Wraith Walker

Chapter 11

      The dogs were decidedly not entertained. The Throne Room pews and carpet had been moved, replaced with several long oak tables along the walls for the Court guests, all set with golden plates and piping hot dishes. A table had been set along the dais as well. Sasha took the the throne, with Filyrr to his left. Filyrr was good company, as any King—even a Canin King—would have to be. They spoke in low voices to each other, laughing at times, passing a small and whatever was going on over there seemed to be going well.

     It was not going well for Tamsin. She was to the right of Sasha, next to a Canin named Clegur who had not said a single word to her. He was a guard of some sort, she'd figured out. Not by anything he'd said, oh no, he merely grunted at her attempts for conversation. But his left fingers bore a tattoo which read "GUARD" in block lettering. She'd nearly laughed when she saw it, but after some silent consideration, accompanied by a surprisingly good goose dish, she decided that it wasn't really any different from Kethan wearing a a lapel pin marking him as Hand or even Sasha wearing a crown. He was King whether he wore a crown, and Clegur was a guard, whether he was tattooed with it or otherwise.

      She'd tried to make a joke early on in the meal about what might happen when he was released from his guard duty—what was his plan with the tattoo? But Clegur had just looked at her with his dead copper eyes and angled his chair away from her.
So Tamsin had spent the meal eyeing the tables. It was a surprise that so many Court members showed up for the reception. The Canins were not popular, but she supposed that, after a nearly a year with any proper hosting deferred in the hunt for the Seer, even the Canins might be considered worthwhile guests to party starved courtiers.

     The sun had finally set, taking with it the small rays that cast an orange glow through the palace. About a hundred long black candles burned in every corner of the room, bewitched so as not to add to the slowly mounting heat of the hall. The doors were propped open, allowing servants to move fresh plates of roasted goose, baskets of dark rye bread, and towering cakes decorated with fruit into the hall.

     The room had been decorated in the Witch way. Huge swaths of herbs and flowers hung from a canopy of bewitched branches along the ceiling, giving the room a forest-like feel. Along the walls, the incense holders were filled with smoldering mandrake, casting the room in a light haze of visionary herb. A string quartet played, music quiet for now, a calming backdrop against the lively conversations the Courtiers were having.

     But there was no lively conversation for Tamsin. Sasha was wrapped up in his own chats with Filyrr, passing a small pipe of damiana back and forth. She owed him an apology for her earlier words still. They hung in the air between them, a thread needing to be snipped before it could be pulled and unravel everything they were. Even as he'd swept her down the hall to the awaiting guests, he said so little to her. She should have apologized first—from the moment she saw him, handsome and regal, leaning against the door to their bath chambers. Maybe then he wouldn't have acted so dejected as he pulled her through the hallways, waving off the maids fussing over him before they entered the Throne Room. There would be time for apologies later, she thought. And she was going to make it a good one.

     Next to Clegur, the seat for Helisant sat empty. Clegur and his companion—the scout who claimed to see the power that the child Seer demonstrated—had pushed her chair back and tipped their heads together over their meal, conversing in their own Canin dialect. Helisant had not come to the dinner and with Kethan away, Tamsin wasn't sure what was going on. Had she and Sasha had another fight after they both stormed from the room? He hadn't said anything, but there wasn't much time to talk after he'd clasped the snares on her wrists.
The other Wraiths didn't often attend basic receptions like this. Thiphania's evening activities were anybody's guess, even on a non-reception night. And Miriald, Iola, and Ymayne were probably out at a tavern this evening or visiting Miriald's family. Her parents lived in the city, not far from the marketplace Sasha, Tamsin, and Kethan had visited the day before. They were old, even by Witch standards. A Witch might live a thousand years if they were lucky. Miriald's parents had conceived her late in their lives, near their early 800s and they were rapidly approaching the thousand year mark so Miriald was intent on spending as much time together as they had left.