Read Online The Skeleth by Matthew Jobin - Free Book Online

young folk here about the hall who stand ready for your approval, sons and daughters of the merchants and craftsmen of your own villages.”
    Edmund looked about him and saw a collection of perhaps a dozen boys and girls standing up about the hall, all of them very obviously dressed to get attention. The boys were mostly the sons of rich merchants from Northend, and the girls were either the prettiest in their villages, or at least thought themselves so. They all lined up by the wings of the high tables, trying to crowd past one another while at the same time trying not to look too obvious about it.
    â€œI’ll bet Tom and Papa are at Lord Tristan’s castle by now,” said Katherine. “And I’ll bet they’re having more fun than we are.”
    Lord Aelfric held up his hand. “By tradition, the king and queen are chosen by the acclaim of the folk of the land.” He stretched out a hand to Luilda Twintree, who had contrived to push herself up closest to his view. “Let us hear from our first—”
    A roar, a chorus, a double thunder cut him off. “Edmund Bale!” It came from the tables where sat the folk of Moorvale, and just as loudly from across the hall where sat the miners of Roughy. “Katherine Marshal!”
    Edmund turned to Katherine in shock. He found her going pale, and trying to sidle out of the hall.
    â€œSilence!” Lord Aelfric was met with nothing like silence, but he tried to shout over the roaring crowd. “It is tradition that—”
    â€œEdmund Bale! Katherine Marshal!” Once the shout began, it took on a momentum that could not be contained, as though the idea, once proposed, suited just about everyone. The boys and girls lined up for their chance to be king and queen lookedlike they had all drunk from the same vat of vinegar. Two children came forward from the opposite end of the hall. After a moment Edmund recognized them—Sedmey and Harbert, the kids from Roughy who had been among the Nethergrim’s intended victims.
    â€œMy lord.” Sedmey made a peasant’s curtsy before the high table. “If it pleases you, Edmund Bale and Katherine Marshal are the reason me and my brother are here tonight. They went into the mountains, my lord, into the Girth, and they fought the Nethergrim to bring us home safe again. There’s no one in this hall who should be our Harvestide king and queen but them.”
    â€œWhat’s this?” Lord Wolland stood from his table. “The Nethergrim, you say? Where are these two heroes?”
    There was nowhere to hide. Folk drew back from Edmund and Katherine, leaving them alone together in the middle of the hall.
    â€œThen it’s settled!” Lord Wolland clapped his hands. “Those two there, king and queen of Harvestide! Who would dare to pick another?”
    Lord Aelfric looked at a loss for words. He turned to Lady Isabeau, then back to the crowd, but all he could utter was something else about tradition that no one bothered to hear.
    â€œEdmund and Katherine, king and queen of Harvestide!” The folk of Moorvale—save perhaps for Luilda’s family—raised their voices all at once. “Three cheers for them!” The other claimants to the crowns looked upset, but could not withstand the sustained applause, and soon returned rather glumly to their seats.
    â€œWell, come on then.” Katherine undid her wimple, letting free her long dark hair. “Take my hand.”
    Edmund trembled. He held forth his hand, and she slipped it into hers. Lord Aelfric came down from his high table with a crown in his hands woven from stalks of golden wheat. He wore the same impassive, icy look Edmund had always seen on him, though perhaps just a little icier than usual. Lady Isabeau followed him with a crown woven from flowers, but she wore an oddly sly and satisfied smile on her face.
    Lord Aelfric held Edmund in a long, cryptic stare and then, with sudden