Chapter 64 Dinner Toast

Chapter 64 Dinner Toast


RHYDIAN

The food on the platters had gone cold before the third jug of wine came up from the cellar. Down at the end of the hall, the men from the southern garrison were already shouting, slamming their cups on the tables every time the kitchen boys brought out more bread.
I didn't touch my plate. My fingers stayed on the silver salt cellar by my hand, tracing the small ridges stamped into the bottom.
Ana sat right beside me, her shoulders straight under her grey dress. She hadn't eaten either. She had spent the last hour breaking her bread into tiny crumbs, piling them up near her knife. Every time a heavy barrel rolled past the door, the thick smell of the food made her head drop, her face turning pale.
Across the table, Vessa sat next to her father, twisting a red ribbon around her fork. She still wore her heavy ceremonial coat, and she had pinned the white ribbons from the mare to her chest so everyone from the lower yard could see them.
"The wind is bad tonight, Alpha," Vessa’s father said, leaning his heavy arms on the table. He looked up toward the high seat where Bram sat with his fingers hooked in his gold chain. "The horse-masters say the grass in the lower meadow is ruined from the rain. We’ll need the southern storerooms cleared before the month ends."
Bram didn't look up from his drink. He took a long swallow of the wine, wiping his beard with the back of his hand. "The storage is taken care of, Garrow. Rhydian checked the crates before noon."
I stood up before my father could call for more food.
The heavy bench scraped hard against the stone floor, the loud noise cutting right through the shouting at the other tables. Daven stopped talking down at the end of the board, his cup staying halfway to his mouth while he looked up at us.
I lifted the silver salt cellar, the metal catching the yellow light from the lamps overhead. "Esther," I called to the old woman by the baskets. "Bring another jug of the valley wine to this side of the table."
The hall went quiet, the kind of quiet that happens when the wind stops in the chimney all at once, leaving nothing but the hiss of the logs on the fire.
"To the eastern wing," I said, my voice dropping low so it went straight across the table to my father. "To Ana. May the cradle stay warm through the first winter frost."
Vessa’s fork hit her plate with a loud bang. Her face went from pink to a dark, angry red that reached all the way to her hair. She stood up so fast her skirts caught the edge of the table, tipping a small lamp sideways until the oil ran onto her father’s sleeve.
"There is no cradle in the eastern wing," Vessa shouted, pointing her fork at Ana. Her voice was thin and broken. "The priestess spent the morning at the well, Rhydian. The council wrote down the bloodline before noon. You can't offer a toast to her while the mare’s ribbons are still pinned to my coat."
I didn't put the salt cellar down. My thumb stayed on the base. "There is no need to argue, Vessa. Sit down and finish your food."
"Rhydian," Garrow growled, putting his heavy hand over his daughter’s wrist to pull her back to the bench. His face looked thick, the veins in his forehead swelling. "You speak to her with respect. Your father signed the papers before the horses were even out of the pen."
"She can keep whatever names the council gave her," I said, looking past him to where Bram sat. "But the child in the eastern wing is the one taking the alpha ring when the year is over. Ana’s pup will be the heir of Ironfang, Garrow. You can tell your scribes to write that on the front gates tomorrow morning."
Bram didn't stand up, but his hand came down on the table so hard the wood groaned. His great cup tipped over, the dark wine spreading across the white cloth into the bread.
"That is enough, boy," Bram said. His voice wasn't loud, but it had that heavy rattle that usually meant someone was going down to the cells before the gates were locked. He looked at Ana, his eyes staying on her fingers where they were shaking against her knife. "The council doesn't take the names of women from the lower huts. I told you in the market today, Rhydian—men have ruined everything over less than this. Take your seat and let us finish the count."
"The market was five hours ago, Alpha," I said, stepping out from behind the bench until my boots were right on the edge of the wine stain. "The cradle is already in my room. If you want to change the name on it, you’ll have to bring the spears up the stairs yourself, because the clerks aren't going into that hallway while I’m standing by the door."
"You think those boys from the yard will protect you?" Bram stood up then, his great wool cloak falling back from his shoulders while the silver chain on his chest rattled. He was taller than Garrow, his grey hair shaking around his ears as he leaned across the table. "They belong to this house, Rhydian. They eat my food. If I tell them to carry those chests back to the vault tonight, they’ll break your door down before you can reach for your blade."
"They won't break anything," I said. The heat was rising in my chest now, making my vest feel too tight against my ribs. "Gerard’s father lost his sheep because your clerks wrote the wrong number in the book three years ago. Thomas hasn't seen a silver coin since the walls were fixed. They don't eat your food, Bram—they eat what I bring down from the high valley myself."
"He’s crazy," Vessa screamed, her fingers digging into her father’s shoulder until the silk tore. "Father, look at him! He’s going to give her the robes from the old chests!"
"Silence!" Bram roared, and this time the whole hall went completely dead. A boy dropped a jug by the door, the metal rolling across the stone before anyone dared to move. My father’s eyes went small and dark, until he looked like the old wolf that took the high seat during the Great Frost. "You talk about the bloodline like you built these walls yourself, boy. You have nothing but what I leave on the bench when my knees go stiff."
"I have the child," I said, and I reached down, catching Ana’s shoulder and pulling her up from her stool until she was standing right beside me. She didn't look at Bram; her face was set hard like frozen mud, her fingers hooking into my sleeve until I could feel her breath against my arm. "Look at her, Alpha. Look at the face of the woman who’s going to sit on the bench when you're under the stones in the vault."
Garrow reached for his belt, his buckle clinking against the table leg, but Daven was already moving from the end of the board. My cousin didn't draw his knife, but he dropped his heavy hand right over Garrow’s knuckles, pressing into the joint until the old man let go of the strap.
"The hall isn't the place for weapons, Garrow," Daven said, his voice slow and quiet, though his boots were planted wide on the floor. "The boys have enough to clean up without blood on the stones."
Bram looked at Daven, then at the two guards by the door who hadn't moved their spears since I stood up. His chest rose and fell twice, the silver chain on his neck shifting like a snake in the grass.
"The watch changes in ten minutes, Rhydian," my father said, his voice dropping back into that cold, quiet tone that was worse than the shouting. He picked up his spilled cup, setting it straight on the cloth. "We’ll see who opens the gates when the morning comes. Take your woman back to the eastern wing now. But don't look for the carpenter tomorrow—he’ll be making boxes for the dead before the sun hits the wall."
"Let him make them," I said. I dropped the silver salt cellar onto my plate, the heavy metal cutting right through the cold bread. "The boxes will be the right size for the clerks if they come into my hallway after dark."
I turned my back on the high seat before he could answer. I caught Ana by the elbow, her skirts bunching around her boots as I pulled her through the small side-door into the dark hallway where the noise couldn't follow us.