“I hate it.” Idris said as he walked in, pulling at his own red shirt. His red hair was combed backwards, held there by a band of leather.
“Behave.” Lavia said as she came in behind him. She now wore a gown of white, beautifully framing her body.
“Father.” Idris said, standing in front of Suda, hands on his hips, “Why do I have to wear this?”
A girl followed him in. She was also dressed in white, and she had a silver ribbon in her red hair. Alina, Suda’s oldest daughter, smiled at him. Finally, a toddler stumbled into the room. Belia was Suda’s youngest child, and she also pulled at the dress she was wearing.
Suda knelt in front of his son, “Now Idris.” His voice was stern, “Tonight we celebrate Gadrika and the food that he blessed us with. We must dress for such an occasion.” A smile appeared on Suda’s face, and he whispered, “And if you are good, I will let you stay up late to watch the fire dancers.”
A smile grew on Idris’s face, and he bounced on the balls of his feet.
Lavia coughed, “Have you forgotten Suda?”
“No I have not.” He replied as he stood and walked to his dresser. He pulled from it a small scabbard, which held a short metal knife. He turned, smiling at the young boy who watched the knife curiously, “Now Idris.” Suda knelt before his son, “Today you are six harvest festivals away from becoming a ward. For this reason, you shall receive your first blade, as I did at your age.” Idris smiled gleefully as Suda fastened the blade to the boy’s belt, “Look after it well. My father had it made for me.”
Idris nodded and charged out of the room, most likely to show his friends. Alina and Belia ran up to Suda expectantly.
“I have not forgotten you both.” He said and walking back to his dresser, he pulled out two bright red flowers. Kneeling beside them, he wove the stems into both of the girls silver bands, “These grow only in the soil around Amoradrage, or upon lands where the Drage family have lived. They are a gift from Livella, showing our connection to her. Wear them tonight and the vassal of light will bless this house.”
The two girls left, both standing taller, like grace personified.
Suda stood and kissed his wife upon her lips. From his desk he took up another cutting of livora and handed it to Lavia, “For the one who holds my heart.” He whispered.
She smiled and wove the flower into a loop at her breast. Together they left for the grand reception hall. Musicians played and Ilma from the merchant families danced, drank, and ate.
At their entrance there was silence and Suda stood, arm in arm with his wife and addressed the crowd, “Happy harvest to you all.” His voice echoed in the hall, “Bless Gadrika for the life that he has given to us. May the tapestry that he weaves continue to bring you all and the realm of Dragor prosperity. Today we shall celebrate the gift that Gadrika has given us and celebrate the gift of eachother. May the stars guide you all.”
A cheer went up in the hall and then the guests went back to their feasting and dancing. Suda stepped towards an old woman. Her hair was white, and her face wrinkled. She knelt by Alina and entertained the girl with a trick that made the fire the old woman produced, change colours. It was rare for a woman of the Ilma to be able to still use her power at that age. With every child of the Ilma born, the mother diminished, part of her own power going into the child. That was the reason twins were rare, or it was unusual for women to have more than three children. Lavia could barely produce a flame now but what she lost in power; motherhood gave back in beauty.
“Mother.” Suda smiled as he approached the old woman. Alina looked fondly at her father before running off to follow Idris. The old woman turned towards Suda.
“You look regal my son.” His mother said, her gaze fell downwards as she examined the sword at his belt.
“It suited father better.” He replied. His gaze swept across the party goers. He had spent many harvest festivals with his men, staying in inns where no one cared that he was the heir apparent to Dragor.
“Your father never liked the harvest festival.”
“He never liked celebrating.”
His mother gave a hearty laugh, “He was a pious man. He believed in celebrating the gods every day, but you are not cut from his cloth.”
Suda nodded as his mother left him in search of food. His father had not been a ward for any lord or learned much of fighting. Unlike all the other first born of the house of Dragor, his father had spent the years between his coming of age and his rise to lordship, studying in the church of Brinsita. Suda believed that was why, when need for battle came, that he had been wounded so badly.
Lavia came and kissed her husband before taking the children out to enjoy the festival. As he sat, Ordin and Loxa grabbed harps and began to sing for the hall. Their voices were sweet, and they sang songs of Gadrika, just as well as they sang songs of debauchery in small village taverns. As they sang, Sirgrin came and sat next to him, “My lord.” He whispered, “You should go to the square and be amongst your people.”
Suda’s heart warmed at the thought, but he shook his head, “My father never went out to the festival grounds.”
“Your father believed he must rule from inside these walls.” Sirgrin said, “But you are not your father, and you are well loved by the people. You can be a different lord than he.”
Others would not have spoken to him so, but Suda had helped raise Sirgrin and he trusted his counsel above most others.
Suda nodded and stood, his shirt feeling a bit lighter as he stepped out into the cool autumn air. Two Graul soldiers followed him, there red shirts shining, a black dragon embroided on their chests. People cheered at the sight of their lord and Suda walked through the streets, smiling at Graul and Ilma who danced and sang under the stars.
