The Broken Kingdoms of Osvolta (Kingdoms of Osvolta #1)

67. The Harvest Festival

Chapter sixty-seven

The Harvest Festival

S himmering rays of pale gold sunlight pierced the sea mist surrounding The Bay of Trivellian as gulls chorused the imminent dawn, their cries despondent at the lack of seafood scraps to chase. For this dawn brought with it the Harvest Festival, a day of rest that saw even the fishermen leave their boats tied to the dock for the day. Everyone across Farrenhold would revel in the peace. Either lounging in their homes or on the lush golden beaches, watching the morning pass in quiet calm and building anticipation of the festival to come.

A soft knock woke Solveig at daybreak. The servant set a tray down on her table before scurrying away in silence. She dragged herself from the lusciously soft pile of pillows and blankets; donned a robe and slipped her feet into shearling slippers. There was a carafe of coffee, a bowl of steaming porridge with cinnamon and honeyed apples. Slices of toast with spreads ranging from marmalade to strawberry, and one she did not recognise. Sitting at the top of the tray was a glistening white rose, thorns trimmed, and a note tied to it with a thin ribbon of night black silk. She sat, pouring herself a cup of coffee before reaching for the note as she plucked a single slice of honey drenched apple from the bowl of oats.

Eat up and rest well, Princess. The day is yours to do as you please, for the evening is ours. Meet me in the square as the clock chimes five. Try the blackberry spread, a delicacy from my home, and a small taste of the things waiting for you should you agree to run away with me.

A smile lifted one corner of her mouth as she reached for the mystery spread. Wondering what could make it special compared to any other? As she bit into the crisp slice; she realised that the tart berries had been stewed to create a spread that was a shrine to autumn itself. Sweet and spicy. It was deliciously warm, and she ate every drop.

High noon passed by with little fanfare, those who had set up stalls in the main square and the streets winding off it began loading them up with their stock. Barrels of wine, ranging from sweet summer berry to autumnal spice, ripe golden ales to the darkest of stouts. There were fresh fruits cut into an array of designs kept from decay by the expert hands of an Aire Wender sealing them from the elements. Musicians were setting up on the main stage, checking the tuning of their instruments.

As the minutes ticked by, more people filtered into the bustling sandstone main square. Excited chatter filled the air as bakeries unloaded trays of fresh goods. The scent of savoury pastries stuffed with garlic and cheese wafted around the square, alongside mouth-watering meat pastry twists with various dips and seasonings. There were sweet pastries too, cinnamon sugared, fruit compote and honey cream filled. On the opposite side of the square, a union of the kingdom’s farmers and butchers took up the entire row. There, they were turning slow roasted chicken, pork, and beef over glowing hot coals; the steam rising and wafting along the wind.

Adira and Solveig arrived in the square together. The former dressed in an immaculate turquoise gown; the neckline plunged a deep vee to their navel; edges adorned in glimmering gold thread. They left their neck bare of jewels, long billowing sleeves skated down their arms. The gown was cinched at the waist with more golden thread. Except here it was inlaid with glimmering emeralds from the Evrosei mine, a homage to the power that lay in their veins. As the skirt of the dress danced in the sea breeze, it revealed a secret beneath. Flowing pants covered their legs, giving the illusion of a ball gown when stood. A golden circlet sat atop their braided head.

Solveig stood beside them, dressed in a gown as dark as night. It appeared to have been crafted from the same silk fabric as the ribbon that was tied around the rose the prince had gifted her that morning. Much like Adira’s gown, it came with built in trousers. Only Solveig’s were skin-tight. The flowing fabric, cinched at the waist also, but with a slate grey belt encrusted with sapphires. Solveig’s hair was twisted back in a complicated braid design, created by Adira’s deft hands. The neckline of her dress was a simple square shape that was in stark contrast to Adira’s; yet each dress was in perfect balance, neither revealing too much.

Where Adira went mostly make up free, save a sweep of golden lustre across their eyes, in keeping with the softer lines and colours of their gown. Solveig was all drama. Smokey black kohl decorated her lids, darkening the green of her eyes to that of a twilight forest scape. She’d painted a deep red stain across her lips that would have been stark against her skin a month ago. Yet after spending days basking in the Farrenhold sun; she was less wraith and more woman. Still cold and deadly, but less likely to escort you to the land of the damned, with the faintest of touches.

Adira was due to give a speech before five. Intended to give thanks and declare the festival officially underway. Solveig secretly hoped that their speech wouldn’t last too long; so that she could step down from the stage and position herself in the square as the clock tolled five.

When Adira finally ascended the stone steps, an Aire Wender moved into position, ready to project their voice across the square. Solveig ascended after them, choosing to stand back, so that all eyes would be on Adira and not her.

“Dearest Citizens of Farrenhold. On behalf of my father, our Sovereign, Warwick Etana, I thank you for joining us here in the blessed capital of Trivellian for our annual Harvest feasting.” Adira smiled out at the crowd below them; a sea of colourful clothing and smiling faces. Some savouring food from the surrounding stalls, others sipping on wines and ales.

“May the will of The Oracle continue to bless us with ample light and water so we may feed our nation. May you, our citizens, continue to be safe and welcome in the home you have helped to build. My family and I are forever in your debt, for you are the vital cogs without which Farrenhold could not continue to thrive. May this night be a culmination of a year’s hard work and sacrifice, eat, drink and dance on the fruits of your labour. For the night is young and the stars shall guide us along the eternal flame’s light. Here we are safe, as long as we are one.” Adira paused as a man rushed over to hand them a glass of the blush wine they favoured, tipping it to the sky. They saluted.

“To Farrenhold.”

“Long may she soar,” the crowd called back in unison as they each took a sip from their cups. Adira bowed, turning to take Solveig’s hand, a radiant smile upon their face as they descended the steps together.

“Here.” They smirked, handing Solveig the glass of wine. “You need to lighten up, and it’s bad luck to not drink to a toast.”

“I’m afraid I’m unaware of your meaning,” Solveig simpered, seizing the perspiring glass, her hand trembling slightly as she took a small sip. Icy berry flavours exploded across her tongue, causing her to shiver. Her gaze fanned out across the square until it alighted on the clock tower, the minute hand inching ever closer to five. Her pulse skittered with every tick; breaths quickened with each tock.

Adira followed her gaze before it flicked back to Solveig. “I’m going to do the rounds with the vendors,” they said with a knowing smile, prying the glass of wine from Solveig’s white knuckled grasp. “Best of luck.” They tenderly squeezed her hand before turning to wend their way through the jostling crowd, leaving Solveig alone in the melee.

Music picked up from the stage they had vacated, lilting and joyous; couples and groups of children danced in time. All around her, life and love blazed, glorious, and free. Solveig struggled to anchor herself, dizzy and nauseous at being so exposed as an icy dread spread through her stomach, her pulse quickening.

And then everything fell silent.

A warm, calloused hand slipped into hers. The music and chatter faded away. Replaced only by the sounds of their breathing; the delicious scents of food, overthrown by the warm amber of his skin. The icy dread in her stomach thawed as quickly as it had frozen, melting into a liquid heat that sent her pulse spinning for an entirely different reason.

“Dance with me?” Emmerich whispered, head bent to her ear so that his smooth voice warmed her skin like the burning heat of whisky.