Chapter 499: Straight Answers (Part One)
"It’s been some time," Marcel said as he began to fill the plate before him with small morsels of boar, roast vegetables, and slender slices of fruit pies. "One of the last times I spoke with her, she asked me to arrange for letters to be delivered to the two of you and a few other acquaintances in Blackwell City," he said, taking a delicate bite of the rich, slightly nutty tasting boar and chewing slowly to savor it’s slightly springy texture while his mouth filled savory juices that carried the faintest hint of fresh herbs.
"Tell me, esteemed masters," Marcel said, smiling in genuine appreciation of the cook’s work with the boar. "Did the letters I arranged arrive safely? It’s rare, but there have been occasions where my curriers fail to reach their destination."
"We received a single letter each," Isabell said carefully, finally shaking herself free of her shock enough to begin serving herself a portion of the fish, though her hands trembled with more than just the shakes of her advancing years. "Should there have been others? I’ve heard that Lady Ashlynn only receives a few visitors at the Summer Villa, so I can’t imagine she’s had much opportunity to send others, unless you visit frequently?"
"Have you made plans to visit her at the Summer Villa?" Marcel asked without answering the engineer’s question. "I imagine that she would make an exception to allow a visit for friends she felt were important enough to write to so soon after she arrived in Lothian March," he said as he swirled the rich red wine in his goblet.
"I’m afraid we haven’t been granted the opportunity," Isabell said, frowning at the young man who seemed to be toying with his words. "Lord Owain will be taking us to visit Baron Hanrahan in the hopes that we find the lands near Airgead Mountain to be to our taste."
"That’s a shame," Marcel said, using his goblet of wine to gesture at the tapestry of the misty forest. "You would enjoy the lands around the Dunn barony more if you want to see places like the one in that tapestry."
"That’s a real place then?" Tiernan asked, raising a thick, bushy brow at the delicate young man. "Is that the famous Vale of Mists?"
"It might be," Marcel said, taking a sip of the heady red wine. "Or it might be somewhere nearby. The woman who wove that tapestry is an old friend and she’s exceedingly well traveled," he said with a faint smile. "She has a better eye for detail than most, and she has a way of pulling her into a world of her own making with her work. It might be real, or it might be one of the most vivid dreams she’s ever manifested."