Furysong by Rosaria Munda

Author:Rosaria Munda [Munda, Rosaria]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2022-08-09T00:00:00+00:00

DELO

The Greatlord’s Hall, which is being rebuilt without the Greatlord or his decorations by Thornrose Clan in atonement for its treachery, has yet to be renamed. So it is to his father’s hall that Astyanax receives an invitation, when he opens the door the afternoon of the Callipolan refugees’ arrival and finds a messenger from the clan elders. It seems the Norcian love of hospitality, for now at least, outweighs their anxiety about additional mouths to feed: Tonight, they will welcome their guests in style.

I hide my misgivings about our invitation from Astyanax, who is giddy at the prospect of a feast, and perhaps a little too sweetened by the sound of the phrase Greatlord’s Hall, as if it had the power to bring his father back for the night. Electra frets about what we will wear, choosing between the three dresses she was allowed to take with her from her apartments in the Provisional Palace, none suitably formal. She insists I bathe—ten extra dragons’ worth of sweat and soil scrub off with some effort, especially given our lack of soap—and lays out the single tunic I still possess dyed blue in the color of my House.

“I think it might be better to go unadorned.”

“Don’t be silly. We’re still dragonborn.”

That, I consider saying, is the problem. But Electra looks so imperious that I decide I’ll take my chances with the Norcians and put on the tunic without further protest.

Sty enthuses giddily about what longed-after dishes we might sample again tonight as we make our way up the hill to the citadel. Do you think the dogs will be there? Sty misses the citadel dogs, whom he enjoyed feeding scraps at feasts. My father’s dogs, he keeps calling them. Electra leans heavily on my arm for the uphill walk. I am weighing, with a kind of detached curiosity, the odds that the humiliation will be to serve at table: Sty is too small and Electra too doddering, but they might ask it of me.

Naturally, I’m being too optimistic.

At the door, a man I recognize as one of Seanan’s friends stops us.

“And look at you three, in the tricolor!” he says with a delighted laugh, at the sight of Electra’s black, my blue, and Sty’s red, and I know at once it was a mistake not to put my foot down with Electra about our clothing. Sty smiles nervously at him. “Wait here. Want to give you the proper entrance.”

“What did he say?” Electra’s Norish is minimal. I translate, and she looks pleased. “Ah yes, it will be fitting to announce us.”

The doors burst open, and more of Seanan’s friends usher us through. The hall is warmly lit, and though the lumber is fresh and unstained, the long tables are arranged in the usual rows. Tonight, instead of the Triarchy-in-Exile at the high table, it’s Woad-riders and Guardians. Sty has an instant to take in the changed decorations, his face falling, before Seanan’s friend pushes us forward. Though Electra’s Norish might not

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