on the central hearth. Even the huge banners of the housecarl regiments that were suspended from each of the roof beams glowed only dimly through the drifting tendrils of smoke that would eventually meander out of vents high in the ceiling. A dancing bear loomed through the haze halfway down the rows of tables so that, to Thirrin, it looked like a miniature mountain with a clumsy sense of rhythm. And every now and then, one of the acrobats would dive skyward, like a dolphin leaping out of a black smoky sea.
She eventually turned her attention back to the High Table and listened as her father chatted, or rather shouted, good-naturedly with one of his barons. She always sat next to the King at the State banquets. It was good for the lords and ladies of the Icemark to get to know the heir apparent, and because she knew how important this was, Thirrin tried her best to rise to the occasion. She made every effort to crush her natural shyness beneath an exterior that was charming and at the same time intelligent. She tried to laugh in all the right places and to speak only when she was totally sure what she was talking about, but she wasn’t at all sure whether she succeeded.
Baroness Aethelflaeda, an old woman with long braids and small twinkling eyes, leaned across the table toward her. “I hear the Princess met a wolfman recently,” she said, kindly giving Thirrin a chance to join the conversation.
“Yes, only this morning. I wounded it in the shoulder and eventually it ran off.”
The Baroness turned to the King. “I think The-Land-of-the-Ghosts may need to be watched, Redrought.”
The King shrugged and nodded to show he agreed but thought the problem wasn’t too great. “Yes, yes, I suppose. But none of the watchers on the border have reported anything wrong.”
He absentmindedly twirled one of his special feast-day braids around his finger as he considered the situation. “I’ll strengthen the border garrisons and send out more spies,” he said after a moment. “That should be enough for the time being.”
“As long as you don’t weaken the southern defenses to do it,” the old Baroness said. “I trust the Polypontus and its Empire about as much as I do the Vampire King and Queen. I suspect General Scipio Bellorum has an ambition to add the Icemark to his conquests.”
Redrought laughed. “You worry too much, Aethelflaeda! Bellorum has an ambition to add everybody to his conquests, and at the moment he’s busy in the south. So stop fretting and have a drink.”
“I think the Baroness is right,” Thirrin said quietly, her mind occupied with a problem she’d been mulling over for some time. “If we watch one border too closely, we put the others at risk. We need more allies.”
The King nodded. “Very true. But we’re isolated up here in our northern lands. To the south is the Empire of the Polypontus and to the north of us we have The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. We’re not exactly spoiled for choice, are we?”
“No, but sometimes friends can be found in the unlikeliest of places,” said Thirrin, her mind inexplicably drawn back to the wolfman and how it had looked at her before it finally let her go.
The King winked at his daughter and smiled. “You’re right. Perhaps we should start looking as soon as we can.” Then he sat back in his seat, stretched luxuriously, and rested his feet on the table. Thirrin watched in amusement as he maneuvered his large fluffy slippers among the plates and cups of the banquet until he found enough space to cross them comfortably. Earlier, when the King’s chamberlain had objected to his footwear, he’d argued that his fluffy yellow slippers were far more comfortable on his corns than the polished boots of the state regalia. And the set of his jaw had warned the chamberlain to say no more.
After the King had settled himself, he reached inside the stiffly embroidered collar of his robes and gently drew out Primplepuss, the royal kitten, and placed her on his heroically curving stomach.
“Grimswald!” he bellowed. “Grimswald, where are you?!”
The Chamberlain-of-the-Royal-Paraphernalia appeared at the King’s elbow, and Thirrin found herself wondering if he’d been hiding under the table. “Yes, Sire?” said the wrinkly little man.
“Fetch some milk for Primplepuss. She’s thirsty, aren’t you, my sweeting?” he said, gently rubbing her cheek and telling everyone around him that she was purring even though a saber-toothed tiger couldn’t have been heard over the noise of the