‘Oh, Saray,’ he said.
‘Yes, First Slave?’
‘Try not to lick your fingers.’
Feast
A small procession of Greys made their way into Losara’s quarters, bringing Lalenda’s meagre possessions. Apart from a small bundle of clothes, these mainly consisted of dog-eared books containing bookmarks made out of anything she’d happened to have lying around at the time. A sash, a leaf, a piece of paper from another book all lolled out from various depths within the pages.
‘Those aren’t really mine,’ said Lalenda, as if admitting some great crime. ‘They’re borrowed from the library.’
‘It looks like you haven’t finished reading …well, any of them,’ observed Losara.
The Greys finished piling the dusty volumes next to the bed, creating something like an unstable bedside table.
‘No,’ said Lalenda sheepishly. ‘Not quite yet. If I had, I’d take them back.’
‘There must be …twelve or fifteen books there,’ said Losara. ‘And you’re reading them all at once?’
She shrugged. ‘Books are in no hurry.’
‘No, but …would it not be easier to finish one and then start another?’
‘Do you think me silly?’ she asked, almost challengingly.
He admired the spark he sensed in her. Oh gods , he thought. She shows more emotion when she thinks her reading habits are being ridiculed than I am capable of mustering in regard to conquering the world. Then, No, no . I have passion too. I don’t want Fenvarrow to fall, I know that through and through.
‘Merely curious,’ he said. ‘By all means, build your stack of half-finished tomes up to the ceiling if it pleases you.’
‘All the better for Grimra to knock them down!’ hooted the ghost.
Evening approached, and time for the feast. As they left the room to make their way upwards, worry hovered over Losara. Who knew what Battu had planned? He was not concerned for himself so much, but he had Lalenda and Grimra to think of. He reached out a shadowy hand to pat hers where it clung to his arm. She was nervous about being anywhere near Battu, yet for some reason she’d been determined to accompany him, as if she had something to prove. Of the three of them only Grimra was excited, and swirled past muttering something about quelling the roar of his hunger.
‘Listen, both of you,’ Losara said. ‘I want you to promise me something or else I’m sending you away right now.’
‘What be this?’ growled Grimra. ‘Grimra wants to crunch the squidgies and squidge the crunchies!’
‘Then promise me,’ said Losara, ‘if there is conflict between Battu and myself, you will leave immediately. You will watch out for each other, but you will not try to help me. Is that clear?’
‘Do you think there will be fighting, my lord?’ said Lalenda. ‘If you are to kill Battu, I would dearly love to see it.’
Losara was surprised by her words – but then again Battu had separated her from her mother, stolen her childhood and menaced her for years. Perhaps she was right to want revenge. Perhaps Losara would be too, but he did not desire it with the same hunger he could see in her. There was still hope of finding a peaceful resolution with Battu somehow.
‘If it came to that,’ he said, his voice grave, ‘it would not be like some fight in your storybooks, to be experienced from the safety of an armchair. Promise me now, or I will send you back.’
‘I promise,’ said Lalenda, pouting slightly.
‘Grimra promises,’ said the ghost. ‘And will watch out for precious flutterbug should the need be arising.’ He swirled around them, rustling their clothes and lifting Lalenda’s skirt.
‘Grimra!’ she chided. ‘You bad ghost.’
‘Me is!’ cackled Grimra. ‘Very bad. Me eats Battu’s head right off his head!’
‘Grimra!’ snapped Losara sternly.
‘Me gets out and takes Lalenda with me,’ sighed the ghost, and settled down to an eddy.
They entered the dining hall. On the long table, elaborate candelabra held spheres of softly glowing ice, and the last light of the day filtered in through large chunks missing from the west wall. Battu sat at the head of the table, Tyrellan to his right, and Grey Goblins stood waiting to attend.
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Battu as he rose. ‘There you are, my boy! Excellent, we have a most excellent feast on the way!’ He rubbed his hands eagerly, unconsciously gnashing his teeth.
Too long with the sharks , remembered Losara. Hunting in packs that only abide one dominant male. He wondered if Battu was even aware that the time he’d spent dreaming on his way to Assedrynn’s Isle had had a serious effect on his soul.
‘And Lalenda, my beautiful prophet,’ Battu went on. ‘Welcome also.’
‘Not yours,’ said Lalenda, almost under her breath.
Battu stared at her a moment, his grin frozen in place, but then he chuckled and pretended not to have heard. Losara raised an eyebrow at her slightly, and she ducked her head. She knew Losara intended to replace Battu as Shadowdreamer, who had already been stripped of the title by the gods – but she was bold to antagonise him so. Losara wondered for a moment if bringing her with him had jeopardised his chance of striking an accord with Battu. Such a small hope it was – did that make it more worth protecting, or easier to let go?
‘And is your ghostly companion with us?’ Battu said.
In answer, Grimra’s skull-like head became briefly visible. ‘Grimra attends the vittles and celebratoriness,’ said the ghost, then faded again.
‘Excellent,’ said Battu. Losara had never heard him use the word so frequently. Was he nervous? Why were they being treated to this display of hospitality? ‘Please, take your seats.’
Losara sat at the foot of the table, Lalenda by his side. The last remaining seat slid back.
‘Seats, seats,’ came the ghost’s muttering. ‘Grimra to sit in a seat? Who would have thought, for he has no buttocks. Still, Grimra tries to be polite. ’ White claws appeared to worry at the seat, the ghost obviously confused by what to do with it. He growled in annoyance, and splinters went flying. The seat shook violently, and a moment later collapsed into a mound of woodchips.
‘Bah,’ said Grimra. ‘Now me be embarrassed.’
Lalenda giggled.
‘That’s all right, Grimra,’ said Losara. ‘Seats are not for everyone. I don’t imagine lord Battu will mind if you …waft.’
‘Not at all,’ said Battu. ‘Now,’ he turned to bark at an attendant, ‘bring us the food!’
Tyrellan watched, knowing that the time for finding his moment was dwindling. If worst came to worst, he could sacrifice himself by simply shouting a warning, but of course he’d prefer it didn’t come to that. The butterfly swooped down onto his glass and he waved it away irritably. He tried several times to catch Losara’s eye, but the trouble with having a pitch-black gaze was that no one could see precisely where you were looking, especially if you were trying to be subtle about it.
Dishes began to arrive. As with all of Battu’s feasts, seafood was the feature. There were thin slices of tuna laid out on a platter and drizzled in oil. Mounds of sea urchins roasted in their shells were one of the few dishes Battu preferred cooked. A salad of kelp, a tubeworm stew, and chilled prawns stuffed with butter and parsley all arrived in quick succession to be placed around the table. There was no sign of the anemones yet, but they would not be far away.
Battu’s appetite did not seem to suffer despite his obvious tension – if anything, he ate more when he was stressed. Meanwhile, food began to lift off plates, swirl up into the air and disappear to the accompaniment of satisfied slurps. Losara and Lalenda ate too, though far more moderately. In order not to rouse suspicion, Tyrellan reached for a serving, heaping food onto his plate as his mind ticked away.