Supper was generally the lightest meal of the day, as breakfast was the most substantial. This, of course, was not how the Imperial Court did things; it wasn’t called “supper,” to begin with (that was far too countrified and peasant-like), and the evening meal was a huge multi-course affair that lasted hours, after which there would be music and entertainment into the late evening. This was a much simpler meal, and Ivar looked relieved to see that it was. It probably matched what Lord Endicrag served.

As he made introductions, Kordas looked directly into Isla’s eyes, and thought, Have you told Delia everything? knowing that she’d take the direct look as an invitation to read his thoughts. At her nod, he finished his introduction with, “ . . . and Ivar is a scout. His father thinks he can be useful to us, or at least, entertaining.”

“You might say I’m afflicted with wanderlust,” the young man laughed as he took his place at table. And for the rest of the meal he kept them well entertained with stories of his explorations—stories that turned the skeptical look on Hakkon’s face into one of satisfaction. Ivar managed to convey his competence without sounding like a common braggart, and his wonderment at the marvels of nature was infectious.

Well, Kordas thought, taking note that not only Hakkon, but Isla and Delia, clearly approved of his choice. That’s one hurdle taken care of.

Now there are only a million more to go.

—

Delia had to admit she was impressed with the new man. He was able to tell a good tale without boasting, he was deferential without being servile, and from what she could tell from his stories, he seemed to be the ideal choice for the job. Hakkon could have done it, of course—but Hakkon was going to have his hands full for the duration. She could be spared, and she wouldn’t have objected—but she didn’t have nearly the qualifications this fellow did. I’m going to take this as a good omen for our prospects, she thought, as she headed to the stable to work with Star.

But the new man, Ivar, was already there ahead of her. At his side was a massive mastiff—one that had not had his tail docked nor his ears clipped as was fashionable, which was mutilation as far as she was concerned. He went up another point in her estimation.

Grim was already speaking with him as she came in. The dog lay at his master’s feet, looking from one face to the other, as if following the conversation with interest.

“ . . . and how did you want to go about introducing the dog, milord?” Grim was saying.

“Well, that’s not for me to say, Stablemaster,” Ivar replied, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “How do you think Manta will take him? And what course of action would you suggest?”