Free The Silver Bowl by Diane Stanley Page A

the king’s hall for the banquet.
    Thomas had nearly reached the staircase landing when he turned back and winked at us, gracing us with a dazzling smile.
    I could scarce believe it: ordinary, fussy old Thomas had been miraculously transformed that day. As he stood there in his beautiful clothes, with that expression of joy upon his face, he looked for all the world like a young man in love.
    â€œIt’s going to be a wonderful evening,” he said.

Chapter 12
    The Wedding Banquet
    ALL THE SERVANTS WERE PLACED near the entry doors, the least desirable seats in the hall. We were as far from the king’s table as it was possible to be and right beneath the musicians’ gallery, so it would be noisy as well as drafty.
    But no one seemed bothered by any of this—for were we not in the great hall, at a table draped in snowy linen, with silver spoons and salt dishes set out before us, soon to dine on wonderful dainties? Would we not eat white bread that day and drink real wine in the presence of our king?
    I wish I could have enjoyed it as the others did. But my spirit was far too heavy. For this would not be the wonderful evening that Thomas had promised. It would end in tragedy, which was grim enough. What made it worse was that I had been warned, and I knew not how to prevent it.
    I glanced at the next table over, where Tobias sat with the other grooms. He’d been watching me, waiting till I turned his way. Now he gave me a little nod of encouragement. I nodded back, then returned to my troubled thoughts.
    Hannah reached across the table and slapped my hand. I’d been nervously chewing at a hangnail. “That’s common,” she said. “You mustn’t do it here.”
    I blushed, and put my hands in my lap, and lowered my eyes.
    Oh, how I wished I could warn the king so at least he might double his guard and be on the alert. But even if I were permitted to speak to him, it would sound too ridiculous: “Excuse me, Your Majesty, but I keep having these visions when I’m polishing your hand basin, and in one of them I saw this man writing a letter. And though I don’t actually know how to read . . .”
    Foo! They’d have my head before I even got
that far.
    â€œMolly!” It was Hannah again. “Whatever is the matter with you? Will you stop squirming?”
    â€œSorry,” I said.
    â€œBe still.”
    And I was trying to be still when a horn blared above us and I nearly pitched off the bench. As I was not the only one who’d been startled, Hannah let it go.
    The great entry doors swung open now, and the first of the guests came in. These were the king’s noble servants: the game warden, the master of the hounds, the bee ward, Thomas. They were followed by the lesser gentry, and finally the lords and ladies of highest rank.
    They were like enchanted beings in their deep scarlets and forest greens and midnight blues, all interwoven with thread of silver or gold, glimmering like jewels in the torchlight as they came. They wore velvet and silk brocade trimmed with fur and feathers and pearls, gold netting and embroidery. There were slashed sleeves showing bright-colored silk underneath, and parti-colored hose, and steeple-caps as high as a five-year-old child draped with silken veils as fine as spiderwebs.
    None of them looked like assassins.
    Then came another fanfare, and we were all directed to rise. For now would come the greatest of the great, those who would sit in the place of honor up on the dais. The herald announced their names as each of them entered the hall: the Lord Archbishop, the Lord Grand Steward, the Lord High Chamberlain, and other such lords I have forgotten.
    Then, “The right high and excellent King Reynard of Austlind!” announced the herald. “And his lady wife, Queen Beatrice!”
    They came sweeping in, their heads held high, dressed alike in emerald green and gold. Oh, what a handsome couple they were,