Luther's Pride - Part 20

Breakfast continued in a polite fashion, with small talk popping up throughout the extended table as others ate. Discussion of Branan’s over-eager challenge was subdued and restrained until the offender was no longer in earshot. However, his guests discussed Luther’s withholding of his arcanum from the wedding announcement at length. They debated its pros and cons, though none suggested it was a coward’s practice until Lucas joined the table. 

The young man’s clothes matched the finery of the night before, presenting an elegant and refined lord with a basket-hilted rapier at his hip. Luther noted the blade’s presence and its intended message. He was here to retrieve his sister and would levy his blade at anyone who refused him. 

Luther had no intention of refusing him but every desire to support Emily if she refused him. Emily and Holly were the only women Criella invited to this gathering who had not committed to marrying him. He couldn’t blame them, but he still wished to win them. What that said about him, Luther couldn’t be sure. Was he a romantic pursuing as many beautiful young hearts as he could claim? Or was he simply someone who didn’t like to lose? 

Such a prospect wouldn’t have been fair to Emily or Holly if he pursued them with ignoble motives. They were more than soldiers recruited for a cause, even a cause as noble as survival against dangerous odds. After all, once Branan was behind them, there was still the shire to protect from its many threats. They deserved to marry for love if they wished. The fight for his father’s inheritance wasn’t their battle, or if it was, they could choose for themselves which side to join. 

Lucas had suggested the night before that he and Emily might join Branan’s union and wed themselves to him. At the moment, Branan and his spouses didn’t have the title Luther did, nor the wealth. They were still of noble birth, though. Each was a mage, even if they hadn't inherited lands. 

If they managed to defeat Luther, then Lucas had much to gain from the marriage. Luther wondered if Lucas would wait until after the fight to not risk himself or his sister for their reward. They could gain much without risking anything if they waited and wed the victor. But if Branan considered patience to be cowardice, Lucas would earn his rejection. Possibly his scorn. 

If Luther could bring himself to unite with the Feothe union, the problem resolved itself. The only challenge was Luther’s own perversely narrow tastes. No attraction for the male sex meant he had no desire to join himself to another man. He fancied even if he preferred men, he would not choose a gruff man like Branan or a man as uncouth as Lucas. The young man had proven himself rude, haughty, and ill-mannered at the slightest reduction of his inhibitions. 

Emily reflected none of those attributes, and he wondered what differences in their raising had produced such strikingly opposite results. Where Lucas was brash, Emily was reserved; where he was cutting, Emily was kind; and where he was rude, Emily went out of her way to show grace and etiquette. Her interest in books also sparked Luther’s interest. Lucas did not strike him as a well-read man, and for better or worse, Luther was. 

His father had never allowed him to skip his education, and Luther’s vast knowledge compared to many of his contemporary lords was in no small part due to his father’s vast library. Even the stories and histories he’d known since childhood were unknown to others. Where he’d read them for himself, Emily might have only seen them referenced in other summary works. 

Emily shared his father’s love for books if he was any judge. From the moment he’d met her, she showed interest, and her insistence on seeing the library spoke of an interest beyond desire for other signs of wealth. Jo wanted promotion, Helena desired comfort, but Emily?

The key to winning Emily’s heart was the written word. If not the library and books, then perhaps letters. He might attempt to woo her with letters if she returned home instead of marrying him, assuming he survived Branan’s challenge. 

The thought spurred Luther to wonder if he desired Emily beyond the challenge. If he had no need for another member of his union, if Branan was defeated and his challenge enough to dissuade others for a while, would he still pursue Emily? 

Or Holly, for that matter? 

He glanced beside him to see Jo eating her food, and Helena on his other side. He sensed the presence of these women even when they were apart. He wondered if he would miss the feeling of solitude. It was strange to think that after the years he’d spent alone, he might never feel alone again. Jo and Helena would be with him, beside him, wherever he went. He bound himself to them last night, forever. Assuming they survived the challenge, they would be with him until they or he died of old age or in some other challenge that came for them. 

Eira and Rhosyn were willing to do the same. Emily and Holly were silent on the subject, but Luther had to wonder if that was their way of politely declining his unasked proposal. He hadn’t, technically, asked either of them to marry him. So there was no denial yet. They had not said they would not marry him either. They were still on the fence, entertaining the idea and weighing its difficulties with its benefits. 

Judging by Branan and his family, they were risking death. 

Branan had every bit the sign of a grizzled warrior from a hard-won life. His spouses also had fierce looks to them, hardened by weather and experience. From what Luther understood, they’d been patrolling and exploring the mountain borders at the edge of his father’s lands and the edge of the empire. Luther wondered what kinds of enemies they’d faced. 

Barbarians and bandits wouldn’t give them much challenge in a fight unless their enemies ambushed them. Some of the monsters Luther had heard of in the mountains might give them greater difficulty, but clearly, they’d overcome. Luther wished he knew more about them, to know what victories and defeats they’d suffered in the years under his father’s employ. 

To ask such a thing was too transparent an attempt to gauge their strength, though. Luther would have to seek such news elsewhere or lose the respect of his guests. 

Luther watched his guests, listening to the conversations about the valley and life within it, the people they knew, and sharing news of mutual acquaintances. He listened to all of them until Criella finally arrived. 

Wulfric showed her to her chair, and she took it without complaint. There were no issues raised by his guests at her late arrival, nor did she offer any excuses for her absence. Branan’s eyes followed her, though, and his sharp gaze did not go unnoticed by Luther. 

Lucas likewise narrowed his eyes at her, but Emily’s hand on his wrist prevented him from saying or doing anything Luther might rebuke. Luther wondered at that and debated whether Emily’s concern for her brother was for his sake or hers. He wondered how frequently she was accustomed to being the voice of reason and how often Lucas listened. 

“Our final guest has arrived.” Luther said, smiling. “We are now complete. Welcome, Criella.” 

Criella’s black eyes, with their red pupils, turned in his direction, and she nodded her horned head with a graceful dip of her pointed chin. “Thank you, Lord Le Fey. Please excuse my lack of appetite. I’m afraid I’d already eaten breakfast this morning when Wulfric informed me you required my presence.” 

“That’s quite alright. It appears we’ve finished our meals anyway.” Luther glanced at Lucas, the only one still eating. Everyone else had cleaned their plates and was drinking and picking at the food on the table because of its proximity instead of their hunger. “I was hoping you could give us a tour of the manor.” Luther explained. “The Dames Le Fey deserve to survey their new home, and even I haven’t learned its entirety, having so recently arrived.” 

“Of course, my lord.” Criella said. “Whenever you wish.” 

“Let Lucas finish his meal.” Luther said. “And then we shall begin, ending at the library, I think, so that Lady Burville might have some time to peruse its shelves.” 

“As you wish.” Criella said, turning her eyes to Lucas, who ignored her. She picked at a pastry after moving it to her plate and drank the juice the servants offered her. 

Silence fell at the table until, finally, someone cleared their throat. Luther lifted his eyes to see Septimus Grey, one of Holly’s fathers, lean forward toward Branan, who sat across from him. 

“If you don’t mind my asking, is it true you’ve slain a dragon?” Septimus asked. 

Branan’s eyes lifted to Septimus beneath his bushy eyebrows, and a quirk of a smile ticked behind his beard, making his rosy cheek pudge and his eyes sparkle. 

“We did.” Branan said. “Six years back now.” 

“It was a younger one.” Branan’s husband Emory spoke up from beside him. The younger man was younger even than Luther, but his countenance was dark and grim. His hooked nose was prominent on his face, and his beady eyes scanned the tattoos on Septimus’ bared arms. “Are you a transmuter?” 

Septimus smiled and nodded. “My family and I specialize in transformation-based magic. Our Arcanas are slightly specialized, but there is diversity in the art.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, what is your specialty?” Emory asked. 

“He’s a shifter, are you not?” Branan asked, eyeing the man’s tattoos. 

“Not a full one.” Septimus shook his head. “I transform myself in part only, taking on the aspects of beasts in battle. My daughter Holly is more talented than I.” 

Their eyes turned to Holly as Septimus’s palm patted her shoulder. 

Holly didn’t look up from her plate, quiet in the face of praise. 

“A full shifter?” Emory asked. “Impressive for someone so young and beautiful.” 

Holly lifted her eyes, blushing slightly at the praise and glancing at her father, unsure of whether to accept the attention. 

“And what of you?” Septimus returned the question. “Branan’s spheromancy is famous throughout the valley, of course, but the rest of you?” 

Branan nodded after his spouses looked at him. “Go on, we’re not cowards to hide behind secrecy.” 

A few eyes flicked to Luther at the end of the table, including Criella’s. Luther gave the insult no answer. He sipped his drink as if Branan were speaking of some other lord. 

“I’m a transmuter, like yourself.” Emory said. “Perhaps we could discuss the craft later?” 

Septimus nodded. “I’d like that.” 

Emory patted the rotund man beside him on the chest with the back of his hand. “Fess, here, is a singer.”

Fess nodded, his white hair and beard dipping. Without them shaping his face, he would have looked like a child’s frostjack, with a round face and head atop a sphere of a body. His black clothes ruined the illusion but gave him a presence of wealth with the jewels on his fingers. 

“Agatha is a shieldmaiden.” Emory continued his introductions, gesturing to the small blonde woman across the table, wearing furs and her hair in braids. She had the appearance of a barbarian to Luther but lacked the tattoos and markings typical to those Luther had met. “Good luck to anyone who thinks they can cut through her defenses.” Emory’s smirk turned cocky. 

“Marne is our healer.” Emory continued, gesturing to the beautiful woman a few chairs down. “She’s quite skilled with the blade, of course.” Marne’s nod suggested she appreciated his recognition for more than her arcanum. 

Emory gestured to a well-muscled man somewhere in his mid-forties with a laurel of silver about his head. “Raoul is one of the most talented illusionists I’ve ever seen.” 

Raoul nodded his thanks and lifted his hand to say hello to the guests. As if to demonstrate his talents, the well-muscled man rippled, replaced with an exact duplicate of Septimus in every aspect. The faux-Septimus rippled away, replaced by the well-muscled man once more. A light round of applause scattered through the table at his show as if he’d done it to amuse them. 

“Lizabet is a farseer.” Emory said, gesturing to an older woman around Branan’s age. Her gray hair was streaked with black, though Luther imagined it might have been the other way around a few years ago. 

“Is farseeing particularly useful in your combats?” Septimus asked, confused. 

“In the wilderness?” Branan asked, scoffing at the stupidity of the question. “It’s invaluable. Lizabet has saved our hides more than once.” 

Septimus nodded, and Lizabet smiled, glancing at Branan with love and appreciation. 

“And you?” Eira spoke up, looking at the last of Branan’s spouses. 

“I’m Saehild.” The middle-aged woman answered. “A summoner.” 

A murmur rippled through the guests at that. 

“A rare arcanum.” Luther said, impressed. “It seems your band is quite formidable. It’s no wonder my father put so much trust and faith in you.” 

Branan nodded, his spouses taking the compliment in stride. “Your father and I were friends. In truth, I’d sought his hand in marriage for years, but the fey are slower to recover from heartache than we are.” 

Luther did not show his surprise at the news. It made sense Branan was pressing for more than the arrangement of employer and employee with his father. Whatever his father’s reasoning for rejecting Branan, Luther could not be sad about his father’s love of his late mother. 

Unfortunately, Branan kept talking. 

“Not for love, of course.” Branan glanced at Lucas and Emily. “I’ve been seeking your father’s lordship of the valley for some time, and marriage, even to a fey, seemed a means to a more peaceful transition for the valley’s sake.” 

Luther and Criella’s eyes flashed with the same anger. The tension in Luther’s body seized him, stiffening every muscle in his chest. Helena’s hand squeezed his, sensing or seeing the tightness in his face. 

Criella pushed her plate away and stood, drawing every eye at the table to the Asmodean woman. “It appears your guests are finished with the food, my lord.” She gestured to Lucas’ empty plate. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll begin the tour.” 

Luther rose. His wives and guests followed his example, taking to their feet as the servants helped them move their chairs. “Lead on, Criella.” Luther wiped his face and left his napkin on his plate. Jo offered her hand, and he took it, still holding Helena’s in the other as the trio walked at the tail of the crowd, following Criella at its head.