The King's Hand by Anna Thayer

Author:Anna Thayer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lion Hudson
Published: 2014-05-07T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XVIII

With each passing day, the winds that buffeted Dunthruik from the north-west grew less severe, and they brought with them touches of warmth. The great, trailing flowers in the Ashen bloomed.

Following his spar with the Hands of the Quarter Eamon had slept well, though his sleep was interrupted by odd dreams. As he sat at breakfast he struggled to remember anything of them but pale forms and flickering images.

Slater brought him his breakfast: the accustomed tray of breads, all of them fresh and accompanied by meats and cheeses. That morning Slater also brought a strange fruit that he did not – and could not – recognize. He had never seen its like before in his life. It was a little smaller than his fist, and was a ruddy golden colour.

“Good morning, my lord.” Slater bowed as he laid the tray on the table, neatly avoiding Eamon’s papers.

“Good morning,” Eamon answered, eyeing the fruit suspiciously. He had not the courage to ask what it was, and if Slater observed the disconcerted fashion in which he stared at it, then the servant had the sense not to mention it.

Slater left, and Eamon ate. He had been left a knife and a small bowl of water. He presumed they were each for the fruit, though he was unsure how to cut it properly. Not long later there was a knock at his door. Eamon bade the knocker enter. Anderas stepped inside. The captain bowed.

“Good morning, Lord Goodman.”

“Good morning, captain.”

“I have a cart and driver waiting in the Ashen, and two horses ready at the stables. We will depart at your convenience, my lord.”

“Good, thank you.” Eamon rose from the table.

“You are sure that you have finished?” Anderas said, surprised. Eamon looked down at the untouched fruit on his otherwise empty plate.

“Yes?” he offered.

Anderas frowned at him.

“I couldn’t ask Slater,” Eamon explained. He gestured to the fruit in frustration. “I have little idea what that is, captain, and even less of an idea of how to eat it.”

“You needn’t eye it so, Lord Goodman!” Anderas said with a gentle laugh, and Eamon sighed, trying to relax the accusatory gaze with which he regarded the alien object.

“Is it even food?”

“Yes, lord, and very fine food, too,” Anderas answered. “They’re known as lotti, after some foreign word or other. My grandmother always used to call them ‘western stars’.” The captain stepped forward to the tray and picked up the fruit.

“Western stars?”

“When spring comes breathing over-seas,

comes bringing word of lands afar;

see there by port and river lea

a shining haul of golden stars.”

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