great hall. When Correy drew back the curtain, Aralorn saw that Falhart was standing near the opening with a slender woman who could only be his wife, Jenna. Nevyn and Freya were there, too.
Correy glanced around the room with an assessing eye. Impatiently, he grabbed a pewter pitcher from a surprised servant and dumped the liquid it contained onto the floor. With a boyish grin, he took the empty vessel and flung it against a nearby stone pillar. The resultant clamor had the effect of silencing the room momentarily.
“Good people,” bellowed Correy, though the effect was somewhat marred by the silly grin on his face. “I am here to announce that my father’s interment has been indefinitely postponed because of a slight misconception on our part. It seems that the Lyon lives.” He had to wait a moment before the noise level dropped to where he could be heard. “My sister, Aralorn, has determined that it is some ensorcellment that holds Father in thrall. I will send to the ae’Magi at once for his aid. Until he arrives, I would ask that no one enter the chamber.”
“You say the shapeshifter wishes no one to enter?” Nevyn’s face was pale. Freya touched his arm, but he shook himself free of her hand.
“ I say no one enters,” snapped Correy.
“There is a trap of some sort,” said Aralorn before matters between the two men worsened. “I have neither the skill nor the knowledge to deal with it. I fear that anyone without safeguards would be in danger of ending up in the same state as my father.” She bowed her head formally at Nevyn. “As you are far better trained than I, you are free to enter or not as you wish.”
Nevyn gave a shallow nod but didn’t move his eyes from Correy. “I would like to verify her opinion.”
“Fine,” said Correy.
“Have a care,” murmured Aralorn, as Nevyn brushed past her to enter the smaller room.
Aralorn looked at Wolf and gestured after Nevyn. He sighed loudly and ducked through the curtain behind the human mage.
While Irrenna dealt with the questions thrown at her, Falhart picked up the dented pitcher and handed it to Correy with a brotherly grin. “Never thought to see the day that my courtly brother dumped good ale on the floor in a formal gathering.”
Correy took the pitcher with a sheepish smile and shrugged. “It seemed . . . appropriate.”
Falhart turned to Aralorn. “Well, Featherweight, you did it again.”
She raised her brows. “Did what?”
“Managed to put the whole household in an uproar. You even turned Correy into a barbarian like ourselves. Look at all the work you caused the servants: This room will smell like a brewery for a se’night.”
Aralorn drew in her breath and puffed out her chest and prepared to defend herself. Before she could open her mouth, she was engulfed in Falhart’s arms.
“Thanks,” he said.
When Falhart set her down, Correy picked her up in a similar fashion, then gave her to an older man she recognized as one of the Lyon’s fighting comrades—and she wasn’t the only woman passed from one embrace to the next. From there the gathering took on the festiveness of Springfair.
Out of the corner of her eye, Aralorn saw Wolf find a place under one of the food-laden tables. Knowing from his actions that Nevyn was safely out of the curtained alcove, she relaxed and enjoyed herself.
Nevyn had no intention of working magic while under the watchful eye of Aralorn’s companion, who had inexplicably followed him.
He usually loved four-footed beasts of all kinds, but the cold yellow eyes of the wolf gave him chills. Would it have followed him if it were only a pet wolf as she claimed? Was it some relative of hers? He couldn’t tell the shapeshifters from any of the other creatures of the forest.
After completing a brief inspection of the room, Nevyn rejoined the guests. He would return to the Lyon when everyone was gone.
The tenor of the evening had changed during the short time he’d been gone. The quiet,
Correy glanced around the room with an assessing eye. Impatiently, he grabbed a pewter pitcher from a surprised servant and dumped the liquid it contained onto the floor. With a boyish grin, he took the empty vessel and flung it against a nearby stone pillar. The resultant clamor had the effect of silencing the room momentarily.
“Good people,” bellowed Correy, though the effect was somewhat marred by the silly grin on his face. “I am here to announce that my father’s interment has been indefinitely postponed because of a slight misconception on our part. It seems that the Lyon lives.” He had to wait a moment before the noise level dropped to where he could be heard. “My sister, Aralorn, has determined that it is some ensorcellment that holds Father in thrall. I will send to the ae’Magi at once for his aid. Until he arrives, I would ask that no one enter the chamber.”
“You say the shapeshifter wishes no one to enter?” Nevyn’s face was pale. Freya touched his arm, but he shook himself free of her hand.
“ I say no one enters,” snapped Correy.
“There is a trap of some sort,” said Aralorn before matters between the two men worsened. “I have neither the skill nor the knowledge to deal with it. I fear that anyone without safeguards would be in danger of ending up in the same state as my father.” She bowed her head formally at Nevyn. “As you are far better trained than I, you are free to enter or not as you wish.”
Nevyn gave a shallow nod but didn’t move his eyes from Correy. “I would like to verify her opinion.”
“Fine,” said Correy.
“Have a care,” murmured Aralorn, as Nevyn brushed past her to enter the smaller room.
Aralorn looked at Wolf and gestured after Nevyn. He sighed loudly and ducked through the curtain behind the human mage.
While Irrenna dealt with the questions thrown at her, Falhart picked up the dented pitcher and handed it to Correy with a brotherly grin. “Never thought to see the day that my courtly brother dumped good ale on the floor in a formal gathering.”
Correy took the pitcher with a sheepish smile and shrugged. “It seemed . . . appropriate.”
Falhart turned to Aralorn. “Well, Featherweight, you did it again.”
She raised her brows. “Did what?”
“Managed to put the whole household in an uproar. You even turned Correy into a barbarian like ourselves. Look at all the work you caused the servants: This room will smell like a brewery for a se’night.”
Aralorn drew in her breath and puffed out her chest and prepared to defend herself. Before she could open her mouth, she was engulfed in Falhart’s arms.
“Thanks,” he said.
When Falhart set her down, Correy picked her up in a similar fashion, then gave her to an older man she recognized as one of the Lyon’s fighting comrades—and she wasn’t the only woman passed from one embrace to the next. From there the gathering took on the festiveness of Springfair.
Out of the corner of her eye, Aralorn saw Wolf find a place under one of the food-laden tables. Knowing from his actions that Nevyn was safely out of the curtained alcove, she relaxed and enjoyed herself.
Nevyn had no intention of working magic while under the watchful eye of Aralorn’s companion, who had inexplicably followed him.
He usually loved four-footed beasts of all kinds, but the cold yellow eyes of the wolf gave him chills. Would it have followed him if it were only a pet wolf as she claimed? Was it some relative of hers? He couldn’t tell the shapeshifters from any of the other creatures of the forest.
After completing a brief inspection of the room, Nevyn rejoined the guests. He would return to the Lyon when everyone was gone.
The tenor of the evening had changed during the short time he’d been gone. The quiet,
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