Chapter 87

“Absolutely not.” Astrid’s mother replied, her face so cold that Wil could feel the chill from where he was standing.

“It’s not up to you, Mother. He will be accompanying me to watch the Skylights, and I expect you and Father to show him every courtesy.” Astrid responded, matching her mother’s coldness with a frostiness of her own.

Stuck between the two, Wil could feel the tension in the room build. The Clockwork Owl, sensing trouble, dove into Wil’s bag of holding, sealing it shut behind him.

“Maybe you should retire for now. I’ll have the guards show you to your room.” Astrid’s father spoke from beside Wil, his bald head coated in sweat as he shot nervous glances at his wife and daughter.

Before he finished speaking, he saw his wife draw herself up, take a deep breath, and point a finger at the willful girl in front of her. To Wil, it was like watching a volcano about to erupt, all the signs were present, but you were unable to escape, you were just waiting for the explosion.

“On second thought, what kind of host would I be if I didn’t show you myself? Come along!” He urged, pulling Wil behind him, before he broke into a near sprint, leaving the hall just as the shouting began.

Following closely, Wil had a last look at the two women, arguing loudly, before the doors closed behind him. The guards were stone faced on each side of the wooden doorframe, their faces blank, as if this were a regular occurrence.

Following Astrid’s father, the pair moved along the wide hallways, the City Lord pointing out various paintings, statues, and trinkets in display cabinets as they walked. The short man became more amiable and relaxed as the distance from the main hall increased, and Wil found himself enjoying his company.

“And this one depicts my great grandfather, Erik, fighting the ‘Scourge of the Eastern Marsh.’ It’s a favorite of mine. Notice the brushwork on the scales? Simply marvelous! And here? One inch brush strokes!” Astrid’s father had stopped in front of a large painting that dominated a large stretch of hallway.

The painting was of a large, armored man on a white Hippogriff, its wings spread wide as its rider drove a long spear downwards towards a snarling dragon with green scales. Wil had seen a Dragon before in his vision of the Patriarch’s past, and the painting had nothing in common with reality. The Dragon was only a bit larger than Erik’s mount, and the man seemed to be subduing it with ease.

“It’s…a beautiful painting.” Wil said, humoring the man.

“Erik Scourge Slayer. I’m named in honor of him, you know. No doubt Astrid has already told you all about her family line. I was quite the warrior as well, in my youth. Although, I regret to admit. I’ve been rather lax in my training lately.” The city lord, Erik, continued speaking, moving pass the painting.

“What about you? Heavens! I haven’t even asked your name. Do forgive me, son. The excitement of having Astrid home, you understand?” Erik continued, and Wil waited until the man fell silent to catch his breath, before offering his name.

“Wil, Milord.” Gods Bones, the man could talk! Wil was having trouble keeping up with the conversation, Erik kept leaping from one topic to the next. Thank heavens that Astrid hadn’t inherited her father’s love of conversation, they would never have left the desert!

“Just Wil? You’re Illyrian, correct? I’ve met a few Illyrians in the past. Adventurers, here to explore the Wilds.” Erik rambled on, with Wil interjecting a comment or answer to a question periodically. They came to a series of doors, the private guest wing of the palace.

Ushering him inside the first door on the left, Wil saw a well furnished and large room, before Astrid’s father indicated that he should take a seat on a couch in the sitting room. Servants, entering behind them, carried pitchers of wine and trays of baked goods and sweets, before bowing out of the way and standing next to the wall, ready to refill cups or fetch more food.

From the open door, Wil could make out the hard face of the Guard Captain, here to ensure that the ‘Foreigner’ had no ill intentions against their lord.

Settling on the couch, Wil picked up a glass, the fragrance of strong wine filling his nose, before taking a long drink. Across from him, Astrid’s father had already drained a glass and was indicating to a nearby servant for a refill.

“Ahh! Wonderful. Are you a wine drinker, Wil? I’ve tried several of your Illyrian reds, had them brought here from the Foreigner’s Port. Nothing like our central Lund wine, your southern vineyards, but I find the contrast to be quite lovely.” Erik remarked, while a servant refilled his glass.

Sinking deeper into his couch, Wil prepared for another endless stream of meaningless conversation, when things abruptly changed.

“Brookmoor. In the south. I haven’t heard of any vintages from that region. Does your family have any interest in vineyards, Wil?” Erik asked, and Wil started at the question.

He hadn’t exactly been hiding his identity, but he hadn’t been advertising it either. He was just about to ask where Erik had learned about him, when the question was answered for him.

“Amora is an old acquaintance of my wife’s. Although please don’t use ‘old’ when she’s around.” Erik laughed, taking another long pull on his wine.

“When Amora sent word about Astrid, and that a young Illyrian that she had taken for an apprentice was escorting our daughter home, of course we were curious. Quite impressive, Wil. Leaving home, traveling the world, getting into all kinds of trouble. We were worried, initially, but Amora vouched for your integrity.”

Erik finished his glass, setting it on the table and waving away the servant that came to refill it.

“Unfortunately, we’re in a bit of a conundrum.” Erik jovial face grew serious, and Wil would have found it ridiculous, if it wasn’t for the piercing stare that he was giving him.

“On one hand, you saved my daughter’s life, and that is a debt that must be repaid. On the other, a handsome young adventurer, a high-ranking foreigner, rescues my daughter, protects her on her trials, escorts her home, and she declares that she fancies him in front of her parents! What am I to think?” He said, leaning back in his chair.

“I assure you, there is nothing between-” Wil started, before Erik cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Of course not. Didn’t I say that Amora vouched for you? But it’s the perception, Wilhelm Brookmoor, that is the problem. Astrid is the most eligible bachelorette in Ur, with a line of suitors from the palace to the walls!” Erik grumbled, scowling for a moment, before continuing.

“I’m only telling you for your own benefit. At the festival, there may be…unpleasantness directed towards you from some of them. Astrid is a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions, despite what my wife thinks.” He stopped, a fearful look appearing instantly on his face.

“Again, don’t even breathe a word of me saying that anywhere near her!” Erik urged, shooting a look at the open door. Seeing that they were still alone, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Privately, I’m of the opinion that Astrid may choose her own marriage partner, but publicly, I cannot ignore the desires of the nobles. So, you may escort Astrid to the festival, but be aware that their ire will be directed towards you.” Erik explained, easing out of his chair, and standing.

“But I’m not interested!” Wil stammered, desperately trying to explain.

“Since when did that matter? If Astrid want’s you to escort her, do you honestly think you aren’t going to? What are you going to do, run away? Think of the rumors! Half the palace saw you together on your way in. So, you’ll need formal wear, something in blue? I’ll have to speak to our tailor.” Erik said, walking briskly out the door.

“Remember to bring a sword, you’ll probably need it!” Erik shouted from out in the hall. With that, the lord of Ur was gone.

Covering his face with both his hands, Wil let out a deep breath.

“Bring a sword…what kind of festival is this?” Wil muttered, shaking his head. Draining his glass of wine, he picked up a pastry from the platter on the table, before standing up and walking to the open door. Shutting it with a bang, he devoured the sweet pastry, before grabbing another and walking to the bath.

Muttering about ‘formal wear’ and ‘how he should have left her to be eaten by a wyrm’, he sank into the hot water of the bathtub, pleasantly surprised that the palace had running water and a magical heating system.

Clean, he collapsed onto the large bed, the fresh sheets and soft mattress lulling him to sleep.