Chapter 69: Not Die Hungry...
Keiser cast a glance back over his shoulder. The window he had noticed earlier, a tall, arched opening high along the temple wall, remained wide open, spilling in the pale light of the moon.
Then his gaze returned to the present climb. The stairway beneath their feet seemed endless, winding ever upward through the heart of the Saint’s temple.
This time, however, it was not the knights or the elf setting their pace. It was the Saint herself, the Sixth Princess, leading the way. Her steps were steady, brisk, and her cloak trailed behind her like a pale banner. The others followed, cloaks drawn low to hide their faces.
Knights stood stationed along the ascending halls, armor gleaming dully in the lantern light. Their eyes tracked the princess and her party, but not one of them moved or questioned her passage.
They neither bowed nor spoke, their gazes were sharp, but unblinking, as if they had long since grown accustomed to this. If they noticed that the princess’s usual serene smile was absent, that her face was cool, her manner stripped of politeness, they gave no sign.
At last, the climb ended at a pair of heavy doors bound with ornate brass. The princess pushed them open without hesitation. Beyond lay a vast chamber, its height echoing, its air hushed. This was no shrine, but a hall designed for receiving guests.
Waiting servants appeared as though summoned, bowing before guiding the party further inward. Their soft footsteps carried them into another chamber, this one spilling with warm lamplight and the rich scent of food, the dining hall.
Keiser slowed for a moment, taking in the sight. The room was vast, gilded edges gleaming where light struck. Long tables shone beneath polished cutlery, and the walls were adorned with tapestries stitched in gold thread. Gifts of every kind crowded the space, finely wrought statues, jewel studded chests, vases overflowing with coin and ornaments. Offerings, Keiser realized. All of them for her, the Saint of the Kingdom.
He glanced sideways. Tyron stood just inside the doorway, lips parted in awe. Even the old men, weathered and worn, who had seen their share of noble estates and war halls, were left momentarily breathless. The wealth, the reverence on display, it was overwhelming.
Keiser, however, only frowned faintly, the unease in his chest stirring stronger than before.
"...Eat."
The sixth princess’ voice was quiet but sharp, carrying the weight of an order rather than an invitation. She moved forward without waiting for acknowledgment, shrugging her white cloak from her shoulders. A servant appeared instantly, bowing low as he caught the garment in his arms. The princess did not look at him, her crimson gaze instead flicking back toward Keiser.
"Then," she said, pausing only a heartbeat, "we’ll talk."
Keiser’s brow furrowed. His good eye shifted toward Lenko, who let out a long, weary sigh and rubbed the back of his neck as if he already knew what sort of talk awaited him.
Tyron, on the other hand, was practically glowing. His gaze darted not at the princess but at the long table set before them, glittering with silver dishes and steaming trays. His lips parted in something like reverence.
"Gods above..." he whispered under his breath, barely able to contain himself. "Do we... do we actually get to eat this?"
Keiser gave a faint snort, though there was no real humor in it. ’Trust the boy to think with his stomach, even when we might be walking to our deaths.’ Still, he could not deny the faint tug of relief, at least if it was their last meal, they would not die hungry.
So they ate.
The servants moved quickly, placing food upon their plates, but Tyron could hardly wait. He reached across the table, snatching one roasted drumstick in his left hand while his right already clutched a baked roll stuffed with steaming meat.
He tried to chew both, nearly choking himself.
"Slow down!" Lenko hissed, eyes narrowing as he shoved a cup of watered wine toward him. "You’ll suffocate before the knights can even bother."
Tyron coughed, thumped his chest with one hand, and forced down the food with a loud gulp. "Worth it," he croaked, already eyeing a platter of honey-glazed ribs.
Lenko grimaced as though he were witnessing sacrilege. He set his own cutlery down with deliberate precision, glaring at Tyron. "There’s a fork and a knife for a reason. You look like a starving boar."
Keiser only sat back in his chair, one brow raised, watching the ridiculous display. He had been educated once, by Gideon, on how to dine properly in noble company, how to hold the fork, which knife paired with which course, even the subtle etiquette of which glass belonged to which drink. His fingers twitched at the sight of the neatly arranged knives and spoons beside his plate.
But... he didn’t reach for them. Not this time. He knew better than to draw more attention to himself than he already had.
Besides, watching Tyron make a mess almost made the food taste better.
It was then that Olga appeared.
She strode into the dining hall with her usual heavy steps, a satchel slung over one shoulder. In her other hand she carried several more bags, their weight dragging against her arms. She set them down with a dull thump beside the table.
"Your things," she said simply.
Lenko’s eyes widened. "My satchel!" He hurried to her side, almost fumbling as he grabbed it from her hands, his relief palpable.
Keiser spotted his own belongings among the pile, a small, worn bag, and more importantly, the blade he had been gifted back in Hinnom. Its familiar weight rested against his palm for a moment before he slid it back to his waistband. He exhaled quietly, not realizing how much he had wanted a true blade he could say his own.
Tyron scrambled for his little strap-back, hugging it against his chest. The two old men shuffled forward as well, collecting what little they had left.
It was a meager pile, nothing compared to the wagonload of supplies they had lost when the knights destroyed their cart. The loss stung, but at least something had been spared.
Keiser fastened the blade to his side and looked back toward the sixth princess, who had already seated herself at the far end of the table, her expression unreadable as she lifted a cup to her lips.
The food filled the silence, but the real weight in the room was yet to come.