After walking through the west wing, they arrived at the entrance to the banquet hall. A tall, vaulted entryway with a view of the large red tablecloth covered table stretching vertically down the center of the room. On the far side of the hall, two doorways on either side of the wall lead into the kitchens where steam and smoke carried the pleasant aroma of cooked food. Most of the breakfast spread was already laid out, various delicacies Laranthel had never seen before alongside some basic foods like eggs, bread, pastries, and ham. At the head of the table was the Halana Matriarch herself, Malanthea with her silver hair tied into a bun at the top of her head. At the two seats beside her were Merope and a man Laranthel knew to be Matthaios, Malanthea’s oldest son. The rest of the large table was filled with strangers either from branch families or the clans that swore fealty to the Halana. There were about fifteen people in all.

  “You’ll take a seat by Matthaios, and I’ll sit across from you by Merope,” whispered Mythiara before making her way to her seat beside her sister. Laranthel did as she said and made his way to Matthaios.

  As Laranthel passed by the other guests, a boy that seemed to be about his age backed his chair into Laranthel’s stomach, nearly sending him stumbling. There was a laugh and a glare from Malanthea, then the boy turned to Laranthel.

  “My apologies,” he said grinning up at Laranthel.

  He glared down at the boy, resisting the urge to strangle him. “It’s alright, mistakes happen.”

  Laranthel continued down the aisle to his seat beside Matthaios. The older man gave him a nod and went back to talking with his mother. The conversation seemed to be about magic.

  “As I was saying mother, Trinaleth is doing well and we’re on track to deliver another class of gifted mages and sorcerers this year.”

  “That’s good news. I’m glad something is going well for us, recently it seems the problems have just been piling up, but we persevere.” Malanthea turned towards Mythiara, then Laranthel. “Welcome daughter, son.”

  Laranthel cringed at Malanthea’s final word. It made him feel extremely uncomfortable, his mother was nothing like Malanthea, she would despise such a woman.

  “Thank you, mother,” replied Mythiara. “I hope we haven’t kept you long.”

  “No, you’ve arrived at the perfect time. The spread is nearly finished being prepared and everyone’s here.”

  Laranthel felt someone press against his side and turned to see who had touched him. It was another Halana he couldn’t recognize, a fully grown man. He was looking forward, seemingly unaware of what had happened. Laranthel shrugged the intrusion off. He could suffer some childlike pranks.

  “How have you been sister, its been a while since we last spoke,” Matthaios asked Mythiara.

  “I’ve been well brother, though I could do without this droll small talk,” Mythiara replied. Merope snickered and Matthaios sulked.

  “Yes, my son, do cease the ingratiation in my presence, it demeans me,” said Malanthea.

  “What? I only meant to be polite, after all she’s just been bound to this dark-haired fellow here.” Matthaios patted Laranthel on the back causing him to shift uncomfortably. “How do you like your new life here? Is it anything like living under the naked sun in the west?”

  “No not at all,” replied Laranthel. “This place is much stranger than I’m used to.”

  “Strange,” called out a voice from down the table. It was the boy who had pulled his chair out in front of Laranthel. “You call our home strange?”

  Laranthel found himself quickly becoming agitated again. Surprisingly, Malanthea didn’t check the boy for his insolence. Across the table Mythiara shook her head frowned while Merope smiled. “Strange to me, but it is no less beautiful of course.”

  “More beautiful, I think.” The man beside Laranthel spoke this time, his voice nasally and loud.

  Studying the two who had spoken, Laranthel began to see an uncanny resemblance in the males to Merope. These were her kids, and judging by her delighted reaction to the discourse, she had probably put them up to this foolishness.

  “You must not think much,” replied Laranthel tersely. “I doubt you could comprehend what lies beyond the walls of this city, you diminutive, little thing. You seem small in body and mind.”

  That comment sent the man into a rage, and he nearly rose to his chair, he stopped when he spied the Matriarch eyeing him from her seat at the head of the table. It seemed she was willing to allow a verbal altercation but not a physical one.

  “You ought to watch your tongue you mutt,” the man spat.

  “I’ll cut your tongue out of your mouth if you keep pestering me,” Laranthel said finally. He shook his head scowling; it was too early in the day for this sort of nonsense. The man beside him grumbled and left the argument there, sulking.

  “I love a bit of male banter in the morning, don’t you sister?” Merope wrapped an arm around Mythiara’s shoulder and brought her face close.

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  “If you could call it that,” she grumbled.

  After a few more minutes of quiet scheming and small talk, multiple servants emerged from the kitchens and poured each of the guests a glass of wine and finished laying out the rest of their breakfast. Decadently marinated meats from creatures Laranthel hadn’t seen before. Some of the meat was purple or pale, he found these dishes highly unappetizing. Without prayer or ceremony, Malanthea took the first bite of her food after one of the servants finished loading her plate. This seemed to be the signal for the women to begin serving themselves, and finally the men. Laranthel didn’t bother asking for anyone to pass him any dishes he couldn’t reach with his own hands. He didn’t feel like dealing with the inevitable tomfoolery. Sadly though, most of the food within arms reach of him was the strange colored meats.

  One dish looked sort of like steak, but the meat was white and blue. Another looked like some sort of bird, the meat on each of the wings and legs was purple. He steeled himself and took a bite of the steak like meat and was pleasantly surprised when it didn’t taste rotten. He continued to chew away at the strange food, peering around the table to get a sense of the atmosphere around the banquet hall.

  “Did you see the chariot races down at the track yesterday,” said one of the men further down the table. “Oh, what exquisite carnage! Two of the racers’ chariots collided and sent the riders tumbling into the dirt, one of them got run over!”

  “How was it in the west? I hear everything went well until you reached the divide,” asked one woman to another a few seats down from Mythiara.

  “Those godless beats are ruthless,” replied the other woman. “They scorched all of the land past the divide and encircled most of the parties that set out towards the mountains. I’m glad the Ashlanders were the first to cross, otherwise it would have been us caught in the trap.”

  Laranthel was glad to hear his homeland was doing well under the incursion of the Eastern nations. A small comfort in the very depressing circumstances he found himself in. As he continued to listen, he heard a few comments about himself and Mythiara.

  “The Princess has caught herself quite a score I think,” gossiped a woman faintly from further up the table. “He seems a bit brutish though, certainly not a look for those with the usual tastes.”

  “He is a strange looking thing isn’t he, part northerner part savage,” there was a snicker and more soft whispers.

  Laranthel ignored them and continued to eat his food in silence. He was interrupted by Matthaios who began to talk to him between bites of his food. “So, Laranthel, really, tell me about the west,” he asked. “Even in my long life I have rarely been out there, and never to the Emerald coast! It must be quite something.”

  “Well, it’s mostly rolling hills in the south and some valleys in the north,” answered Laranthel as he conjured images of his home in his mind. “It’s a lot of empty land and the cities stretch wide. The land isn’t as densely inhabited as it is here in Nyxea as I understand it.”

  “Interesting! I thought the Imunan were more advanced than the rest of us, yet their cities are sparse? How do they field armies?”

  “Most people live in the immediate areas surrounding the cities or in the countryside,” began Laranthel. “As for the armies, they levy young men and keep them fighting for the whole war, not forty days like most other kingdoms.”

  “Their levies have to fight for the entirety of the war?” Matthaios was taken aback. Laranthel found it strange he did not know such a thing, surely over the centuries he’d have heard about Imunani battle practices. Then again, the eastern nations and the western nations hadn’t warred in over three hundred years.

  “Were you to serve, Laranthel?” The matriarch surprised the other four nobles sitting at the end of the table. They sat upright, suddenly interested in the conversation.

  “Eventually. I was accepted into a school that produced many magicians and officers,” he paused recalling something his mother and father had said to him before he set out. “Well, you already figured this out with your own divinations, but my mother is a powerful sorceress so the path I would have taken is anyone’s guess now.”

  “Wonderous,” Malanthea replied with a grin. “I cannot wait to see the children you produce for me.”

  “The children I produce you mean,” interjected Mythiara absently picking at her food with her fork. She had eaten around half of what was on her plate.

  “Of course, although I can tell you there isn’t anything inherently magical within you my dear. So, the point still stands.”

  Laranthel studied each of the Halana’s curiously. “Are there not many sorcerers born in Nokros?”

  Malanthea shook her head, her statuesque features turning into a frown. “No. And most end up being men who flee to the north.”

  “And don’t get any ideas about trying that my dear,” said Mythiara from across the table. “I can assure you they have no love for the Anamvos that flee west.”

  “Of course, my dear, I could never leave your side.” Laranthel gave Mythiara a smile.

  “Oh, what a devoted husband, I’m so jealous,” clapped Merope.

  “And jealous you’ll stay when I produce daughters instead of two mongrel boys,” spat Mythiara. Matthaios let out a light laugh, Merope seemed like she was unbothered, but her smile waned.

  “Wel—,” she began but Mythiara cut her off with more scalding words.

  “I mean seriously, to sit here so brazenly when you have produced neither a mage nor a priestess for this family, you are truly disgusting. Meanwhile our brother sits across from us the perfect picture of grace.” Mythiara shook her head, her expression growing more exasperated. “Why is it those at the bottom of the ladder feel so brave? Do you think because the fall isn’t far that it won’t hurt? Merope, I will destroy you if you test me, believe in that!”

  Matthaios nodded his head and he and the woman on Mythiara’s right began to clap their hands. “Wonderfully said Princess, Aunt Merope’s insolence has overgrown these past few weeks,” said the woman.

  “Look at the father and daughter scurrying for favor,” mumbled Merope, her demeanor completely changed. Her graceful posture slouched, and she leaned her head into one of her hands, boredly looking across the banquet table. “How about this, Mythiara, why don’t we have your mutt husband have a duel with my youngest? If he loses, he clearly won’t be fit for an exhibition match in front of the matriarchs. And if he wins, well I suppose I must concede that you are indeed the better princess.”

  “I don’t need my husband to beat one of your droll boys to know I’m the better princess, but if you insist,” answered Mythiara. “Laranthel will meet Briseis a few hours hence at the dueling grounds. There he’ll slice your worthless boy’s ego in two.”

  “Wonderful, I can’t wait to see you both there.”

  “We’ll all attend,” said the Matriarch from the end of the table. “It’ll be a good bit of family entertainment at noon.”

  Laranthel turned his head and found the boy from earlier staring back at him, a devious grin on his face.

  “I hope you like the taste of dust, anamvos!” He called, laughing as the words left his mouth.

  Laranthel looked back and him and laughed. “I’m going to enjoy cutting you up.”

  He spent the rest of the banquet fantasizing about his bout with Briseis. He would take all his pent-up aggression out on the boy. What a wonderful opportunity for some catharsis, thought Laranthel.