“We deeply appreciate your hospitality,” Varen said, bowing again. After a beat, he added, “My only concern is that our orc healer, Korik, is... quite tall. I fear sharing a guest room may be difficult for a man of his stature.”
The two women glanced at each other, clearly having a silent conversation. Varen knew married elves could communicate with their bond, a mental link created between them during the wedding rites. It was said the clarity of the bond could vary widely: some only having a vague sense of the other, while others could have full conversations, as clear as speech. He had always been curious what it must be like to have another in his head. Sometimes it seemed far too intrusive; at other times, he thought it must be a deep comfort to be so wholly known and understood by one’s mate.
“We will clear space in another room,” Lady Trisfiel finally said, turning to him again. “One of our younger sons keeps a room for storing and practicing his musical instruments. We should be able to clear space in there and provide extra bedding.”
“Perfect,” Varen said. “Thank you very much.”
“It’s our pleasure,” Nedralie said, smiling at him.
“Leita, bring Commander Petkas’ group into the bigger parlor. Darling, please explain the situation to Reniel so he can get started on some food,” Lady Trisfiel continued. The guard nodded and turned, moving quickly. Nedralie nodded too, and with one last smile at Varen, bustled past him back into the foyer. “Commander, why don’t you come with me to the dining hall? You and your sister are welcome to sit with us as food is prepared.”
Varen followed her gratefully, and she led him to a dining room that was smaller than he expected. A long dining table took up most of the space. Seven chairs were arranged around it: three on each side, plus one more, a larger chair at the head of the table. The room was richly furnished, complete with a chandelier positioned directly above. With a swish of her wrist, Lady Trisfiel lit the chandelier and bathed the room in flickering candlelight.
“I have a small request of you, Commander,” Lady Trisfiel said, surprising him.
“Anything,” he answered quickly. She gestured to the opposite wall, where a large family portrait was mounted. It depicted the two women and their seven children—four boys and three girls. The tallest was a man grown, positioned directly beside his mothers with a look of pride. The youngest was a babe still in Lady Nedralie’s arms.
Lady Trisfiel’s expression had not changed as she motioned to it. Varen observed politely, then said uncertainly, “Your family is lovely.”
She stifled a small laugh, lowering her head. “Thank you. The boy standing just behind Nedralie is our second eldest. His name is Cheryth. He was twenty-two in this picture, but he is now a man at twenty-five. Earlier this year, he left the estate without alerting anyone; and we suspect he traveled north, perhaps even into Drol Kuggradh. Would you happen to have seen him?”
Varen frowned, still confused, but studied the boy in question more closely. He had a less stern air about him compared to the eldest brother; these sorts of things were often exaggerated in portraits like this, though, so Varen took it with a grain of salt. He had similar narrow features, wavy auburn hair that framed his face charmingly, and a pleasant smile. But he was not especially remarkable looking; it was entirely possible he could be in Drol Kuggradh, but Varen did not readily recognize him.
“I’m afraid I haven’t seen him, Lady Trisfiel,” he confessed, bowing his head. “I apologize. However, I spend most of my time near the king’s tower, or handling matters in the barracks. He may be there without me ever having seen him. I can ask the others—”
“That’s alright,” Lady Trisfiel interrupted, shaking her head. “I expected as much. It is a big world he wanted to see, and Drol Kuggradh is just a small part of it. Cheryth always had a... flair for the dramatic. I just thought I would ask, since you’ve been there recently. I have hope he will contact us soon.”
Varen looked between her and the portrait, wondering about what might have happened. But she offered no other information, only sighed as she turned away from the portrait.
“Please, sit,” she prompted. She took the head seat, and Varen sat beside her. He couldn’t quite stifle a groan of relief at finally sitting down in a comfortable chair after so many days on the road.
Before long, Nedralie returned with Enriel in tow. She brightened at seeing Varen and sat down beside him, as Nedralie sat opposite him beside her wife. They chatted for a few moments, then Lady Trisfiel stood again.
“I will greet our guests now that they’re settled,” she said. “Please, remain here. Food should be served shortly. I’ll be back soon.”
Varen was content to stay right where he was, and only half-listened as Enriel and Nedralie spoke. The lady had clearly developed a soft spot for Enriel since learning she was pregnant, now asking her about names, which Enriel had not yet decided on.
“They’re so sweet when they’re little. Our youngest is turning five now,” Nedralie sighed, a wistful expression crossing her face. “I keep telling Indrin how nice it would be to have another, especially now that our eldest two are out of the house. She’s a little more on the fence, but... I don’t know. I always dreamed of a big family.”
“Seven children is no small family, to be sure,” Enriel chuckled, and Nedralie laughed.
“I suppose that’s true,” she agreed. “Still. We both have plenty of time for more, though, so maybe she’ll get the itch again in a few more years.”
Varen could not fathom having seven children and still wanting more. One or two seemed nice enough, though he was getting up in years now, so it seemed less likely that any at all might be in the cards for him. But seven? To each their own, he supposed.
Several servants came bustling out from the kitchen before they could continue for much longer. Some held trays of food that were placed on the table before them; others pushed carts laden with similar trays, as well as stacks of plates and cutlery, which were wheeled out into the hall and out of sight—presumably for the others in the parlor.
The chef followed, wringing his hands as he addressed them.
“Lady Nedralie. Esteemed guests. I apologize for the hurried nature of the meal,” he said, lowering his head. “Lady Nedralie, I sent out extras from today’s dinner, and I pulled from some of the prepped ingredients for tomorrow’s breakfast. This may cause a delay in breakfast, though I will endeavor to make suitable replacements in time. My sincerest apologies.”
“No apology necessary,” Nedralie said, waving her hand. “Do whatever you have to do, Reniel. I’m sure our guests care more about filling their bellies than what time it’s served.”
“That’s for sure,” Varen agreed, his mouth watering as he eyed the food placed before them. “All we’ve had for weeks has been rations and wild game. This is a feast in comparison.”
“Thank you, sir. My lady. A few more dishes are on the way,” the chef repeated, bowing again, before hurrying back into the kitchen.
They were served a vegetable soup; roasted potatoes and carrots; spicy sausages atop a bed of rice and leeks; and—best of all—soft, buttery bread rolls. It seemed the most enticing meal that Varen had ever seen.
