their own feast, as would all the servants but Lord Jervis’ own. As Andrade left her tent she sniffed appreciatively of the roasts and breads being readied for the two other banquets down near the river. But Jervis had chosen the marriage hilltop as the site of the princes’ Lastday banquet, and by the time Andrade had climbed the slope she was in need of refreshment. She chose a cup of fruit juice—unfermented, for she was still fighting off the effects of a sojourn on water, and of Crigo’s death. She remembered him: proud, ambitious, thrilled to be assigned an important post, a capable Sunrunner who had been perverted by Roelstra and his dranath.
“Greetings, my Lady,” Prince Lleyn said at her shoulder, and she turned. “Will you do me the honor of sitting with me tonight, Andrade?” he went on less formally. “I’ve been hearing things I’d like to know the truth of, if you’d be so kind. We are, in a sense, joined in guardianship of the continent now.”
“I don’t envy you the task of sorting out border claims.”
He gave a grimace of a smile, the lines on his face softened by mellow evening light. “I give thanks that my island is an island—and all mine.”
“Kierst-Isel will be a problem,” she agreed. “If you wish, I’ll have my people go through the records at Goddess Keep and transmit anything of interest to your Sunrunner.”
“My thanks. But I give Eolie enough to do, poor child, finding the best fishing waters and shell beds for me, warning of storms, and the like.”
“And keeping track of what everyone else is up to,” Andrade finished wryly. “I assume you’re hinting for another faradhi. How about Meath? He’s the big youngster in my party who looks as if he could throttle a plow-elk barehanded.”
“I would be most grateful. Of course, he won’t much like crossing water—but I’ll provide him with a private cabin and his own bucket.” Lleyn grinned wickedly.
“Too kind!” Andrade glanced around at the growing darkness. Torches, lit by Clutha’s court Sunrunner, were a double row of Fire leading up to the gigantic tent at the crest of the hill. “By the looks of things, you princes are about to be trumpeted in to dinner. I’ll save a chair for you.”
Clutha and Jervis got more ambitious every year in the marvels that accompanied the Lastday banqueting. Andrade, as Lady of Goddess Keep, took precedence over everyone else and went inside the tent first to choose the best seat at the best table. The others would, in effect, be announced into her presence—an amusement she anticipated with more than the usual relish tonight.
A state banquet for fifty was never a simple event to arrange, especially as all of those present were accustomed to magnificence. At the Rialla they expected even greater splendor, which challenged the combined households of Meadowlord’s prince and Waes’ lord. From a simple outdoor meal to celebrate the successful conclusion of the Rialla, the Lastday feast had over the years become a showcase for culinary artisans and was now the full-time occupation of a suite of masters who commanded the resources of a princedom. Andrade, who had long since grown used to the display of riches, considered herself fairly inured to spectacles. But as she was bowed into the green tent, an exclamation of pure delight escaped her lips.
A dozen round tables were artfully placed around a deep green carpet so thick it felt like spring grass underfoot. At each corner of the tent waterfalls splashed down rock cairns designed not only with an eye to beauty but to cooling the diners once the torches had been lit. The perimeter was a grotto of ferns, flowers, and trees in great silver pots; greenery was strewn from the ceiling latticework and decorated with more blossoms. The whole place seemed alive.
But the real marvels were the enormous sculptures set around the tent. Each was a faithful reproduction in miniature of each prince’s major seat: Rohan’s Stronghold, Roelstra’s Castle Crag, Vissarion’s Summer River, Lleyn’s Graypearl, and all the rest. Andrade was surprised and flattered to find a rendering of Goddess Keep as well. The images had been worked in spun sugar and colored with the essences of a rainbow of herbs and flowers; masters of the confectioner’s art had reproduced the blue-gray waves below Andrade’s keep, the fine golden sand around Stronghold, the extensive formal gardens of Volog’s New Raetia in all their brilliant colors. Clutha’s faradhi must have assisted in the making