47. Ceremony #3
“We can,” Faren insisted, heart clenching.
Oderin gave him a single nod. “If the plan unfolds as we expect, this will be over before it begins.”
Faren swung his attention to the tables surrounding Lothgaim’s, which harbored long rows of nobility in Fenriran orange and red, along with knights of various Orders—many of whom he recognized and others he did not.
He spotted Shae, Warner, and Lee at the opposite end of the hall, eating and laughing together.
In addition to pointing out the safest exits to his family, Faren had insisted that his friends be on their guard tonight, but it hadn’t felt like enough. Nothing did.
Faren rubbed at the muscle in his thigh, the half-healed scar pulling with an achy tension as he did. “Over before it begins, you say?” he asked his Major.
Oderin opened his mouth to reply—then broke off at the distant sound of clashing metal and breaking wood. It barely permeated the din of drunk nobles, but as the sound magicians in the room took note, there was a wave of chatter, followed by a hush.
Seconds passed as diners listened and whispered. Then shouts emanated from outside the Great Hall, announcing the Valiant’s arrival.
Faren made eye contact with Eva and jerked his head toward the safest exit, a side door to the left of Lord Haron’s table.
She stiffened, then began poking at Beatrice and Persephone, urging them up.
They’d barely pushed back their chairs when a large clang sounded on the double doors, as if someone had knocked with a gauntleted fist.
As if on cue, Lord Haron—seated farthest from the double doors at the head of the room—rose from the pile of pillows on his throne-like chair and tapped his wine chalice with a knife.
All heads swiveled toward the harsh sound.
Faren looked to his friends, hoping to snag their attention, but they too were watching the Lord.
“My cherished courtiers and esteemed guests.” Lord Haron spread his arms welcomingly, his crimson robes fanning out like the petals of a poisonous flower.
More cracks and clatters came from beyond the doors, causing a stir of nervous energy, but Lord Haron spoke over it, his nasal voice filling the chamber.
“I am delighted to reveal a special surprise to enhance tonight’s festivities. ”
Faren glanced at Oderin, whose eyes had gone wide with confusion. “Do you know what’s afoot?” Faren whispered.
The Major’s jaw ticked, and he gave his head a small shake.
Lord Haron was flanked by advisers, his nervous-looking wife (who, like the three young women who’d come before her, had yet to produce the Lord an heir), and two ledgermasters. None of them seemed to know what would come next as he gestured toward the doors. “Guards, if you please.”
The entrance guards hesitated, then reached for the knobs, the hinges squealing as they hauled the heavy wooden doors of the Great Hall open.
From Faren’s place by the windows, he did not have a clear line of sight through the entryway.
As gasps and stifled screams rose up from the guests nearest to the doors, Faren reached behind his back, gripping the hilts of his swords and sliding them out of their scabbards by one inch, two—
Black gnarled antlers appeared through the seven-foot doorway, followed by the bowed heads of two massive Morta.
They crept in on clawed feet, their bodies creaking and cracking as they moved.
When they cleared the threshold, they straightened to their full heights, their red eyes level with the chandeliers.
In the bright light of the Great Hall, Faren noted that their skin was less gray than those he’d seen in the wilds.
Their bodies were just as grotesque, though, their stench just as rotten, and yet these Morta seemed… different.
Less hunger-crazed and vicious.
More vacant and controlled.
Among the nobility, startled gasps turned to moans of horror, and screams morphed into blood-curdling shrieks.
Faren scented the sudden and astringent reek of urine.
Yet no one fled. He could only imagine their paralyzing terror.
These people had never seen an abomination before.
Few in this room even knew monsters existed, and now—
Now there were two Morta inside the Great Hall.
Faren unsheathed his swords, setting off a cascade of more weapons being drawn by the attending knights.
But the monsters weren’t attacking. In fact, they stood at attention like two dungeon guards as a third figure stumbled between them.
The prisoner was a mere man, completely dwarfed by the abominations.
His hands were secured in iron cuffs behind his back and his chains led to the Mortas’ claw-tipped grips.
When he lifted his face to the room, he gazed out at the assembly with one beady eye.
Heris Morvain.
He hadn’t fought his way to the Great Hall; he’d been brought here like a fucking prize. By abominations.
From the other end of the room, Lord Haron began to laugh.