"That's one of the reasons I wanted to wait for the wedding. I wanted to get through this anniversary. I thought it would make a new beginning easier."
"My liege!" Tris and Zachar looked up at Crevan, Zachar's assistant. The thin, balding man was as nervous as a sparrow as he rushed toward them.
"I'm glad I'm not too late. I didn't want to miss your entrance into the banquet hall." Crevan was one of the few at court who was originally born in Isencroft, although as Tris understood it, the man had lived most of his life in Margolan. Crevan had been extraordinarily helpful to Carroway in researching Isencroft foods, fashions, and art. He seemed more likely to burn the candles low in the exchequer's office examining ledger books than indulge in theatre and music, and Tris had never seen Crevan in the company of anyone outside his role.
"I can only imagine how important this celebration is to you, your majesty. It's my honor to make sure every detail is as it should be."
"It's time," Zachar said. He went to the top of the stairs. "All hail, all hail. Your king, Mar-tris of Margolan, is among you now. Let the feast begin!"
I still wish Jonmarc were here, Tris thought. He's usually well-armed enough to stop a coup single-handedly.
The crowd murmured, parting as Tris and his friends made their way toward the platform with the throne and head table. Carroway veered off to take his place with the musicians and entertainers. As Tris and the others sat down at the banquet table and the rest of the guests took their seats, the serving staff brought out heaping platters of steaming food. The aroma of roasted venison, meat pies, pheasants, and baked lamb filled the common room. Freshly-baked bread, candied fruits, and heavy rum puddings waited on sideboards as servants poured the wine and passed the pitchers of ale. The castle ghosts, never more in evidence than on this night of Haunts, flitted among the guests.
Tris sipped at his wine and looked out over the crowd. How different from a year ago! The older, more established lords who owed Bricen decades of fealty had once been notable by their absence, replaced by younger, hot-headed new nobles who liked Jared's talk of a glorious empire. Now, those newly minted nobles were gone-fled when Jared's reign collapsed, in hiding or exile, captured and tried for their
support of the traitor, or dead in battle. The older lords had returned.
But not all of them. Lord Alton had died with his family for his loyalty to Bricen. Lord Mont-bane's ill-fated attempt to rebel against Jared had earned him the gallows. Lord and Lady Theiroth had been hanged for plotting to poison Jared.