He could feel her joy for him now as he skipped off the stairs and headed for the dining hall. He could hear her wish for his unborn child’s long life and happiness.
Achild , he thought over and over.My child.
He was getting used to the idea a whole lot more quickly than he would have believed possible.
It occurred to him as he entered the dining hall, with its tapestry-hung walls and its long trestle table already set and occupied, that he should have waited for Willow—that he should still wait, for that matter—before delivering the news. But he didn’t think he could do that. He didn’t think he could help himself.
Abernathy and Bunion sat at the table. Abernathy, the Court Scribe, was a man who had been turned into a soft-coated Wheaten Terrier by a bit of misguided magic and forced to stay that way. Abernathy was shaggy-faced and splendidly dressed, possessed of human hands and feet and able to talk better than most regular humans. Bunion, the King’s messenger, was a kobold who, so far as anyone knew, had never been turned into anything other than what he was. Bunion was monkey-faced and gnarled with sharp teeth and a smile that belonged on an interested shark. The one quality they shared was an unswerving loyalty to Ben and the throne.
They paused in unison with forks raised to mouth as they saw the High Lord’s face on entering.
“Good morning, good morning!” he beamed.
The forks stayed poised. A mix of astonishment and suspicion crossed their faces. Two sets of eyes blinked.
Abernathy recovered first. “Good morning, High Lord,” he greeted. He paused. “Slept well, I trust?”
Ben came forward, ebullient to his toes. The china and glassware glittered, and the smell of hot food rose from the silver serving trays. Parsnip, the cook and other kobold who served the throne, had outdone himself again. Or at least it seemed that way to Ben in his euphoria. He snatched up a small apple muffin and popped it into his mouth on his way to his seat. He glanced about for Questor Thews, but the wizard was nowhere in sight. Maybe he should wait, he thought. Questor’s absence gave him a reason. Wait for Questor and Willow. Call in Parsnip from the kitchen. That way the announcement could be made to everyone at the same time. That seemed like a good idea. Just wait. That’s what he would do.
“Guess what?” he said.
Abernathy and Bunion exchanged a hasty glance. “I have to tell you, High Lord, that I am not particularly fond of guessing games,” declared his scribe. “And Bunion hates them.”
“Oh, come on. Guess!”
“Very well.” Abernathy gave a large, put-upon sigh. “What?” he asked compliantly.
Ben took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you. Not yet. But it’s good news. It’s wonderful news!”
Bunion showed a few teeth and muttered something unintelligible. Abernathy went back to eating. “Be sure to let us know when you feel the moment is right.”
“As soon as Questor gets here,” Ben advised, seating himself. “And Willow. And Parsnip. Everyone. Don’t leave until they get here.”
Abernathy nodded. “I’m glued to my seat, High Lord. By the way, I hope this announcement will take place before this morning’s scheduled land-use planning meeting with the representatives of the Greensward and the River Country?”
Ben slapped his forehead. “I’d forgotten!”
“And the noon lunch with the new district judges you appointed for the northern lands?”
“I’d forgotten that, too!”
“And this afternoon’s meeting with the irrigation planning committee to start work on the deserts east of the Greensward?”
“That one I remember.”
“Good. Did you also remember the meeting with the kitchen staff to discuss the ongoing disappearance of food from the larder? It is getting worse, I am afraid.”
Ben frowned in annoyance. “Drat it, why did you schedule all this for today?”
“I didn’t. You did. It is the beginning of a new week and you always like to start off a new week by cramming in as many projects as you can manage.” Abernathy dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “Overscheduling. I’ve warned you about this before.”