Chapter 36
Folami
The clink of forks and knives against fine dinnerware—red porcelain with gold filigree inlays—echoed throughout the cavernous dining hall.
Unlike the rest of the manor, this room was lined with dark-stained wood on both the walls and the ceilings, accented only by a blood-red rug that looked like it was from somewhere in the south.
The Mage Orbs that hung along the walls were lit low, casting shadows in the deepest recesses of the space.
The only furniture was an elaborately carved dining table, the stain of which matched the rest of the room. The chairs were large with the same blood-red fabric on the cushions as the rug on the floor.
The whole effect was rather macabre and dark.
Tonight was our mandatory weekly dinner with Lord d’Leocopus, and while Peytor and I were never invited by the lord, Torin always insisted we accompany him.
I think it was more to act as a buffer between him and Lord d’Leocopus than anything else.
He rarely ever spoke to Peytor and me, instead focusing his beady, hungry gaze on Torin.
It was clear that the Lord of Lishahl was an opportunistic man, especially since he’d run his luck with the Warlord earlier in the year. He was obviously hedging his bets on the rebellion and, thus, supplied us with whatever we needed to prepare to take on the Warlord and Elyria.
Though it was also clear that his patience with us was running thin. Like Anders in the training yard today, he was expecting something more to happen at a much quicker pace than we were comfortable with.
What is it with northern lords not understanding the concept of waiting?
“General Folami,” Lord d’Leocopus called from his seat at the head of the table, a full six chairs to my left, and I startled at the sound of his thin, reedy voice addressing me.
“Yes?” I answered after clearing my throat and setting my utensils down next to my plate.
The food, while well prepared, was never to my liking.
I was used to the lighter fare in the south—rices and beans with chicken and fish—and the heavy richness of roasted birds and thick gravy often sat like a lump in my stomach.
I’d learned to eat sparingly at these dinners if I wanted to be at all useful the remainder of the night.
Lord d’Leocopus narrowed his small, watery, brown eyes in my direction, the bushiness of his eyebrows almost obscuring his pupils completely.
He was not an attractive man, and I suspected that was the case for his entire life if his son, Praetor, was any comparison.
Lord d’Leocopus’ hair was greying and thinning, especially in the middle, and he wore it combed to the side to disguise the baldness.
He had a strangely thin nose that was set in an even thinner face with a weak chin and jaw, though his complexion was often ruddied from the copious amounts of liquor and wine he often consumed.
He sipped from his golden goblet now, a dribble of red wine escaping his lips to fall down his chin, and I suppressed the urge to lift my lip and nose in disgust.
Part of my expression must have slipped, though, because I felt a not-so-gentle kick under the table from Peytor, who sat across from me.
Turning my head slightly so I could look out of my peripheral, I saw him widen his grey eyes almost comically at me while gently shaking his head.
As soon as Lord d’Leocopus put his wine glass back on the table—after an inordinately long drink—Peytor’s head snapped back to his plate, intently focusing on the quail that was slowly becoming a carcass.
This time, I couldn’t repress my disgust, much to Torin’s amusement.
“You don’t like your food?” the lord asked nasally, and I sat perfectly still, devising an answer in my head that wouldn’t offend him, but would also tell him in no uncertain terms that I was not a fan of the food.
Over the past years free from my slavery in Vespera, I’d stopped holding my tongue and opinions.
Unfortunately, much to my chagrin and disappointment, now that we were back in the north and Torin needed Lord d’Leocopus’ help, I had to fall back on some of my previous habits.
It felt like putting on an old pair of boots that were caked with blood and dried mud.
I nearly wrinkled my nose at the visual.
“Folami is used to the food in the south, Lord d’Leocopus. Not consuming her food has nothing to do with the taste and everything to do with the size of her stomach,” Torin answered as he dabbed his mouth with the red napkin.
Ever the diplomat.
“Hmm. I see. But you spent time in the north before, yes?” Lord d’Leocopus pushed, and I felt the hairs raise on the back of my neck in alarm.
Where did he hear that and why is he asking now?
For months he’d ignored my presence—why engage me now?
“Yes,” I said bluntly and watched as both Torin’s and Lord d’Leocopus’ mouths thinned into lines.
“I would expect you’ve eaten this before, then,” he prodded, and I clenched my hands beneath the table.
“I—” I started, but Torin interrupted again.
“Yes, but not for many years, Lord d’Leocopus.”
That was a much nicer answer than I would’ve given.
Lord d’Leocopus leaned forward, wrists resting on the table.
“You were a Vessel in Lord d’Refan’s army at one point,” he stated nonchalantly, and I saw Peytor stiffen and Torin’s eyes narrow. I fought to keep my own expression neutral but felt a cloud of anger descending.
“Yes,” I clipped again, and Lord d’Leocopus hummed.
“Interesting thing, that. There was a reward for your capture for quite some time after you killed your Mage,” he said nonchalantly as he took a bite of his quail, and I felt my muscles tense, preparing my body to run and escape.
“It’s voided now. I suppose he thought you died.
Though I wonder what . . . favors it would bring if I turned you over to him. ”
The silence that descended amongst the table was deafening, and I heard my own panicked breaths in my chest.
No, no, no. I can’t go back there. Torin would never let that happen. Peytor would never let that happen.
Lord d’Leocopus, either completely oblivious to the tension around the table or uncaring of it, simply stabbed another piece of quail before chewing loudly.
“What’s your point, Lord?” Torin gritted, his knuckles white as they gripped his fork and knife.
“My point,” Lord d’Leocopus said around his mouth of food before he chewed and swallowed. “Is that your general”—he spat the word—“needs to learn to control her temper and not nearly kill sons of my councilors in the training yard.”
He fixed me with an icy stare, and I felt my blood run hot. My whole body nearly vibrated with rage, and I heard the beads in my hair clink together softly as I shook my head at his words.
“I did not nearly kill him. I simply corrected his behavior. We’re training for a war, not trying to fuck our friends in the training yard,” I said with steely determination, a bit of my rage shaking through my voice.
“Be that as it may, embarrassing him and pressing your spear into his neck is not how we ‘correct behavior’ in the north,” he stated, and I glowered; his insinuation was more than clear.
As a slave in the Warlord’s army, I knew more than enough about how they corrected behavior in the north, at least the behavior of Force Bonded Vessels.
We were raped and beaten, tortured and starved.
Little lordlings, though, sons of councilors and friends of the elite?
They were given a slight slap on the wrist, if anything at all.
“I expect he will receive an apology and the . . . example won’t be made again. If it is, I’m certain Lord d’Refan would be very interested in what I have here in my manor,” Lord d’Leocopus’ voice rang with finality as he turned back to his plate, effectively dismissing me.
For a moment, no one moved, and I sat still, fighting tears of anger as I glared a hole in Lord d’Leocopus’ head.
My eyes shot to Torin briefly, and he simply gave a small shake of his head, telling me not to take it further right now.
I loved and trusted Torin like a brother, but he would never—could never—understand what those words did to me.
“As you wish, Lord d’Leocopus,” I hissed through my teeth before pushing from the table, the utensils and cups jumping from the force of my hands. In one fluid motion, I stood and swiveled on my heel, my braids clinking as I moved, before striding for the door.
I didn’t look back at the table, but I heard Lord d’Leocopus huff a laugh.
“Women. This is why I’m no longer married,” he said. “Did I ever tell you about my late fourth wife?”
His voice dulled the further I got from the dining room, but I could hear the echo of his earlier words follow me down the hall and into the safety of my room.
“Mommy!” Itanya’s little voice rang through the empty space as soon as I opened the door. She pushed off the small bed we shared and flew across the room. I knelt on the floor, low enough that she could jump into my arms, before clutching her little body to me and spinning in a circle.
The dinner—both the food and conversation—sat heavy in my stomach, but any time I heard my little girl’s voice, or saw her beautiful smile, it was like my worries were chased away; I could be the happy, carefree woman I yearned to be instead of jaded by life and singularly focused on righting past wrongs.
Though I found it hard to shake it completely tonight.
Because, if Lord d’Leocopus made good on this threat, then it wouldn’t just be my life that was at stake—it was the life of my little girl, too.
And that was something I refused to play with.
I squeezed her a little tighter tonight and inhaled her perfect eucalyptus smell.