House of Boreal by K.L. Kolarich

Author:K.L. Kolarich
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: K.L. Kolarich
Published: 2023-10-04T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Zaethan

Another bushel was deposited near the end of their table. The Boreali made no secret of its contents. Purposely untied, the drawstrings hung limply where the fabric had been rolled back. As to what it contained, Zaethan’s best guess was pounds of spice, for the powder inside was a shock of bright orange against the otherwise rustic setting. It spread a savory musk in his vicinity. Straining his neck, Zaethan lifted an inch out of his highbacked chair to spy the contrasting load of brilliant teal that bookended their table.

A Boreali dressed in white was posted behind each burlap sack. They ringed the terrace in perfect sequence about the keep’s rising tiers. At a glance, it looked as if the arms of the highland forest were wrapped around its people, its monstrous limbs dotted with eager sprites.

The Boreali were waiting for something.

Or someone.

Below, the clans had converged in a chaotic mingle of merrymaking and song, despite the threat of snow. Bits of it sprinkled down under the bountiful glow of an unabashed amber moon. Snowfall was an event Zaethan had heard more about than actually seen, for in the lowlands and deep South, frost rarely stuck till morning. Kind of like loyalty, he sourly commented to himself.

Draped in their thick layers, the Boreali seemed to jitter with unspoken excitement. Over the playful music, it rattled with the bells they all wore—some at their ankles, others about their wrists. Zaethan had even spotted a handful of notably big men who’d strapped them on as a substitute for their belts. The palpable anticipation that shuddered through the courtyard easily clamored up to the seventh story. It was there, among a fleet of impassive drummers, the Clann Darragh stood.

Without his daughter.

Nor was Luscia with the Quadren. The spread reserved no seat for her, had she deigned to dine with them during her own fastidious fete. Strangely, Dmitri’s party was the only group eating anything at all.

At distant tables, his prydes cluttered the third story outside Declan’s family suite, where every outsider had been segregated from whatever was to happen. The rest of the keep was on the ground. Zaethan shot an uneasy look at Zahra, where yards away, she picked at a leg of meat beside Kumo. His third shook her head at him mistrustingly. He adamantly agreed. They didn’t know what to expect, but it was clear that though they weren’t to participate, they were intended to watch.

Overloaded with braised elk and rainbow cabbage—an already vile vegetable robbed of its sorry flavor after his experience in the moorland—Zaethan shoved off his plate and buckled his forearms. Drained as he was from navigating the peninsula’s surmounting prejudice, he was even more fed up with the political farce as a whole. “Boreal is tarrying with you,” he said quietly to Dmitri. “Just another stall tactic disguised as tradition. This celebration is an absolute waste of time.”

Setting aside his fork, his king peeked overtop the tufts of his bulky cloak. “No longer concerned for my status as their chosen sacrifice? I’m disappointed, Zaeth.

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