The Bonemender by Holly Bennett Read Free Book Online Page A

too, her style quieter than Tristan’s but just as effective as she gave each person in turn her warm attention. She was talking now to a couple with a babe in arms, exclaiming over the child, laughing as it reached for her silver earring.
    Féolan stood quietly, watching the scene. He wasn’t at all sure Danaïs should risk making his way into that jostling crowd. A sudden horn fanfare saved him the worry as people headed for the tables.
    “Féolan! Danaïs! Over here!” Tristan appeared before them and pointed toward a dais at the near end of the room, where a white-draped, richly set table was flanked with banks of flowers. “Come, you’ll sit up top with us.” Tris looked them up and down, gave a slow whistle. “Ver-ry nice. Very dashing. You’ll have the seamstresses going crazy, every young nobleman demanding an Elvish cloak and brow-gem.”
    Jerome and Solange were already at table, standing at their places. Beside Jerome stood a dark-haired man, a woman and two children. “My older brother, Dominic, and his family,” explained Tristan. “He is regent of Crow Island and the Blanch-ette coast.”
    Gabrielle soon joined them. Her eyes widened as she took in the Elves’ finery.
    “My Lord Danaïs, my Lord Féolan,” she murmured, dropping them an elegant curtsy.
    Féolan returned his best Human bow, then placed his hand over his heart. “Among my people we do thus, then touch palms,” he explained, and smiling up at him, she followed suit.
    Tristan and Gabrielle took their places beside Solange, and Féolan and Danaïs were seated on their left. That left one empty place on their side of the table, and this was soon taken by an older woman introduced as the Regent of Inner Verdeau.
    “My aunt Marisse,” Gabrielle muttered in his ear.
    Further introductions were abandoned as the king stepped to the front of the dais. The room quieted. Jerome’s speech was brief but masterfully delivered: a warm welcome, a vote of appreciation to the laborers and landowners responsible for the harvest, a prayer for continued good bounty and the promise of after-dinner entertainment. As he settled himself at the table, servants began bringing in food, and the guests cut short their applause in a hasty dive for their seats.
    Dinner passed in a blur of rich food, flowing ale and increasingly loud talk. Marisse proved as gracious as her sister, Solange, and accepted the Elves with matter-of-fact warmth, a welcome change from the incredulity they had become used to. “How wonderful to meet you,” she had exclaimed. “In the interior, you know, we still speak of a time when Elves and Humans were allies. Perhaps those days will come again.”
    “Perhaps they will,” Féolan replied, privately picturing the disaster that might force just such an alliance.
    A ripple of amusement from Danaïs and Gabrielle chased away this unpleasant train of thought, amusement at Tristan’s expense, it turned out. Tristan had been restlessly scanning the crowded room since the meal had started. Now he had evidently found what he was searching for. He had aimed that charming grin of his right across the Great Hall, and it was all but giving off sparks. That smile’s for a woman, Féolan thought, and a second later Tristan proved him right by blowing a kiss out into the air.
    Gabrielle shot him a quick elbow in the ribs. “Tris, behave.”
    “What?!” protested Tristan, all indignity and wounded innocence. “What’d I do?”
    Danaïs’ carefully neutral expression crumpled into a chuckle. “You nearly set my ear on fire with that kiss. I felt my skin sizzle as it flew past me!” he said. Their laughter was lost in the clatter of dishes that announced the arrival of the next course.
    “Poor Rosalie,” sighed Gabrielle, still giggling. “If she only knew what she was getting into with—” An unladylike squawk startled their end of the table; Tristan had reached behind and yanked her hair. Gabrielle looked at the guests