Chapter 5: Forty Days

The feast hall at Cinderkeep seated four hundred, and Maelis walked into it at dusk with her chin up.

Long tables ran down the room toward a dais. On it sat one chair of dark ash wood, and the king in it.

Every head turned as she entered.

She had changed into the deep green gown she had brought from Corrin, and the comb sat in her hair.

She had washed her hand three times since the garden.

The flame had gone out by itself, and left nothing but warmth behind.

She had decided not to think about it until she had to.

The seat beside Torvald stood empty.

She climbed the dais and sat in it.

The hall went quiet.

Torvald did not look at her.

"I told you to eat in your tower," he said, low, to his plate.

"I got hungry for company."

"I said you would not speak at my table."

"Then I won't." She picked up her cup and smiled sweetly at him. "I will only sit."

A muscle moved in his jaw.

One of the elders, a gray old dragon at the near table, coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.

The servants brought in roast boar, and black bread, and wine the color of coals.

Maelis ate with real appetite, and she felt Torvald watching her do it.

Halfway through the second course, his hand came to rest on her knee beneath the table.

It was warm, and heavy, and it did not move.

She nearly choked.

She set her fork down very carefully, and neither of them said a word.

His thumb drew one slow line along the inside of her knee.

She put her own hand over his, and pressed it still.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the corner of his mouth tilt.

A drum sounded at the back of the hall.

Ruvane entered through the great doors, wet to the skin from a day on the open stair in the sleet.

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