I closed my eyes and sighed.
The Feast of Midnight.
In days of old, the ruler of Midnight began the tradition, hosting what would then become an annual gathering. For reasons that had always evaded me, he invited the filthy rabble of Amaranth City off the streets and into his home for a night-long celebration of food and sex and wine, offerings for our continued victories over the forces—natural and otherwise—constantly seeking to destroy us. The ruler, along with wealthy guests who’d paid for the privilege, would attend a more exclusive version of the event on the upper levels of the castle.
Feast of the Beast, as it was colloquially known, though I was never certain whether the beast referred to the host, the copious amounts of exotic meat he served, or the base impulses of the masses.
I’d always found it barbaric, but the people loved it. The ruler’s feigned generosity gave them hope, and the briefest taste of luxury easily put them back into the barely-conscious slumber from which the ruling class so readily profited.
The idea turned my very blood to ice, especially since it was nowmyhome that would be opened to every street rat and urchin in Amaranth City,myfeigned generosity put on full display.
But Oona’s thinking was sound. The people needed something to celebrate. Something to pacify them.
“Very well,” I said. “We shall give them their meat and ale. Let them cling to their ridiculous traditions.”
“A wise choice, sir,” Oona said. “I’ll appoint advisors to see to the arrangements and keep you apprised of the plans.”
“Thank you.” I rose from the table and gazed out the tower window.
Situated in the center of the city on a rise that offered a three-hundred-sixty-degree view, the Castle of Midnight had been in the family for millennia, an architectural marvel as well as a fortress. In the long dark of Midnight’s many wars, the Castle had never fallen.
Now, gazing south across Amaranth City and beyond Vanderham’s Wall, I wondered how long that would remain true.
As if in response to an unasked question, red lightning flickered on the southern horizon, sending an unexpected jolt of fear skittering along my spine. It settled in the pit of my stomach with a dull fizz, like sparkling wine gone suddenly flat.
“Sir?” Oona asked. “Are you unwell?”
I stared out at the dark sky. Nothing moved but the clouds scudding over the two visible moons. No more lightning. Not even a flicker of starlight. The third moon wouldn’t rise for hours.
“Father?” she pressed, finally dropping the pretense of military rank as she placed a hand on my arm.
The touch drew my attention, and I glanced into her eyes, violet like her father’s.
In that moment, she was no longer a lieutenant general. Just a concerned daughter. Daughter of the monster who ruled this land with fists and swords and manipulation, no atoning for the blood he’d spilled along the way.
The concern in her voice softened my hard heart, but I wouldn’t allow her to glimpse it. Oona wasn’t accustomed to gentleness. She’d grown up the target of threats and abuse that had only grown worse with time, with the pressure of our many endless wars.
Showing vulnerability now would only confuse things. For both of us.
“Your concern is misplaced,” I said firmly.
“But I thought—”
“See to our prisoner, Oona. And let the cooks know I’ll be taking dinner alone in my chambers tonight.”
“Shall I join you there? We could review the maps, maybe look at alternate routes around—”
“What part ofalonewas unclear to you?”
She didn’t flinch. She was too good a soldier for that.
But I’d seen the flicker of sadness in her eyes, and it cut me in a way I preferred not to dwell upon.
“Of course,” she said. “Goodnight, Father. Sir.” She bowed her head, then stood up straight and saluted.
“Dismissed,” I replied, and then she was gone.
Guilt simmered, but Oona was strong, just as her mother had been.
