Forest Mage

Rosse and Cecile shared the tiny cake of bitter herbs followed by the more generous honey cake that represented the bad and the good times that they would share. Then they turned from the altar and lifted their joined hands. The gathered witnesses erupted with cries of joy and congratulations and the musicians on the dais awoke their instruments. As lively and celebratory music filled the ballroom, the guests cleared the floor and formed a circle for Cecile and Rosse. My brother had never been a graceful dancer, so he must have practiced quite a bit to perform as well as he did. Not once did he step on Cecile’s trailing blue train. At the end of the dance, he swept her up in his arms and spun around and around as he held her, making her sleeves and train fly out around them, much to the delight of the onlookers. A single misstep would have sent bride and groom tumbling to the floor, but he managed to set his giddy bride squarely on her feet. Flushed and laughing, they bowed to their audience.

Then came the most important part of the ceremony, not just for Rosse and Cecile but for both families as well. My father and Lord Poronte broke the seals on the congratulatory scrolls that had come from King Troven. As all the gathered folk expected, the scrolls contained a substantial land grant to each family to “celebrate the joyous union of two of my most loyal noble families, and with fond wishes that both your houses will continue to flourish.” The land allotted to the Burvelle holdings increased our holdings by a third. The satisfaction on my father’s face shone. I could almost see him totting up how much additional acreage the king would gift him as each of his other four children married. I suddenly realized that this was how King Troven encouraged alliances between the new noble houses, thus keeping their loyalty safely in his pocket.

“Please join us in dancing and feasting!” Cecile invited her guests, and to a loud burst of applause, all did just that. The doors to the adjacent dining room were opened wide, to reveal long tables. I was not near the doors, yet I was abruptly aware of the savory aromas of the fresh breads and roasted meats and sweet fruit tarts. A wedding in our part of the country was an all-day celebration. When one traveled long distances for such an event, the host endeavored to make it memorable. The talk and dancing and eating would continue all day at the Porontes’ home. Servants would be kept busy constantly replenishing the tables. Many of the guests would spend the night with the Porontes, and then join us at our home tomorrow for a second day of socializing and feasting. At one time, I had anticipated a merry occasion, and had planned several opportunities to be alone with Carsina. I had even imagined stealing a kiss or two. Now I dreaded several days of torment. My stomach growled at me urgently. I listened to it in horror, as if a monster had taken up residence in my flesh and demanded sustenance. I tried to tell myself that I was too saddened to be hungry, but my belly asserted otherwise. The sight of Kase Remwar leading Carsina to the dance floor only reinforced the emptiness I felt. I was famished, I discovered, and trembling with hunger. Never before had my sense of smell seemed so keen. From where I stood, I could tell that the prairie fowl had been roasted with sage and onion, and that the lamb had been prepared Plainsman-fashion, rubbed with wild celery root and cooked in a pot with a tight lid. I thought it the limit of my self-control that I walked around the edge of the dance floor rather than elbowing my way through the dancers to reach the food.

Halfway around the room, I encountered my father talking to Carsina’s father. Lord Grenalter was laughing at something my father had just said. They both seemed very jovial and convivial. I’d intended to slip past them unacknowledged. But as Grenalter drew breath from laughing, our eyes met. Courtesy forced me to greet him. I stopped, bowed to him, and then, as I advanced, he said, quite loudly, “Good god’s breath, Burvelle! Is that Nevare?”

“I’m afraid so,” my father said levelly. His look told me I was a fool for having called attention to myself. He forced a grin to his face. “I think the academy doctor went too far in putting flesh back on him after the plague. He’ll soon have it off, if I have anything so say about it.”

And what could I do, save grin shamefacedly and agree? “Very soon, sir,” I assured him. And then, lying through my teeth, I added, “The doctor told me that a temporary weight gain like this is not unknown among plague survivors. He told me that I should be grateful to have gone this way, rather than lost flesh and stamina.”

“Well…I’m sure the doctor would know what he is talking about. Still. It is a startling change, Nevare, as I’m sure you know.” Lord Grenalter seemed determined to make me admit that the transformation was horrifying.