the Fyrst’s, but once more was stopped and firmly guided, along with Laurel, Vice Admiral Havram, Captain Suiden, and Chancellor Berle, to the raised platform where the Fyrst’s high table was placed. Rather stunned, I sat down next to Captain Suiden, wondering who had been dispossessed to make way for us.
“Do not worry, Rabbit Two Trees’son,” the Fyrst said across Suiden, who was seated on His Grace’s left. “None will challenge you for taking their place.” His brows rose as he took in my ribbons and jewelry.
“Yes, Your Grace,” I murmured as I shook my napkin out and laid it across my lap. Leaning out a little, I could see Laurel, Uncle Havram, and Chancellor Berle seated interspersed with the Fyrst’s great eorls on the other side of His Grace. While Laurel was quietly conversing with the eorl next to him, Havram and Berle were staring at the female elf seated at Loran’s immediate right. Concerned about their impoliteness, I tried to catch either the chancellor’s or my uncle’s attention. Then the female elf turned and I found myself staring also. Heigh-ho.
“Let me present you to my wife,” the Fyrst said. “Her Grace, Molyu.”
Her face just a little fuller than her husband’s, Molyu had the normal black hair, winged brows and high cheekbones. What she didn’t have were the typical black eyes—hers were gold, and I felt my spine tighten. I also felt a thump on my side. I gave a very respectful nod.
“Your Grace.”
Molyu nodded back. “Prince Suiden, Rabbit Two Trees’son,” she murmured in a startling rich contralto.
There were sounds of scraping as the chairs to my left were filled.
“So this is the human who has Magus Kareste all in a lather,” a light voice said and I looked away from Her Grace to see an elf with a mane of his black hair sitting down on my right. He turned a young face towards me and I wondered just how old he was.
“My Enchanter, Wyln,” the Fyrst said.
Suiden and I murmured a greeting, while I fought not to edge my chair away.
“I understand that you don’t eat meat, Two Trees’son,” His Grace said, reclaiming my attention.
“No, Your Grace,” I said. A servant came by with hot cloths soaked in lemon water. I took one, wiped my hands, and dropped it in the basket carried by another servant following behind.
“I have informed Cook and she has prepared special dishes.” The Fyrst dropped his used cloth in the basket. “I hope that you’ll like them.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. I’m sure I will.” I folded my hands in my lap and concentrated on breathing.
“So, the king of Iversterre calls you cousin?” Wyln asked, a winged brow rising. Several servants appeared with plates of hot bread, setting them down before us.
“Yes, honored Enchanter.” I waited as the Fyrst helped himself, then Wyln and Suiden, before breaking off a piece of bread for myself. I dropped it onto my bread plate, my fingers stinging from the heat. “Sixty-four lines to the throne.”
“An elfin king, so the Faena said, Wyln,” His Grace mused. I said nothing and he looked at me, once more taking in the ribbons. “Is this not true, Rabbit Two Trees’son?”
“Yes, Your Grace. He looks a little like your Eorl Commander.” I looked out over the hall, and saw Eorl Pellan sitting at the table right beneath us. He must have felt my eyes on him because he raised his head, staring back at me.
“Yet you, his close cousin, aren’t elfin at all,” Wyln pointed out, also looking at the House of Iver’s colors. More servants appeared in the hall with tureens and I sniffed. Fish soup. “This is very interesting as I have diligently searched my lineage, Two Trees’son, but have been unable to find a human lurking anywhere in it.”
“Yes, honored Enchanter, it is odd, but I don’t know why that’s so.” I shifted out of the way so that the servant could fill my bowl, hoping my stomach wouldn’t embarrass me with subterranean grumbles.
“You did speculate, Lieutenant, that His Majesty being elfin may have something to do with inheritance and land-law,” Captain Suiden said. He caught my panicked glance at him and gave a faint smile. “This was after Trooper Basel’s funeral.”
“Oh.” I vaguely remembered. “Yes, sir.”
“Indeed?” The Fyrst took a spoonful of soup and nodded. A sigh went through the dining hall and everyone started to eat, the cheerful din of talk and spoons against porcelain filling the room. “But why should the king of Iversterre be an elf at all?”
My mouth full of soup and bread, I glanced again at Captain Suiden, who gave another faint smile. “Answer His Grace, Lieutenant.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight. “Yes, sir.” I looked past my captain to the Fyrst. “The people of Iversterre are becoming fae, Your Grace.”
The Fyrst’s spoon slowly went down into his bowl. “What?”
Molyu, who’d been talking with the eorl on her right, broke off her conversation and turned her head, her gold eyes wide, while Wyln made a slight choking noise as if he swallowed wrong, then started to cough.
“Sro Laurel thinks it’s because Iversterre was once part of the Border and the land is remaking them in its own image.”
Suiden’s smile came back. “Whatever the cause, my entire troop translated, Your Grace. As Captain Javes is so fond of pointing out, he turned into a wolf while I was a dragon.” He tilted his head, reminding me of Dragoness Moraina when she was about to set a poser. “Haven’t you wondered at Rabbit being a wizard—and a very powerful one at that—with him only being one generation removed from Iversterre? A land of no magic?”
The Fyrst’s face was still. He then seemed to remember his food and raised the spoon to his mouth. “No, I can’t say that I did, Your Highness.” He finished his bread, then gave a faint smile himself. “The entire human kingdom turning fae?” The smile widened. “How ironic.” He broke off another piece of bread. “How absolutely, wonderfully ironic.” He shot a glance at the captain. “And you, Your Highness? You’ve become a dragon?”
“Apparently so, Your Grace.”
“How? You weren’t born in Iversterre nor in the Border.”
Suiden shrugged. “I don’t know, Sro Fyrst. Perhaps living for twenty years in Iversterre was enough.” He finished his soup. “But most assuredly I was—”
“Still is,” I muttered very softly to my bowl.
“—a dragon.” Suiden turned to me. “What kind did you say, Lieutenant?”
I raised my eyes to meet the captain’s eyes now glinting at me. He heard. “Obsidian, sir.”
The Fyrst’s face went blanker than normal, while his eyes turned watchful. “Obsidian.” Wyln made another noise and reached for his wine goblet, clearing his throat, while Molyu’s wide gaze shifted to Suiden.
“You saw this, Two Trees’son?” Her Grace asked, leaning a little out beyond the Fyrst to look at me. “You saw the translations?”