Page 22 of A Crown Without Mercy

Enattamadeherwayto the gardens, looking for Laurent and Mira. “Laurent?” she called out. When she did not get a response, she walked further into the gardens and could hear their voices coming from somewhere in the orchard. “Laurent?”

“Over here, mother,” Laurent answered.

She wandered between the rows of pruned bushes and found Laurent and Mira lying on their backs on a woven blanket. “What are the two of you doing?”

Laurent pointed to the sky. “We’re watching the clouds make shapes.”

Enatta took a seat on the stone bench and placed her hands in her lap. “What shapes have they made so far?”

“We saw a bat and a crow,” Mira offered.

“And a warrior on a horse,” Laurent said.

“Mira, would you like to stay the night? We’re having quite the soirée.”

“Really? I would love to.”

“Of course, a young lady of your status would do well to immerse herself with lords and ladies. I don’t think your pigs and chickens are suitable company.”

“Laurent, would you like me to stay?”

“Yes, I will be your escort.”

“Then we need to get the two of you bathed and dressed. Up—up, quickly now.”

Two of Enatta’s chamber maids led Mira into a large guest chamber where they had placed a beautiful gown on the end of the bed, along with a pair of matching leather flats. Colorful pieces of silk cut into the shapes of various flowers covered the long bouffant skirt, while the constricted bodice and tapered wrist length sleeves were fashioned with a myriad of glass beads that had been meticulously sewn into the fabric.

The chamber maids were seeing to Mira who was now sitting in a large marble tub with her arms wrapped around her knees while they scrubbed her hair and back when Enatta walked in and motioned for them to leave. She walked over to the large, ornate bureau, pulled the crystal stopper from the bottle and filled her flute. She then took a seat on the settee across from the tub.

“What is that, milady?” Mira asked inquisitively.

“It’s honey gin.”

“What does it taste like?”

“Has your father ever let you have a sip of his drink?”

“No—well, only on special occasions.”

“Would you like a sip?”

Mira placed her palms together and filled them with the hot water and poured it over her shoulder. “No thank you, milady. It makes me sleepy.”

Enatta tilted her head, feeling curious. “It makes you sleepy?”

“Yes, father, says it’s because I am too young to drink.” She chuckled.

“What special occasions does he let you have a sip?” Enatta questioned. Makes her sleepy? That’s odd.

“During the Wolf Bane Moon. Father has a poem for it.” Mira smiled sweetly and stared at Enatta. “Would you like to hear it?”

“Of course, my dear.” Enatta took another sip and nodded for her to continue.

“On a cold winter's night,

the Wolf’s Bane Moon will rise high into the dark night sky

and part the clouds with blood blossomed blooms.

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