Dark Lord's Wedding
Page 51
Then he did wake. He popped up to his feet. Celaise lay beside him on her pallet, eyes batting open. She lurched upright, clutching her throat. Morning light sliced in through the open door.
“You dreamed of the lord too?” Jerani asked.
Celaise nodded. “Only, he wasn’t angry.”
“He was in my dream. Started to eat me.”
“Would’ve finished if he was angry,” she said. “Did he want me to drink his potions?”
Jerani couldn’t say. He didn’t know if the lord had come and left, or if he had sent a nightmare ahead. Death might be nearing, or it could’ve already ridden on.
Jerani found his war club outside where he had left it, but there were no horses, no swordsmen, no hexer on crutches, and no lord. Maybe there never had been. But would be soon.
“We could’ve dreamed the same dream,” Jerani said.
“No, look.”
On the table gleamed silver knives and spoons and porcelain cups and plates.
Thank you for reading
Magic Banquet,
a tale told of the Lands of Loam.
As an independent storyteller, A.E. Marling
lacks a corporate advertising budget,
but your recommendation is more powerful
than any ad.
Become a patron of fantasy storytelling
by recommending this book to a friend
and reviewing it online.
~
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