But after eight days of non-stop rain, Alia had directed the hunt to head for home. They all longed to be clean, dry, and sleep in a comfortable bed. Typical of Baron Gloomenthrall to rip away that fantasy. They’d be lucky to snatch five hours of rest now that a suitor hunt had been declared.
Thankfully the support teams would already be preparing the horses and supplies. And there were many fresh riders to choose from those who had remained behind, rather than join the hunt for keymoats.
Although probably the rider most in danger of falling asleep and off their horse during tomorrow’s hunt would be her. And Grebbs and Poulth, her two diligent lieutenants, who would never dream of letting Alia hunt with a bunch of fortune seeking amateurs alone. Thank the Deities above.
Slamming into her brightly lit, warm and cosy chambers, Alia was heading for her bed at a run when a voice stopped her cold in her tracks.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Crud. “Um.”
“Come here, now. You know if you go to bed with that wet mess, it will take that much longer to deal with the snarls in the morning than it would be if you allowed me to tend to it now.”
Observing her sister’s ramrod straight back, and impatiently tapping toe, Alia considered refusing. She was just so weary. But the sight of Perri wearing an almost opaque scarf that completely covered her face had Alia obeying without protest. The veil pinned to the cap that covered the crown of Perri’s head and to the high collar of her dress (so there was no chance a stray breeze could lift the material). The dress and matching dark grey veil making Perri look like a wraith. The only colour in evidence the thick rope of plaited dark red hair that fell past her shoulder blades.
Alia had already heard from Larch in the stables that newcomers had arrived a few short hours ago, a family of five. Perri would not want to scare any small children. Yet they were alone now in Alia’s chambers and still Perri hid her face. Something must be worrying her sister.
Obediently sitting on a low stool before the fireplace, Alia allowed Perri to busy herself with the process of using a dry cloth to blot away excess moisture from her long locks. “How were things in my absence?”
“Busy. I farewelled the Frado brothers, they found work on a cargo ship. They left with the cloth tinker. And we’ve had seven pilgrims arrive. I think we shall find places for all but one.”
“Tell me about the one.” Alia instructed, perhaps the misfit had Perri worried.
“Wilton, though I doubt that’s his real name. He lost a hand last year, in a fight he claims. Big man. A few inches shy of your height and burly with it. He talks down to everyone, especially women. With a tendency of bullying others into completing the tasks assigned to him. He admired Otho’s hook, and frequently asks where he might get one for himself. And he’s been hanging about the combat arena, watching with avid interest. Dropping constant hints that his skills would be better used elsewhere than the kitchen or stables, if only we would grant him some combat training.”
Alia winced as Perri began to pull a comb through her now merely damp locks. This Wilton didn’t sound any different from several others who’d arrived looking for easy, and instead been set to work and told to earn their keep first. To prove that they were worthy of being here before the trainers would expend time and energy teaching them a trade or how to fight.
“What do you know about the King’s man who arrived with a retinue today?”
Ah, now they were getting to it. “Only what Deacon was able to summarise, before his Lordship demanded my presence in the great hall to play at being the man who holds the reins of the Beast of Gloomenthrall.”
“The Great Beast of Gloomenthrall. Don’t sell yourself short.” Perri patted her sister’s shoulder, amusement in her tone. “And I think you tug at those reins just as much as he does. But that’s not my point. According to all the correspondence I’ve received via Magda this evening, the King’s man is here to invite one young lady to meet the Prince at the end of summer festivities held at the Golden Palace with a view to matrimony.”
“The Prince of the Realm wants to marry one of our kin?”
“Not necessarily. I understand this retinue have been travelling for several years seeking out suitable bridal candidates. They choose ten or so women each year, inviting them to attend the festivities to vie for the chance to marry the Prince. So far, no offer has been made.”
“Hah! I bet that set the feral cat amongst the Gloomenthrall furdoves.”
“You have no idea. The instructions Magda received this evening are mostly our kin withdrawing suitor names. Except for a few of the widows and older kin, who don’t believe they would be in the running.”
“Let me get this straight. Our Father has demanded a suitor hunt because he is sick and tired of feeding and housing all these mead skolling fortune hunters. Meanwhile, our female relatives are demanding that we exclude all the fortune seekers, because they would rather throw their cap into the ring in order to marry a Prince.” Alia laughed, and then she laughed even harder, a husky grating sound that she rarely allowed herself to indulge in. Not stopping until Perri yanked the comb perhaps a little harder than necessary through another knot of curls.
“The Aunts and Great-Aunts are frantic. Weeks of their plotting and planning will be for naught. Their instructions are to ignore all the withdrawals and go ahead as planned.”
Alia’s head was beginning to ache, perhaps more so than could be contributed to Perri’s sudden not so tender ministrations. Turning on the stool, she presented her back to the low banked fire so the heat could finish drying her hair. “You have the list of names?”
“I do. I’ve already crossed off a few, thanks to missives from Deacon and Carys, who have advised which gentleman’s conversation and actions in private have proven far from gentlemanly. And yes, I have made a second list featuring their names.”
“Then I don’t see what the problem is. There’s always high drama and tears of recrimination no matter what names are called and what the outcome of the hunt is. Tomorrow will be no different than any other suitor hunt.”
“I suspect you’re right. Did… did Deacon mention if there has been any other news?” The tension in Perri’s normally serene tones sharp suddenly.
Ah, now Alia understood. Every fresh wave of suitors arriving brought with them new gossip and rumours. It was Deacon’s job to eavesdrop and communicate anything of interest to Alia. Standing, shaking her head, noting with satisfaction her dark golden long knot free locks were now dry, Alia could concede Perri had been correct. She would have been much more grumpy come morning if she’d had to deal with a snarled nest of knots before the sun rose. “There hasn’t been time for a report. And now there’s the hunt first thing tomorrow. But I’ll meet with him immediately upon my return and discover if there’s anything noteworthy amongst his recent learnings.”
Perri’s shoulders visibly drooped and then tightened once more. Alia fighting the urge to touch or hug her sister in sympathy. Poor Perri, so much anger… sadness and loss. Her older sister both longed for and loathed the idea of hearing news about… him.
Unconsciously, Perri checked to ensure the edges of her veil were securely pinned before bidding Alia a goodnight. Exiting to seek out her own room and soft bed. Though given the distressed moans that often issued from Perri’s room and the almost permanent dark circles that had settled under her sister’s eyes, Alia doubted Perri’s nights were ever restful, or nightmare free.
