The travellers had not expected that and they listened with bated breath. Would they be able to honour his request?
Riley saw their faces and smiled. ‘Oh, your faces,’ he laughed. ‘I will accept your request. But you must join me for a farewell dinner. I am hosting a gala as a celebration, and who better to have as guests of honour?’
The four visibly relaxed and were jubilant. They shook Riley’s hand enthusiastically.
‘Oh, there was one more thing. Lord Chamberlain, ensure my guests are fed, roomed and provided with suitable attire for this evening’s gala.’
‘I will see to it immediately, Your Majesty.’ Biran bowed low.
The rooms provided to Coinin were opulent, where velvet drapes, green with a gilded thread trim, covered the floor to ceiling windows. A patio led off from one such window where a small table and chair afforded the guest a place in which to look out over the lake while enjoying a refreshment. Freshly cut flowers with an inviting scent lay within a silver bowl upon a dressing table. The middle of the room was dominated by a draped four poster bed, with a dozen or more pillows. Too many for Coinin’s liking.
Behind a flowery patterned screen, a copper bathtub sat full with hot water. A curious pale blue bar, which had a waxy feel to it, sat alongside a cloth for washing. A long handled rod with a soft brush hung from a shelf by a cord, and several bottles of perfumed liquids rested upon it.
To his left, a cotton gown and towel hung from a floor standing clothes hanger, and a pair of leather slippers completed the ensemble.
Oh, how he had waited for such luxury. Even Henfal’s barrack rooms didn’t compare to taking a bath here. There it was a necessity, here it was an indulgence, and at least it was hot.
He stripped naked, feeling a rush of cold air waft across him from the open patio doors. He shivered with pleasure and dipped a toe into the steaming bath. It was comfortably warm, and so he climbed in and sank back with a sigh, feeling his tired and aching muscles thanking him for the release. He lay there for several minutes before he picked up the blue bar. It slipped from his wet hands, and he had to fumble for it. Annoyingly, it slid from his hands several times until finally, he was able to firmly grasp it. Withdrawing it from the water, he realised that it was a substance used for bathing, perhaps to clean his dirty skin.
No such thing existed at the temple. There the faithful bathed with oils and a scraper and, as he had done as a child, often with cold water and a mixture of ashes that were used to clear away grime.
The bar was silky and worked up a lather in his hands. He used it to vigorously massage his body, legs and underarms, relishing the softness and different sensations it provided. He began to feel clean for the first time in months.
Months. Has it really been months since I saw home? How many? he wondered. Indeed, time had passed, more than he dared to count. Everything seemed to happen swiftly, but when he thought about it time had gone relatively slowly. It had taken months to cross the oceans by air, to rescue Marrok, and then the whole incident with Underworld and the dwarfs had taken longer than a few days.
He pondered that for a moment, before rising from the bath and wiping down his appendages with his hand to clear them of excess water.
A mirror opposite gave him a clear view of his body. Not ashamed of his own nakedness, he saw that for the first time he was growing chest hair and his muscles were beginning to harden and become more defined. He was less a boy and more a man.
He stepped from the bath and wrapped the cotton gown around himself, before grabbing the towel and drying his hair. Briefly, he considered shaving, but a second look in the mirror confirmed that he enjoyed the look.
He wandered over to the bed and lay upon it. It was soft and luxurious, even finer than his own at the temple. Not long after he drifted into dreamless sleep.
A knock at the door woke him, and he struggled to open his eyes. ‘Yes, who is it?’
The door opened silently, and Aniol stuck her head around the door. Almost immediately she saw Coinin’s nakedness and blushed bright red. She hurriedly closed the door and knocked again.
Coinin, having not witnessed her initial entrance, opened his eyes and discovered that his gown had come loose in his sleep and he covered himself. ‘I said, who is it?’
‘It’s Aniol, Curator,’ her muffled voice replied.
Coinin sat up and rubbed his eyes. ‘Come in then,’ he said moodily.
‘Are you decent?’
‘I am.’
The varnished, panelled door opened once more, and a cautious Aniol peeked around it. Satisfied, she entered the room.
Coinin had to look twice. Aniol was dressed in a sparkling silk, almost translucent dress that flowed around her ankles. Thin straps held the sapphire coloured dress over her slender shoulders. Her hair had been curled and draped elegantly across her shoulders and back.
‘You’re beautiful, Aniol,’ Coinin said, and immediately regretted it.
‘You say that like it’s a surprise.’ Aniol sounded hurt.
‘No, I mean you always were … are beautiful,’ Coinin flustered.
‘Well, I’m glad you approve,’ Aniol said coldly. ‘However, you are running late. We must get you ready for the gala this evening.’
‘I have nothing to wear.’
Aniol shook her head and marched over to a freestanding, highly decorated wardrobe at the far side of the room. There she opened the door and withdrew a dark blue ankle length robe with a high collar and white piping.
It was a handsome piece, and Coinin wondered if he would get to keep it.
Aniol tossed the garment to him. ‘There are undergarments and boots inside the wardrobe. You have five minutes. Please hurry, it would not do for the guests of honour to be late.’
Aniol rushed from the room and closed the door. She leant against it, confused by a feeling of longing to be closer to Coinin, which was quickly was replaced with guilt. I should not be feeling this way so soon after Axl’s passing. Tears formed and she ran along the hallway, holding her skirt up as she ran, her leather shoes making a slapping noise. She garnered odd looks as she passed dignitaries and servants on her way.
She turned a corner and, unsurprisingly, since tears blinded her, ran into Archmage Menin walking with Zaruun.
‘Careful, Aniol. You could hurt someone –’ she stopped, aware now that the girl before her was in distress. She placed warm hands on the young woman’s shoulders and steadied her. ‘What is it Aniol?’
Aniol shook her head, unable to speak, her face contorted.
Menin looked about her and spotted a room not far off. She led Aniol toward the chamber. ‘Come with me, Aniol. We must talk.’
Laliala knocked on the door of the room and opened it. She peered around the opening and saw that it was free of persons. ‘In here, Aniol. Zaruun, please wait outside.’
‘As you wish, Archmage.’ Her personal guard nodded and closed the door behind them.
Menin led Aniol to a leather chair nearby and hunted for a glass of water. After successfully finding a jug of water and glass, she poured a measure and then crossed the room, handing the drink to Aniol. She found another wooden chair nearby, dragged it across the room with surprising strength, and positioned it opposite her charge.
‘What has upset you, my dear?’ Laliala said in her most soothing voice.
Aniol sipped the water and breathed hard. ‘I have sinned.’
Laliala remained silent, not wishing to judge the young woman outright.
‘I entered the curator’s rooms today and … and –’
‘Breathe, Aniol. Just breathe. Everything will be all right.’
Aniol’s shoulders drooped, and she breathed as instructed, where before she was close to hyperventilating. After a minute or two, she could speak. ‘I saw the curator’s nakedness,’ she blushed.
‘That’s not so bad. Surely you have seen many of your unit naked before now?’ Menin cocked her head.
‘It’s not that I saw, it’s
what I felt,’ Aniol moaned on the verge of tears.
‘Desire?’
Aniol nodded and looked down, embarrassed. ‘What of Axl?’
Menin contemplated her answer. ‘Your grief is new and so many emotions are raging through your body. You are close to Coinin, both personally and professionally. Axl was a wonderful person, and he is missed greatly. As harsh as it sounds, life goes on. Five weeks is a short time to be feeling such a way, admittedly, but would Axl wish you to be in mourning forever? The way I see it, you can either give in to the urges or ignore them.’
‘How could I give in to these feelings, when my grief is so raw?’ Aniol cried.
Menin ignored the question. ‘Coinin also has an issue. He is not permitted under current rules to engage or fraternise with the opposite sex.’
Aniol focused on Menin’s last. ‘The curator has become more awkward around me of late. I see him looking at me, blushing and turning away quickly. He has rarely looked me in the eye since we set sail.’
‘It sounds to me like Coinin has a crush on you.’
‘I’m beginning to feel the same. How can I let him down gently … with Axl and everything?’
Menin frowned. ‘Do you need to?’
‘Well, yes, I must. You said it yourself, Coinin cannot, and I certainly cannot. It is too soon,’ Aniol admitted.
‘So, you truly do have feelings for Coinin?’
Aniol looked as if she was about to cry. ‘I do, I realised it at that moment, and that’s why I ran.’
‘Why are you scared of letting go? Everybody needs someone.’
‘It’s too soon.’
‘Agreed.’ Menin nodded. ‘Let us not worry about the now. What will happen will happen. If on a future date, your feelings grow, then I will not stand in the way. If you and Coinin truly have feelings for one another, who am I to prevent a blossoming love?’
Aniol baulked at the word love and looked horrified. She was far from ready to consider love for another man. ‘Perhaps I should stand down as Protector.’
Menin shook her head. ‘You will do no such thing, Aniol. You will hurt him many times over. Do you want that?’
Aniol looked down, forlorn. ‘Of course not.’
‘Then, I suggest you limit your fraternisation and focus on your duties.’
‘As you wish.’ Aniol nodded.
The grand hall of the palace was vast. A table for seating one hundred souls was placed off to one side of the room and lavishly laid with plates of silver, cutlery in the masses and extravagantly crafted glasses. Along the centre of the table, bowls of fruit and bread lined a series of lit candles in four headed candelabras. Though all this paled into insignificance alongside the enormous chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Many arms extended from the centre and naked oil flames lit the room with a warm glow. Gigantic windows, tall and arched at the top, dominated the walls and in between each, paintings of royal members of the household hung proud and colourful.
A fireplace as tall as a man dominated the inner wall and warmed the room to a pleasant temperature, its red brick construction in contrast to the cream walls.
The floor was split into two, a lacquered wooden floor for dancing and a carpeted eating and socialising area.
Coinin ventured nervously into the bustling room.
A tall Roderian male with a drooping moustache called his name. ‘Curator, Coinin Wulf.’
Coinin became acutely aware that all eyes had suddenly turned to look at him as a spontaneous applause erupted as he crossed the threshold. There he felt himself immediately redden, and offered a weak smile in return.
Well-wishers crowded him then, and dozens of hands wanted to shake his. By the time he had been congratulated, patted on the back and kissed by dozens of complete strangers, he was exhausted.
He saw a gap, made a break for it, and sat down on a springy, patterned chair at the table. He breathed hard and rubbed his shoulder where a hulking giant of a man had clapped his huge hand onto it. It was most likely bruised. He looked at the dizzying array of cutlery; there seemed to be dozens on either side and he wondered where he would start.
He looked up at the sound of droopy moustache calling more names followed by more civilised clapping. Aniol, Laliala and Zaruun had also entered the room. He stood and waved at them, and they fought their way through the horde of guests towards him. Menin, he noted, had been provided with a new, pristine white silken dress paired with a waist long shawl and she looked stunning. Zaruun was dressed similarly to himself, and though he looked uncomfortable he suited dark green. Zaruun, unlike Aniol, wore a ceremonial sword at his side, its curved blade polished to a shine. He had been loaned it in order to protect Menin since his own sword was somewhat unsuitable for the occasion.
Coinin greeted them all, pleased to be among friends. ‘Reporting as requested, Aniol.’ He winked.
Aniol merely nodded and offered the merest hint of a smile and took her place behind him.
‘Oh, no, not this evening. You are not on duty. You are a guest and will behave as such,’ Zaruun pointed out to the young woman.
Aniol scowled and chose a chair one away from Coinin and sat sulkily. Coinin looked to Menin who shook her head and waved in a don’t ask manner.
Zaruun took the chair between Aniol and the curator while Menin sat to Coinin’s left.
Droopy moustache rang a hand bell. ‘Attention. Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen and honoured guests, please be upstanding for the king.’
The crowd parted and lined up along the room, and bowed in reverence.
Coinin and the others stood and did likewise.
King Thymes entered the hall with an entourage in tow including Lord Chamberlain Biran. Riley was dressed simply. A gold band with an inscription that read, By his holy birthright the one true King shall rule evermore. He wore a dark grey ceremonial robe, with gilded edgings and a high, stiff collar.
The king strutted through his subjects, his head held high, and headed to the far side of the table where an exquisitely carved ash chair waited for an occupant. Riley sat in the high-backed chair and admired its craftsmanship. He ran his hand over the rounded armrests in satisfaction.
‘You may be seated,’ droopy boomed.
To Coinin there seemed to be a race to be closest to the king. The guests shoved and pushed one another in a disgraceful manner, and unseemly for Lords and Ladies.
Riley stood and placed his palms on the table. He glared around the room. ‘Sit!’ he bellowed and rolled his eyes.
As one, the shocked guests headed for the nearest seat and sat compliantly.
‘That’s better,’ Riley began. ‘This jockeying for position in my court is unacceptable. None here will be favoured over the other. You all hold equal status amongst your peers, and I trust you to behave as befitting it.’
Uncomfortable coughs and the odd scraping of a chair broke the silence of the room.
‘However,’ Riley brightened. ‘We are not gathered for such matters. Today we celebrate both my return as king and the good deeds of our special guests for this evening.’
All eyes turned to look at the four strangers in the room.
‘I invite you to stand and pay tribute to our guests of honour. The men and women of The Brotherhood of The Wulf.’
With a rustling of dresses and further scraping of chairs, the ninety-five guests stood and bowed to the Order and then straightened to finish with a round of applause.
Riley eventually grew tired of the attention given to his guests and clicked his fingers to droopy.
Droopy rang his hand bell that had the desired effect of silencing the guests. ‘Pray be seated for the first course.’
A line of servants dressed in black robes entered the room with trays of bowls steaming with hot carrot soup. They lined up on the table and after hooking the tray under one arm, began as one to deposit the dishes at each guest’s place setting.
Coinin sniffed his and relished the smell immediately; he was hungry and knew that he would
enjoy the rest of the meal immensely if the carrot soup was anything to go by.
The meal had lasted for five hours, and it was dark outside. Coinin looked out over the lake from his high vantage point upon his patio and pondered what he and the others would encounter in Rosthagaar when they returned in the morning.
Riley had insisted they rest well and in the morning he would deliver the key to them. Additionally, he had gifted the eveningwear they had worn for dinner, which made Coinin very content indeed. It was a flawless garment.
The morning brought with it a change in the weather. Water cascaded from the sky and created puddles wherever it could. The pitter-patter of droplets woke Coinin from his sleep. He yawned and stretched before propping himself up on his elbows and glanced out of the open window.
He clambered from the bed, ventured towards the patio, and stuck his head beyond a semi-transparent voile covering the opening. The refreshing downpour soaked him immediately, and he enjoyed it immensely. As a child, he loved to play in the rain and so semi-naked he stepped out onto the patio, closed his eyes, and lifted his face skyward.
Rainwater cascaded over his body, chilling him, and though he found it pleasurable enough to take away his stresses for a brief time, he conceded it was too cold to remain outdoors and headed back inside.
Wet footprints followed him across the wooden floor, and he sought out a towel to dry himself. Finished, he draped the towel over the side of the copper bath and crossed to the wardrobe where he found inside his temple clothing. Someone had taken the time to polish his breastplate and repaire a hole in his hooded cloak. An almost invisible job, too.
Dressed, he collected his eveningwear and satchel before taking one last look around his rooms. He was going to miss the opulence. Satisfied, he opened his door and found Aniol waiting.
She stood to attention and saluted with a clenched fist across her steel breastplate. ‘Reporting for duty, Curator,’ she said stiffly.
Coinin looked puzzled. ‘You are unusually formal, Aniol.’
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 112