out the shapes of the spires through the moonlit mists above. Far beneath them, a clean line of torches lit a long rampart crossing over the road ahead. Iron lamp posts lined the road, casting perfectly spaced circles of light all the way down the slope and setting aglow the breath of the team pulling just ahead.
“Close that, would you?” Olind said. “It’s terribly cold out there.”
Jeld looked one last time through the carriage window to the shadowy silhouette of the spires then pulled his head back inside and closed the shutters. He stared at the velvet-padded wall, his mind on the palace ahead as the carriage creaked, hoofbeats clapped, and the wheels rumbled and clunked their quick cobblestone rhythm.
“How old is the palace?” Jeld asked after a while.
“The bones… three centuries or so. Much is newer, added after the Idols claimed the city as their capital. Tovados didn’t want a new keep any more than he wanted a new name for the city, to hear it told, but they say Vincet set him straight. Nice as the Demerious keep was, Vincet knew a kingdom needed a kingly estate.”
“Did you know him? Tovados, I mean.”
“Know Tovados? Oh no. I was just a lowly merchant’s son until well after he had gone, though our operations had taken a turn for the better by then. My father met the Traveler though, would you believe. He stopped by the shop and bought quite a haul—stuffed his pockets with enough food to feed a horse. Or so my father told it, anyway, and he told it plenty.”
Jeld’s eyes flicked down to his bottomless bag just as the carriage came to a stop. He made to rise but Olind shook his head.
“This is just the outer gate. Hamry will deliver us to the great hall.”
Jeld looked over to the shuttered window as the carriage lurched into motion once more.
“Oh go on,” Olind said. “We’re nearly there anyway.”
Jeld pushed the shutters open and poked his head through the window. The carriage pulled away from the gate and his pulse quickened as the castle wall seemed to wrap around behind him. Ahead, the keep loomed like a mountain, so massive it seemed to grow no larger even as they continued toward it through manicured lawns.
The carriage veered toward a lower section of the keep that stretched out from the rest. Brightly lit arched windows punctuated the entirety of the expanse. A carriage in front of them passed between two massive pillars and stopped beneath an overhang large enough to cover a riding arena.
Jeld pulled his head back inside and straightened his jacket. A few moments later, the carriage came to a stop.
“Now we’ve arrived,” Olind said.
The carriage door opened soon after and finally Olind stepped out, Jeld following after. Atop a rise of steps that spilled out like ripples of water, a pair of knights in glimmering armor flanked two giant doors. Muffled music from beyond whispered out into the night.
With a nod over his shoulder to Hamry, Jeld started up the steps after Olind.
“It sounds as though we’ve managed to be nobly on time,” Olind said.
“I rather thought it sounded as if we were late.”
Olind laughed.
“What is it?” Jeld asked.
“It’s an expression. Nobly on time. It means… to arrive fashionably, and as is appropriate to one’s station. One must avoid being too early, as if desperate for favor or unbusied by important affairs, but one must also take care to arrive no later than those of higher station.”
“I see.”
Jeld’s nerves brought a sudden sweat to his forehead. Did the intricacies of this vain ham dance know no bounds? Could any such slight breach of obscure protocol expose him to the lions whose den he now entered? He took a deep breath and let Arvin envelope him like a veil, his nerves easing as he looked out through his character’s eyes at the doors ahead.
The knights faced inward with a snap of their heels and pulled the doors open.
Jeld squinted as brilliant light, music, and warm air crashed out into the night from the confines of the great hall. The first thing he saw was the color gold. Gold sewn into clothes and decorating fingers and wrists and necklaces of the dozens of nobles milling and dancing about. Gold intricately etched into pillars and the very walls. More than anything it was the radiant golden light spilling from the hall, as if the king waged war against the very night.
Jeld followed Olind inside. Servants stripped their coats and disappeared like muggers into the golden woodwork. As his would-be uncle surveyed the political battlefield, Jeld marveled at the royal ballroom. Laughter and whispers and the clinking of glasses played behind the song of a small band across the way. The tall arched windows that from outside had offered glimpses of the glowing decadence within now punctuated the gilded walls with jet black reminders of the dangers beyond the king’s embrace. Beside each such window rose a spiraling staircase from the shining marble floor to a balcony circling the hall above.
“Aha,” Olind said, continuing inward.
Jeld followed him toward a more intimate space beneath the balcony where several people were seated around a low table. As they neared, Jeld recognized Lady Edenwood among them.
“My,” Lady Edenwood gasped. “Two Emry men so dressed is a right unfair employ, is it not?”
Olind smiled and kissed her hand. “My lady. You flatter us, such words from a lady of your beauty.”
“Bah! I’ve seen prunes less wrinkled than this old face.”
“Are you enjoying the festivities, my lady?”
Lady Edenwood turned an impressed frown to Jeld. “Masterfully avoided, was it not?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my lady,” Jeld said.
“Rather look daft than call an old lady for what she is? Safe, anyway.”
“It is only my first ball. Perhaps with time I shall become as bold as you, my lady.”
She stared back gravely. Jeld felt Olind flush with embarrassment and outrage. The others in their gathering went still. Then suddenly Lady Edenwood cackled. “Marvelous! Oh marvelous! Olind, you’ve brought us a treasure.”
“Ah, of course,” Olind choked. “Thank you, my lady. A splendid lad indeed.”
The man in the chair beside Lady Edenwood stood, drink in hand. He was cleanly shaven and fit, his hair receding in the fashionable manner that began with the sides rather than the more unfortunate wispy crown that afflicted Olind.
“Allow me to introduce my nephew,” Lady Edenwood began. “Lasken Edenwood, commander of the City Watch.”
Jeld swallowed hard. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
“And you. Any man that can make my aunt laugh so is a friend of mine. She’s quite the judge of character, you know.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m sure the feat pales in comparison to the difficulty of running the Watch.”
The bliss of drink and music fell from the man’s face.
“An understatement of late, I’m afraid.”
“I’m quite new to Tovar, but I’ve heard there has been much unrest of late. Muggings in the streets, mobs, and the like?”
Sir Lasken sighed. “Quite right, quite right. And bolder every day. Well, nothing bolder than the… pig incident outside Lord Governor Demerious’s place, but working their way up to its like again, I’ve no doubt.”
“I heard someone at lessons tell the tale! I didn’t believe it.”
“Oh it’s true. Believe me, it’s true. Blazing bastards, the lot of them. Not doing themselves much good in all this anyway, are they?”
Jeld recalled the despairing faces of ragged men, women, and children filing out of a dilapidated building before a squad of watchmen and fought back a flash of anger.
“Indeed, sir. I can’t see as all this will work out well for them.”
“A wretched lot. They want to take our wealth, even as they squander theirs on whores, tankards, and tar.”
Jeld grunted in agreement. “Did I hear right that a new prison was raised?”
“True again. Prince Dralor saw to that. Can’t expect things to change if we just keep turning people loose before the booze even wears off. We’ve got to make a lesson of it, not to mention keeping them off the streets longer.”
“Prince Dralor sounds like a sensible man.”
“He is. And a hard man. Gives the watch what we need, but… well, he has high expectations.” He drained his goblet and looked down into it. “Interesting times indeed. If you’ll excuse me, young friend, I seem to have run dry.”
“Wonderful to meet you, sir.”
“And you.”
Lasken turned and started across the hall toward a bar barely visible through the crowd. Behind the bar a tower of meandering iron poles reached skyward before fanning out in the likeness of a sprawling tree, its branches winding around the upper balcony to form another bar for the level above.
“Did you call Sir Lasken ancient as well?” Olind whispered.
“No, I—” Jeld looked over to find a rare smirk upon Olind’s face. “It would seem that talking about his post requires a goodly flow of drink.”
Olind nodded before something seemed to catch his eye. “Interesting. He doesn’t often show up. Brother must have talked him into it.”
“Who?”
“Prince Dralor. In the gathering just there. And Queen Darene. The king himself is likely buried in there. Not one for fanfare, King Loris. Just slips in like the rest of us. Come, I’d best introduce you.”
Olind turned to Lady Edenwood. “If you’ll excuse us, dear lady?”
She nodded. “Gentlemen.”
Jeld followed Olind into the crowd. His steps suddenly felt clumsy. Or did they merely seem so because he was thinking about them? He swallowed hard, an increasingly familiar sensation, and pulled tighter his albeit similarly nervous cloak of Arvin.
Olind exchanged smiles, nods, and greetings while they slowly meandered across the great hall as if purposelessly adrift. As Olind reached out to pluck the last goblet from a passing servant’s tray, a woman turned and frowned. She was slightly taller than Jeld, with dark hair and a light complexion not unlike most of the gentry.
“Ah, Your Grace!” Olind said. “Please, after you. It seems we share a vice, Your Grace.”
The woman smiled deviously at Olind and took the goblet then turned to Jeld.
“It’s not so bad as vices go, is it, young sir?”
“Well, it’s basically just fruit juice, is it not, Your Grace?” Jeld said and raised a toast.
“Hmm, yes. Not so bad at all then.”
She smiled her devious smile then clinked her goblet against his and took a sip. Lowering her drink, her eyes fell closed and she seemed to breathe in the life of the ball.
“Your Grace,” Olind began, “allow me to present my nephew, Arvin Emry. He only just joined me here in Tovar a few weeks past. Arvin, I have the honor of presenting Her Grace, Queen Darene.”
“I’m honored to be among your company, Your Grace,” Jeld said.
“And I yours,” she said to no one in particular before turning back to Olind. “Oh Olind, you simply must come share a dance with me later.”
“Of course, Your Grace. It would be my honor.”
The queen gave no sign of noticing Olind’s response, her eyes already wandering about the ballroom.
“Ah, Your Grace, I don’t suppose you would introduce my nephew to your noteworthy party there?”
Smiling distantly, Queen Darene reached behind her and tugged on the back of a tall man’s doublet.
“Dral, dear,” she said over her shoulder when the man seemed not to notice.
The man turned, a look of annoyance upon his face. He wore a black doublet reminiscent of a military coat, a silver pin of the sword of Tovados glistening upon one shoulder. Like his neatly trimmed goatee, the otherwise black hair at his temple was dusted with gray. His eyes flicked to Olind, then to Jeld.
“Pardon the interruption, my dear prince,” Queen Darene said before leaning closer to whisper in his ear. “Though you seemed dreadfully bored. May I introduce Arvin Emry, nephew of our very own master of commerce.”
“Arvin Emry,” the prince tried, his voice deep and gaze heavy. “I heard hardship brought you here. I hope you’ll find Tovar a suitable place to nurse your wounds and cast new roots. You are welcome here.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Jeld said. “You are most kind. I’ll have no trouble being at ease here. You’ve crafted a magnificent city, Your Grace.”
A weight fell over Prince Dralor and his eyes grew even more troubled. He quickly set his jaw and nodded.
“My brother has done a fine job indeed,” another man said, stepping out from behind the prince.
The man bore an unmistakable resemblance to Prince Dralor, though his black hair was notably thicker and his eyes, while similar at their surface, were kindly where the prince’s were grave. He wore all white save for a decorative crimson cape over one shoulder. The sword of his house was embroidered in a discreet silver over the full of his chest.
“And I’m sorry to have bored my brother so, my dear,” the man said, raising an eyebrow to Queen Darene.
The queen smiled and put her arm around the newcomer’s waist. “You heard me introduce our new guest then, I trust?”
“Indeed I did. I echo my brother’s eloquent sentiments, young sir. Pleased to meet you, and welcome to Tovar.”
Jeld could feel Olind’s nerves rising as the man spoke, as if Jeld might fail to realize who he stood before.
“The pleasure is mine, Your Highness. Your family and court have been gracious beyond words, Your Highness.”
“Your Highness!” a thick bearded man called out, barging between Jeld and the king.
“Ralegus!” King Loris greeted. “I trust you’ve tried the ham hock? Best pigs to ever grace this table.”
“Aye and aye, my friend. Now I know why our Tovados truly planted his throne here. The hogs about Odsgaard just taste like tusks and hair and mean.”
The king stepped back around his large friend. “My apologies, my dear Emrys. If you’ll excuse me? Olind, find me later to discuss this influx of eastern ore, won’t you?”
“Of course, Your Highness!”
Suddenly aglow, Olind nodded to the others despite their having already entangled themselves in new conversations, then nudged Jeld toward the bar.
Jeld loosed a breath as he followed Olind from his unlikely encounter with a prince, queen, and king alike. Weaving through the crowd, he issued smiles and nods with every important click of his heels upon the marble floor.
“It seems you are highly respected in court, Uncle.”
“I’ve helped Tovar thrive in trying times.”
“And you’ve no small talent in court politicking.”
“I spent my early years in trade. In sales, you must convince people to give you money. In politicking, all you must extract is a worthless smile.”
A servant behind the bar greeted them and Olind placed a lengthy order of seemingly nonsensical words interspersed with the occasional herb.
“Olind, good evening,” came a voice from just down the bar.
The owner of the voice was dressed in a fine but simple green doublet, a white tree pin at one epaulet, and another of a sword upon his other. He had short gray hair, a neat beard, and warm green eyes.
“Sir Benam! Good evening. I didn’t recognize you so close to the bar.”
The man chuckled. “If these magicians can craft so tasty a spirit, imagine how delicious are their more innocuous conjurings?”
“None can argue with logic sound as that. Forgive me, this is my nephew, Arvin. Arvin, I present Sir Benam—friend, advisor, and chief healer to the king. A knight, scholar, and tutor to the princess herself.”
“Former knight,” Sir Benam corrected. “Pleased to meet you, Arvin.”
“You’ve earned many names, Sir Knight,” Jeld said. “You must do much for the king and his lands.”
“There are many who if bestowed a name for each skill they possessed or deed they’ve done would have far more than I, young sir. But I thank you all the same for your compliments.”
The bartender sprinkled bright blue crystals atop two goblets of pulpy pink juice and placed them on the bar before Sir Benam, who nodded his thanks. A small hand plucked one from the bar and whisked it away behind Sir Benam.
“Ah, I must beg forgiveness as well,” Sir Benam said, grabbing his drink and taking a step back from the bar.
Jeld’s breath caught as he beheld an impossibly familiar pair of bright blue eyes shining over the top of the pink goblet. It was unmistakably Lira.
“Sir Arvin,” Benam continued, “I present Her Grace Princess Liraelle, daughter of His Royal Highness King Loris.”
Jeld stood frozen. He wanted so badly to run to her embrace, and yet also to flee before a mere look could see him hanged. Her eyes seemed to widen for but a fleeting moment before a blink washed away the trace of surprise. It was a masterful subterfuge, an indifference that might even have offended Jeld were a less disguised wonder not pouring from deeper within her.
Lira lowered her drink and cleared her throat. “Arvin Emry, is it? Most pleased to meet you.”
Jeld tried to speak but no sound escaped his mouth. He mentally slapped himself and tried again.
“The pleasure is mine, Your Grace. Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”
Lira smiled. “I’m certain you’d welcome me into yours just as graciously. This is your first ball, I believe?”
“It is, Your Grace.”
“They certainly leave little to be desired. I imagine, though, this must be somewhat overwhelming for you, and it’s become quite too warm for my taste. Would you care to join me in the gardens?”
“Ah… of course, Your Grace.”
“Wonderful. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us?”
“Of course, Princess,” Sir Benam said.
Olind swallowed audibly before offering Lira a smile and a bow.
“Shall we, then?” Lira said, turning away without another word.
Jeld nodded to Olind and Sir Benam and hurried through the crowd after Lira. Each obsequious smile to Lira turned to an appraising frown on falling upon Jeld, until at last they reached a door at the foot of one of the arched windows. Jeld slipped out into the night and continued after Lira along a cobbled walk.
Perhaps a dozen steps along, Lira let out a breath.
“What the blazes are you doing here, Jeld!”
Jeld fell in step beside Lira as she quickly swatted a tear from her cheek. Longing to embrace her, his eyes flicked back to the ballroom windows.
“How did—Idols, I thought you were…” Jeld shook his head. “How did you escape? What did they—are you alright?”
“Escape? Jeld, what are you talking about?”
“The men in the alley. The slavers, they took you!”
“Jeld, we stopped him. My—oh no. Jeld, the other two were Sir Krisharc and Sir Aarend—my knights. They dragged me back to the keep. I tried to stop them so I could help you. I tried so hard, I was so worried about you, I—”
“Knights…”
“They always shadowed me when I left the hill. Jeld, I… did you say slavers?”
Jeld shook his head in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly as he stared at the passing cobblestones underfoot.
“Jeld?”
“Knights? Then you were never…” Jeld loosed a breathy laugh. “And you’re a princess?”
Lira looked down sheepishly.
“I suppose that makes sense of things, really,” Jeld said.
“But why are you… how did you…?”
“How did poor, dirty Jeld become a courtly noble’s nephew?”
“I mean, not like that, but… yes, how?”
“I… I don’t know if you’d—I mean, you’re a…”
“A princess? Okay, you’re dirty and poor, and I’m a snobby princess. Now that that’s done, how?”
Jeld looked down at the walk again and more stones passed in silence. Of course she wouldn’t mean him harm, but how could someone in her station even begin to understand his purpose? Certainly not his personal motive, but even Krayo’s?
He followed Lira across an expanse of manicured grass to a small stone gazebo and sat beside her upon a bench within.
“Lira, if you tell anyone… anyone at all, I’m dead. You understand that, right?”
“Are you doing something bad?”
“Bad? No—well, that depends who you ask, but—”
“I’m asking you.”
“Then… no. I’m… working for a man who wants to know what madness the crown is bringing about. For business reasons, mind you, but I like to think I can do more good with it.” He continued as Lira only returned a puzzled look. “War, trade, the watch… it’s all just conversations over tea here. But down the hill, it’s life or death.”
“I see,” Lira said.
“You know from helping at the temple. You know all the shit that flows down the hill. That’s why I’m here—to see what the next wave of shit is. Well, I think so, anyway.”
“You think so?”
“Well, I don’t actually have any real… directions. Just… watch and listen.”
“I see. So, you’re… a spy.”
“What? No. Well… no, a spy is a snoop for an enemy. I’m just listening, but not for the enemy.”
Lira laughed suddenly then shivered and wrapped one of the many layers of her skirts over her arms.
“So you’re a noble spy.”
“Spy is such a sinister word. I like to think of myself as a… hero of the people.”
“You know, my uncle is quite afraid the people really are rising up. If he knew…”
“He’d waste no time in seeing my head removed. I know. And I’m not part of anything like that. I can’t say as I’d fully blame the people for not liking Hilltoppers all that much, though.”
“Nor can I,” she said somberly.
“So… you won’t have me executed for treason?”
“You said slavers before. That man who attacked us was a slaver?”
Jeld nodded. “Kaid told me. Turns out our good friend tried to sell you to slavers.”
“He what!”
“He said they might be working for some knight, that they mentioned a… knight in need, or something like that.”
“Why would a knight need to abduct me?”
Jeld shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe the things I did to try to find you, but nothing went anywhere. Do you think one of your knights could… you know, be in on it?”
“And then rescue me from their own plot?”
“Well, maybe a different—”
“Absolutely not. No, not a chance.”
Jeld sighed. “I really did try. So hard.”
“I can’t believe this whole time you thought I was in some slave pit or… worse. I had my own fears for you, you know. When my knights dragged me away and you were just lying there in the alley…” She looked Jeld in the eye, setting her jaw to still a trembling lip before continuing. “I never forgave them. Or myself. How could they whisk me away to safety while you lie there dying for all we knew? As if my life were more important than yours!”
“You didn’t have a choice. And neither did your knights. Of course they chose the princess over some street kid. I’m sure they were just trying to protect the kingdom.”
“It’s not right. It shouldn’t matter who my father is. And it’s not just that my life was given higher value, it’s that yours was given none. They could have seen you to a healer, or even just a room, but they just left you there!”
“Station shouldn’t matter, but it does. Of course it does.”
They fell quiet. Jeld looked about the elaborate gardens then behind him where, through the many windows of the great hall, the golden light of the ball shined as if from a different world.
He shook his head in disbelief. “Here I am sitting with Princess Lira-elle outside the royal ballroom.”
Lira smiled and came to her feet. “Walk with me more?”
Jeld followed her back to the path.
“You must be disgusted,” Lira said, her eyes on the spires above. “Here it is, your taxes spent on castles, expensive wines, exotic foods…”
“Just one king, at least. Never excess, here on the hill. Now, could we go back to the not executing me question?”
Lira grinned. “I promise we won’t eat you, at least. You’re much too filthy.”
Jeld laughed.
“So Olind… is a spy?” Lira asked.
“Hah! Olind? No, Olind is just Olind. He was put up to this. It’s just me.”
The muffled music grew suddenly louder behind them and Jeld turned to find General Handan Tovaine emerging from a doorway. Jeld’s thoughts returned at once to the celebrated general marching from the stands after his embarrassing defeat at fencing.
Legends had the man seven feet tall with shoulders nearly as wide, wrestling dragons and lifting ships. Maybe such deeds were true, but while tall and broad to be sure, his proportions were in fact more modest. He wore a military coat not unlike the prince’s, only crimson in color and simpler in design.
“The best company can always be found outside a party,” General Handan called as he neared.
“So say those of us outside parties,” Lira answered.
“Hmm. Yes, wise as always, Your Grace. Still, I think we have the right of it.” He turned to Jeld. “Arvin, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” Jeld said.
“You two have met then?” Lira asked.
“Not exactly, Your Grace. The good general watched my first fencing duel. Somehow he lasted to the end of my feeble display before fleeing to witness no more.”
The general’s brow furrowed. “Ahh. You misunderstand. It wasn’t your skills that turned me away, it’s that awful sport. In a real fight that boy would have been two legs and a head shorter before getting a blow in.”
Jeld swelled with pride.
“No man would expose his gut to a blow just to strike first,” General Handan continued. “And don’t get me started with those flimsy twigs they call swords!”
“Pardon me, sir, but watching bouts seems a strange pastime if you dislike the sport so.”
“You hate the sport and you were the one fighting, am I right?”
Jeld smiled. “I despise it. So many rules. What business do rules have in a fight?”
“Indeed. So you’re a fighter, are you?”
“Not really, no. Honestly I don’t think I’ve swung a real sword but once or twice.”
When the general said nothing, Jeld realized he and Lira were locked in some kind of silent negotiation. Lira raised her brow again and again, Handan countering each time with a shake of his head until at last the general’s shoulders sagged and he nodded.
Lira smiled and turned back to Jeld. “General Handan has been kind enough to start teaching me swordplay. Real swordplay, not fencing. You could join us.”
“I—yes. Of course. I’d be honored.”
Jeld and Lira exchanged miserably suppressed smiles.
The music from within the great hall cut suddenly to silence.
“Come,” Lira said. “Let’s hear what’s to be said.”
She led the way back inside, warm air and hushed voices washing over them as they slipped through the door. Everyone within had their backs turned and was looking up at the balcony.
“We lost General Handan,” Jeld said as he followed Lira up a spiral staircase.
Lira turned and grinned down at the general, who stood against the rear wall.
“He hates politics. Rather fight a war than attend a ball, I’m quite sure.”
Reaching the top, Jeld followed Lira to a vacant spot at the railing and quickly spotted King Loris, Queen Darene, and Prince Dralor across the way. In front of all three, at the center of the rail before the mass of attendees below, stood an older man Jeld did not recognize. His short hair was wispy and white, and he wore an intricate white robe.
“Who is that?” Jeld whispered.
“High Priest Naelis.”
Jeld had heard of the priest, of course. Once the foremost disciple of Vincet himself, he had been the voice of the Idols ever since the Vanishing.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the court,” High Priest Naelis began, his voice soft yet filling the hall. “By the Idols’ good graces, today we gather here once again as the shepherds of the kingdom. May your night be magical and leave you feeling nigh as full as the Mother’s touch.
“Remember, though. Remember why we gather. Why we bond. Why we build our kinship tonight through shared bread and drink. Our Idols ascended long ago to quell dark forces that threatened to turn we mere men against one another, and they fight that enemy still.
“Discord acts even now on Tovar. But where with devious whispers he moves wicked men like pawns against peace, we must be the Idols’ arms. We share their burden. Our hands are their weapons, our unity their message of peace. Our king, their lieutenant on this battlefield of Avandria.
“Tonight we owe thanks to the king for his resolve in preserving the safety and sanctity of the kingdom in the name of his forefather and the other Idols. May they watch over you now, and in dreams.”
“In dreams,” everyone echoed back as one, including Lira.
King Loris took the priest’s place at the center of the balcony.
“Thank you, High Priest, for your beautiful words. Welcome, everyone. And a special welcome to those who traveled to join us here today. I thank you for all you do for your lands and for the kingdom.”
He raised a goblet. “To Avandria.”
“To Avandria!” everyone echoed back.
“Make yourselves at home. Enjoy the festivities.”
The music resumed almost at once as the king turned away, and soon the thrum of activity surpassed even its prior heights.
“You get all that?” Lira asked. “We’re all saving the kingdom, one ball at a time.”