he’d returned to his duties with only a slight scar on his arm to show where he’d been injured, the surgeon had been insufferable.
She stood up from the window seat and fetched her sword. She hated sitting still for long, and she knew that even during the Yule preparations there were always housecarls ready for weapons practice down in the lists or training grounds. As Thirrin strode along the corridor, the bustle and noise swirled about her, filling her eyes, ears, and nose with color and scent and distant magical music. She felt she’d burst with happiness. All that was needed to make the season complete was the snow. But even though the skies were a dull, swollen gray, there was no sign of even the tiniest flake.
The next day was Yuletide Eve, and Thirrin had decided that she would lead the escort of cavalry to collect Oskan later that evening. She thought she’d tell him that she just happened to be riding in the area and so dropped by to see that he reached Frostmarris safely. Of course, the fact that they’d have a spare horse for him to ride would be a bit of a giveaway, but she’d just hide behind her royal persona and no one would dare to point this out to her. In the meantime she would spend the morning with Redrought.
Her father always said she only ever ate with him or visited his private rooms when she wanted something. Partly to disprove this, she’d made up her mind to arrive in his rooms just after the midday meal and not leave until the evening, without asking for a thing.
Crossing the Great Hall on her way to the King’s rooms was an exciting obstacle course of decorations lying around the floor, ready to be tacked to the lath-and-plaster walls; trestle tables set at all sorts of crazy angles as servants attached wreathes of ivy to the edges; and harassed-looking chamberlains rushing by on their way to kitchens, storerooms, or the wine cellar. It was less than a day now before the great feast began, and everything must be ready. Several of Redrought’s most important barons and baronesses would be staying, and finding housing for their entourages and soldier escorts was the usual nightmare that happened every year. It was odd, thought Thirrin, but no matter how early the household staff started their preparations, there was always this crazy, lastminute panic before everything finally came together.
At last she skirted around the Throne of State and almost fell through the small entranceway hidden behind it that led into Redrought’s rooms. She shut the door behind her and leaned against the woodwork for a moment, completely overwhelmed by the excitement of the preparations. When she finally looked up, the quiet and calm of the room washed over her. The King was sitting in his usual chair surrounded by a mountain of colorful cushions, while Grimswald, the elderly Chamberlain-of-the-Royal-Paraphernalia, sat on a low stool next to him reading from a beautifully illuminated book. Thirrin recognized this as one of her father’s personal Yuletide traditions: He had a passage from The Book of the Ancestors read to him every day during the two-week lead-up to Yule. And true to form, he suddenly bellowed a huge guffaw of laughter as he happily scrutinized the illuminated scrollwork of the pages and caught sight of one of the mythical animals peering out at him. Redrought had ordered the book from the Holy Brothers of the Southern Continent when Thirrin was still a baby and, such was the work that had gone into its richly decorated pages, she’d been eight years old when it had finally been delivered.
“Ah, Thirrin!” her father boomed when he caught sight of her at the door. “Come in! Come in! Grimswald’s just reading about Edgar the Bold and his war against the Dragon-folk of the Wolfrocks.”
This was one of her favorite tales, so she quickly crossed the room and squeezed into Redrought’s huge chair with him. She threw some of the comfy cushions onto the floor to make extra room, then took Primplepuss, who was mewing a polite greeting, and placed her on her lap. The little cat purred loudly and settled down to a good wash as Grimswald continued the story.
It was one of the longest chapters in The Book of the Ancestors, and so by the time Edgar had finally killed the Dragon King at the last battle of the long war, the thin afternoon light had