Chapter 29 - The Dinner
Alardice Manor, Magrath, Vanstead Dukedom of Augustein Year 995
Lord Alardice was a rather tall man, and he had the same dark hair and eyes of his younger half brother. His features, however, were softer. More blunt than sharp, though his keen smile and slightly narrowed eyes pulled those features to the peak of their severity. He sat with a mostly relaxed posture, but his back was straight and his arms were kept crossed over the table—a perfect combination of intimidation and ease. Amara noted the black gloves he wore and the gleaming gems and stones embedded into a few select parts of his clothing, undoubtedly magic ore.
Surrounding the expansive dining hall, lit on all sides by torches, various guards stood as stiff as statues. Amara noticed the head guard from earlier standing a few feet behind Lord Alardice. The man had a fresh bandage plastered on his jaw and an irritable frown. His eyes flashed with recognition as the three of them entered, and that frown deepened.
“Good evening, my lord,” Glenn said, bowing at a perfectly rigid 90 degree angle. He straightened and gestured toward Isolde and Amara. “I’ve brought the guests.” His eyes stared not quite directly at Lord Alardice, drifting just enough to the side to avoid making true eye contact.
Isolde stepped forward, bowing elegantly, her long hair swaying with the motion. Amara attempted to imitate the gesture and decided to blame any stiffness on her freshly patched injuries if anyone pointed it out.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Lord Alardice,” Isolde said smoothly. “I am Isolde, and my companion here is Amara. We wish to thank you for your generous hospitality.”
Lord Alardice raised an eyebrow, those sharp eyes scrutinizing the two of them.
“Well mannered, I see,” he said. “At ease.”
Isolde straightened, and Amara followed after, noting with some amusement the way the other woman had removed any opportunity for her to speak. Probably for the better, but it was funny to see nonetheless.
“Take a seat.” Lord Alardice gestured to a few seats across from him on the long dining table, where plates of food had been set out. At first Amara had assumed the food was for more people, given the sheer amount of dishes, but it seemed it was just them. She stared at the lavish heaps, many still steaming and freshly cooked, taking in the colorful ingredients she didn’t recognize. Finally, she tore her eyes away and took a seat beside Isolde.
Lord Alardice nodded, pleased. Glenn shifted, still standing by the entrance, and Lord Alardice waved dismissively in his direction.
“Leave,” he instructed curtly. Glenn hesitated, glancing at the two of them.
“My lord—”
“Glenn.” The man’s voice left no room for argument. Amara watched Glenn’s fingers clench into a fist, but his hands stayed steady at his sides. Slowly, the man bowed again, his dark hair falling into his face.
“I wish you a pleasant meal, my lord.”
Straightening again, the man turned around and departed the room without looking back, the doors swinging shut behind him. Lord Alardice watched him leave with an almost bored expression, and once he was gone, he redirected his attention back to his two guests, continuing the conversation from where he’d left off as though there had been no interruption.
“I am Rygar Alardice,” he introduced himself. He waved back at the head guard, who was staring at the door with narrowed eyes and only shifted his gaze away when Rygar spoke. “This is Kain, my head guard. He was just speaking to me about your actions during the attack.” The lord’s eyes gleamed with interest. “It sounds as though the two of you are fairly proficient in fighting.”
Isolde’s responding chuckle lacked any visible tension, but Amara noted the sharp look in the woman’s eyes, a look that was quickly becoming familiar to her.
“You flatter us. We could not hold a handle to your guards.”
Rygar smiled, but the skin around his eyes remained still. “The two of you are travelers, correct? Are you mercenaries?”
“Not at all,” Isolde said just as smoothly. “We’ve simply learned some basic techniques for defensive purposes. Traveling can be quite dangerous, after all.”
The man laughed, the sound low and reverberating around the expansive space. Amara’s eyes drifted over to the guards still standing around the room, but all of their expressions remained perfectly blank. Rygar gestured at the food.
“No need to be courteous; my chefs are the best in northern Vanstead. You have my permission to indulge.”
Amara peered down at her food, the first course consisting of some kind of creamy soup. She picked up a spoon and swirled it around a few times within the pale liquid. She could feel Isolde tense slightly beside her, but she kept stirring casually, not able to find anything out of the ordinary. She could feel the other woman staring at her with a frown.
Without looking in her direction, Amara raised the spoon and took a sip, just small enough that she was pretty sure she could deal with it if there was anything inside. One of the “benefits” of the experiments was that her body was a bit more resistant to things like this. Once, when she’d accidentally eaten a few poison berries after misidentifying them, she’d managed to get away with just a sick stomach for a week and a long scolding from Joan.
Amara swallowed, feeling the warm liquid trickle down her throat. She waited for a few seconds, testing the strength of her grip on the spoon, but she didn’t notice anything unusual. Satisfied, she took another sip, which Isolde seemed to take as her cue to start eating as well.
“Well? How is it?”
Amara looked up and realized Rygar was addressing her directly. She took care to actually finish swallowing before answering.
“It’s good,” she said simply. She paused, considering, then added, “To be frank, Lord Alardice, my sense of taste isn’t very strong. If I don’t look like I’m enjoying the food, that’s probably why. I can tell your chef is very good, though.”
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Rygar’s eyes gleamed. “Interesting. Are you a perception magic user?”
Amara resisted the urge to laugh. “No, it’s not a magic consequence.” At least not in the traditional sense.
“She caught a severe cold a few years ago. It unfortunately left my friend with permanently dulled senses,” Isolde explained, and Amara nearly snorted. The other woman was the picture of elegance, eating her food in small bites punctured by a few delicate wipes with the handkerchief that had been laid out beside the silverware.
Rygar hummed, apparently satisfied with the explanation.
The two of them continued to eat in silence, the clinking of silverware filling the vast room. Amara was aware of the lord’s eyes watching them, but she ignored it, more than used to stares at this point.
Soon enough, the man spoke again. “How are you enjoying Magrath so far?” There was a sharper quality to his words that made Amara glance up, her own eyes narrowing slightly. Her gaze drifted over to Isolde, who finished dabbing her mouth.
“It’s quite nice here,” she said simply. “The two of us recently traveled through more rural areas, so Magrath has been a pleasant change of pace.” She set the handkerchief down. “I was surprised at how expansive the mines are. We passed by them on the road here. I was under the impression that they were a fairly recent development.”
Amara saw Kain’s fingers twitch, his jaw clenching. Rygar leaned forward slightly, the movement slow and deliberate.
“Well, I don’t enjoy doing things in halves,” the man said, smiling. “Developing Magrath into a flourishing city has long been a personal goal of mine.”
“That’s admirable,” Isolde said. “I imagine the expansive mines and high ore harvesting rate have helped enable more rapid growth.”
Amara set her fork down, not taking her eyes off the two, who seemed to be locked in a silent standoff of unspoken words.
“It’s certainly been useful,” Rygar remarked. “Of course, our hard working residents are just as much to thank for Magrath’s growth.”
“But of course.” Isolde’s eyes sharpened, taking on that icy quality that Amara remembered well from her initial night in Penrith. She grinned internally, content to sit back and watch the show.
Rygar’s eyes shifted barely perceptibly to their gloves, but the simple motion seemed to be what Isolde was waiting for. Amara could practically see the pieces snapping into place in her head. She moved without a sign of rushing, leisurely taking in the rigid guards encircling the room, Kain standing behind Rygar, and of course the lord of the manor himself.
“Lord Alardice,” she said pleasantly. “Do you perhaps doubt our identities?”
The man stiffened, his jaw clenching and eyes narrowing.
“And what exactly makes you think that?”
“Ah, forgive my impudence. I simply couldn’t help but find it a bit odd that you would invite two simple travelers for dinner, regardless of the role we may have played in defending Magrath.”
“I am a generous man,” Rygar said. “I do not hesitate to reward good deeds.”
“That’s quite magnanimous of you.”
A beat of silence passed. For a moment it seemed that no one in the room was willing to move, to risk breaking the thick, dense atmosphere that had settled into the space and rendered the vast room tight and confined.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Isolde spoke, voice quieter and lacking the practiced smoothness of her usual tone.
“Lord Alardice,” she said, “I can assure you that we are not secretly Roses, nor do we serve the Valisters. I, frankly, have no love for them.”
If possible, the atmosphere grew even heavier. Amara saw a few guards shift, noting, in particular, how Kain’s hand seemed to hover a little closer to the sword sheathed at his waist. Drifting nearby, but still not quite gripping it. Rygar remained seated, not taking his eyes off Isolde as she continued speaking.
“My friend and I are simply travelers seeking shelter. We happened upon Magrath because of its size and apparent abundance of materials.” She chuckled slightly. “Of course, we weren’t expecting the Aberration attack, and visiting here has instead had the opposite effect on our supplies.”
“You want ore.”
Rygar’s voice was blunt, and it sounded especially loud in the quiet that had settled over the room. Isolde didn’t blink.
“To put it simply, yes.” She nodded at Amara. “You see, my friend here was rather heavily injured, and while we appreciate this dinner…” she allowed her voice to trail off, and Rygar snorted.
“You imply my generosity is not enough? I should have you executed for your impudence.”
“That would be most unfortunate.” Isolde brushed a strand of hair back. “Forgive my frankness, but you do seem to have an… excess of ore.”
Rygar narrowed his eyes. “Did you not say you had no love for the Valisters?”
“I have no love for them, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know them.”
Kain’s hand gripped the handle of his sword, but still no one drew their weapons. Isolde’s eyes studied the surrounding guards for a moment before returning to Rygar. “We don’t wish to cause you any trouble. We’re planning on leaving Magrath soon after we restock, and then we’ll be out of your hair.”
Amara could see the lord’s mind churning. His eyes flared, and more than once she saw anger bubbling up before being replaced by contemplation, consideration, and a sharp perception that reminded her a bit of Isolde. She looked between the two of them, seated on opposite ends of the long wooden table, and decided that they were probably more similar to each other than they were different. A small voice in her head that sounded an awful lot like Colm said this wasn’t a good thing, but she found she couldn’t bring herself to care. After all, she already had an idea of the kind of person Isolde really was.
When Lord Alardice made to move, Amara tensed on instinct, but he simply raised a hand, beckoning behind him.
“Have dessert brought in. We can discuss this over the rest of the meal.”
The two guards he’d waved at glanced at each other, but they bowed and disappeared through a back door, likely to inform the chef, before striding back out and returning to their stations. Amara could vaguely hear the sound of clinking plates in the kitchen, and no one seemed willing to speak while they waited. Isolde and Rygar, in particular, seemed to be locked in some sort of staredown, an entire conversation passing between them.
Finally, the door swung open again, and a servant appeared balancing three trays on his arms. Amara’s eyebrows rose at the sight of a familiar dark, swirling tattoo. The man from the shop glanced in their direction, and his own eyes widened in recognition before immediately flattening into a perfectly neutral expression.
He strode briskly around the table, setting down the plates without looking anyone in the eye. Amara studied the man closely, but if he noticed he ignored her. He was wearing what appeared to be a servant’s uniform that day, and the dark color matched the tattoo. Despite keeping his gaze down most of the time, more than once his eyes would flicker over to Rygar, then back.
Finally, after all the plates were set, the servant bowed stiffly and exited the room, moving as quickly as he could while still remaining respectful.
Once he was gone, Rygar picked up his fork and stabbed into the slice of cake placed in front of him, but his attention was clearly fixed on the other side of the table. He and Isolde launched into a new series of negotiations, though both of them seemed intent on speaking circles around the main point.
Slowly, Amara could feel the tension in the room die down until it was simply a slight pulse, no longer suffocating like it had been before.
Amara, however, didn’t pay much attention to the conversation. Instead, her eyes were fixed on the back door where the tattooed man had vanished, a contemplative look in her eyes.