Of Mortal Dreams: Chapter IV

Idabel

The carriage stank of horses and dust and miserable, sticky travelers. Whenever the waxed curtains were drawn, they couldn’t breathe. Yet, as soon as they opened them, the dust came blowing in. Idabel was almost of a mind to walk the rest of the way to Esset, but they were still many miles out from the capital’s limits.

Patience, she told herself. You’ll be there soon.

Every spring since he’d become Lord of Orrendale, her husband had been invited to the Great Conclave. As lord of the largest crop-house in Arras, it was his chance to report on the state of farming and the management of their land, to address certain concerns, settle house-to-house disputes, and bring otherwise-unheard complaints from smaller crop-houses to the Counsel. She had never been but knew that meetings were conducted over extravagant meals, attendees were treated to the most fantastic entertainment, and the ten days culminated in a ball known as the Festival of Light. Having had very young children for most of he…