The celebration had finally ended.
The last of the revelers had staggered to their beds; the last of the music had faded into silence; the last of the torches had guttered and died. The great hall stood empty now, a cavern of shadows and echoes, haunted by the ghosts of laughter and joy.
I walked through its silence on my way back to my chambers, my feet carrying me on a path that had become familiar over the weeks since my arrival. The guards nodded as I passed, their faces warm with something that might have been respect. The servants I encountered smiled, no longer averting their eyes. I was no longer a stranger in these halls.
My chamber door closed behind me, and I stood alone in the quiet.
The fire had been lit in my absence, its flames dancing merrily in the hearth. The furs on my bed were turned down, inviting rest. A small tray held a cup of warm milk and a plate of bread and cheese—Marta's doing, I knew, her practical care manifesting in small kindnesses.
