Jewel of the Surf by B. C. Johnson

Author:B. C. Johnson [Johnson, B. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-05-29T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Party Foul

By the end of a second week since Lilith’s threat, all the preparations had been made for the banquet and not a moment too soon. Dignitaries from nations across the globe started arriving by boat to the gates of Lochmare. Using a special canal built between boroughs six and seven, the royal ships docked in the back of the palace grounds in the king’s private harbor at the south end of his estate. Crowds of people lined the canal, cheering and waving at the dignitaries from their host nations. In response, the foreigners from the ships threw out food, flowers, or other assorted gifts from their homelands.

Each vessel was adorned to great detail in representing their nation. Rich silks and beautifully colored sails from the Gatoen Alphanium, a bustling steam driven monstrosity from the ingenious Dwarven Parliament, and the pure white wooden vessel that seemed to float along the mist that stayed ever around it from the Elven Hierarchy. There were a few races who did not send delegates, mostly because they did not have a centralized government body for their people such as the Wildmen of the snow, the Chipowi, Shades, and the races of the Sun Sprite. The Lycan were also absent which was strange as one of their settlements was only a week’s journey to the north by land. The dragons were going to be represented by Ahtash and no one expected any Aquifers as they were generally considered as a dead race. A number of human nations were also absent from the proceedings, still ostracizing Lochkary due to its alliance with Bashawn. All together the size of the guest list compared to the actual attendees was a large indication of how Lochkary currently stood within the world’s political scene - not well respected at all.

Jeremy was uncharacteristically cheerful. He greeted each delegate personally on a red carpet that stretched from the dock to his palace. He spoke with each one as he exchanged pleasantries, swapped humorous stories, and he and the delegates updated each other about the state of their perspective kingdoms. Sam waited impatiently in a side room on the third floor of the palace, a few servants and his tailor putting the finishing touches on his uniform for the evening. He had been cleaned, primped, and altogether prepared by what seemed like an army of specialists to make him look presentable and noble. They had washed and tied his blue hair back, cleaned his nails, they even had tried to apply a bit of makeup to hide his facial scar but at that point Sam had shooed them away. By the time they were through he almost didn’t recognize himself in the mirror.

A gentle knock on the door brought the Guardian away from the window overlooking the dignitaries’ arrival. Lucas Hayze smiled and let himself in. He looked over Sam’s garments with mock appeasement, “Well don’t you look every bit the honorable man I know you to be, Samuel Gale of Cortendale.”

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes.

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