“So, the festival is tonight?” I ask, pushing the last biscuit into my mouth. Deria, the Thrope’s scandalous aunt, smiles and moves the empty plate to a nearby sideboard where quiet servants set steaming dishes and remove empty ones.

“Yes, and we’re so glad you came all this way for such a special occasion! My nephew loves this festival, and this year he’ll honor Sera.”

“Sera,” I say quietly. “I was heartbroken to hear what happened.”

Deria’s mouth tightens. “Yes. The Gray is a nasty disease. I’m shocked my brother didn’t die from it.” She sips on an orange concoction that she brought to the table, smacking her lips at its intensity, and continues. “Although, dying from a hunting accident is just what he deserved. Vile brute. May the gods rest his soul, of course.”

“Of course,” I agree and stifle a laugh.

“Tonight, Lachlan will honor Sera’s memory. He won’t tell us what he’s planned, but he’s been tucked away in that attic of his for weeks now. So, we know it’s special.” She takes another sip and then gently places her cup on the lace cloth.

“If he’s planning something so extravagant, he must have truly loved her.” Discomfort crawls over my body like ants on spilled food. I don’t know why the thought of him loving her bothers me. It would surely bother me more if he hadn’t loved his wife.

Deria clasps her hands and sighs. “Oh, yes. He loved her very much. In the way that only Lachlan can.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lachlan is very… hushed about his feelings. He always has been. I blame Lester. None of us were allowed to express much while he was alive. Shameful pig. May his spirit find refuge and solace in the Great Lands.” She dabs her mouth with her napkin.

“Then again, I suppose each one of us loves differently,” she says. “My first husband was terribly handsy. I detested it. I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without him grabbing me. But that’s how he showed affection. It was all very physical. My second husband…” She trails off and flicks one wrist. “He was a man of few words, and even fewer sentiments, but showered me in jewelry and fine clothes to make up for it. Now, that’s the kind of love I can get behind.” She smiles and reaches for her glass.

“How many times have you been married?”

She swallows and sighs with pleasure. “I stopped counting after five,” she says with a wink, and we laugh.

I gesture towards her drink, and she nods. “Oh, gods,” I choke and cough as the liquid hits my tongue. “It’s potent.” My eyes water and I smack my chest, trying not to wheeze.

“My own recipe,” she says and flashes me a proud look. “Helped me tolerate husband number four.”