For a moment, Elgon looked like he wanted to argue with Ashlynnâs decision. Unlike Ashlynn, heâd seen Lady Jocelynn when she held a memorial for the sister she believed was dead, and he knew how hard Jocelynn had been working to escape Owainâs clutches even before she was thrown into the dungeons.
But looking into Ashlynnâs emerald eyes, Elgon had the brief sensation that he was looking at Count Rhys after his lord had made a tremendously difficult decision... And one that he was entirely committed to seeing through to the end.
Ashlynn was right. Just like her father, while Elgon was focused on the things he could see on the horizon, she was looking beyond it. It was easy to cling to his virtues as a knight and to charge into danger to do the right thing. All he cared about at the moment was saving the last member of his lordâs family who was still trapped in Lothian Manor and carrying her home to the safety of Blackwell City.
But Ashlynn was looking further ahead. She cared deeply for her sister, but she also owed a duty to the march, even if her husband had betrayed her. She saw the potential for chaos in the wake of whatever they did here, and she was determined to do what she could to prevent it.
Protecting the people of the march was no less virtuous than protecting her own family, and the tightrope she was walking in order to do both said a great deal about the sort of woman sheâd become since leaving home.
"Youâve grown, my Lady," Elgon said, smiling with a bit of pride at the woman who had once been a little girl riding on his shoulders. "And, if youâll pardon me for being presumptuous, I think your father would agree with your decision. He might not sleep easily, but Iâm sure heâd say that youâre doing the right thing."
"Thank you," Ashlynn said as she reached out to help Elgon to his feet for a second time. "I just hope everything works out, because if it doesnât and something happens to Jocey... I donât think Father will ever forgive me for getting it wrong."
"Then we wonât let it go wrong," Elgon said firmly. "Weâll be with you every step of the way. Just tell us how we can help."
"Thank you, Elgon," Ashlynn said, blinking back the moisture that had collected in the corners of her eyes before sweeping her eyes over everyone else who had gathered in the room.
While sheâd been talking, other members of her party had gathered on the landing of the upper level, including Hugo, Morwen, and Liam. Thankfully, the shouting earlier didnât seem to have disturbed Samira, or at least, if it did, she chose to stay in the small dining room that Ashlynn had emptied of furniture in order to give her a place to rest.
"Before we do anything else," Ashlynn said, turning back to Elgon and the others from Blackwell. "I think everyone could use something warm in their bellies before they go to bed. Once Jean told us you were coming, we did what we could to get extra blankets and bedding for everyone," she explained. "It may not be the most comfortable night, but no one will go to bed cold or hungry," she promised.
"Morwen, Cadeyrn, help everyone get settled," Ashlynn said as she started putting people in motion. "Ollie, howâs the stew? I know we were stretching things a bit with the fish I got in the market, but is there enough to give everyone at least a cup of Low Tide Stew?"
"There should be," Ollie said with a smile as he wandered over to a large iron pot hanging above the hearth, lifting the lid to take a peek at the gently bubbling stew. "The pantries were well stocked with turnips, potatoes and onions, and even if we didnât have much fish, the heads and tails made for plenty of stock."
When the Gilded Horns was open for business, the hearth in the common room frequently held spits of roasting meat and several pots of soups, stews, pottages and porridges that could be served quickly while the kitchens focused on more refined dishes for the wealthy patrons in the private dining rooms upstairs.
Now, the single pot hanging over the hearth was filled with a stew that Ashlynn had painstakingly recreated from memory when they arrived at the Gilded Horns. The spices, according to her, had been the hardest part, and sheâd done the work herself of grinding everything from mace and cardamom to mustard seed and dried bay leaves until she came as close as she could to the taste and scent she remembered from her familyâs kitchens.
"You, you made Low Tide Stew?" Devlin said, blinking in surprise as the familiar scent hit his nose, bringing with it memories of cozy nights with his family at the end of weeks spent at sea. "Here?"
Devlinâs nose wasnât the only one twitching at the scent that slowly filled the common room now that Ollie had taken the lid off the pot. Everyone from Blackwell had their own memories of the signature dish of the Blackwell family, which local legend said dated all the way back to Count Phylip Blackwell and the crew of the Black Tide.
For the household staff, the soup was a luxury, filled with a variety of seafood that they only enjoyed on special occasions. The dish was served at Count Blackwellâs High Table after all, and the Master of Kitchens would never let a pot leave his kitchens that wasnât worthy of the noblemen who would eat it. But that very same stew would be served to the lower tables and the household staff at the same time, letting everyone have a taste of the prosperity of the kingdom.
The stew meant something else to Elgon and his knights, however. It wasnât just a stew for feasting and celebrating... It was the meal you welcomed loved ones home with, or the last meal you shared before setting sail for war, and tonightâs cups of stew held equal measures of both of those things...