Calm before the feast
1002 Words
Chapter 5 –
Calm Before the Feast
Morning returned pale and brittle, the kind of winter light that dulled everything it touched. Fenrahl Manor looked peaceful again—too peaceful. The night’s strange fire had left no mark on the snow. No footprints, no ashes, nothing but the faint scent of smoke drifting through the halls.
Elara dressed slowly, fingers stiff with cold. The black rose still lay on her table, its petals unspoiled. She should have thrown it away, yet every time she tried, something stopped her. It was the only proof that what she’d seen wasn’t a dream.
Downstairs, the household moved at half pace. Maera directed the maids to hang evergreen boughs along the corridor arches. Candles in iron sconces flickered beside garlands of pine and holly—Christmas colors turned solemn in the dim light. The decorations seemed almost ceremonial, as if meant to appease rather than celebrate.
“The master wants the halls ready by nightfall,” Maera said. “The Feast must look… proper.”
Elara swallowed the question she wanted to ask—proper for what?—and bent to her task. When she brushed dust from the carved banisters, her cloth came away faintly crimson. She told herself it was old polish, not what her imagination suggested.
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In the kitchens, warmth bloomed from the great hearth. Roasting meat, bread, herbs—ordinary smells, yet behind them lurked a hint of iron. The cooks whispered while their knives flashed in rhythmic silence.
Elara fetched water from the pump behind the house. Outside, snow fell in slow spirals, muffling every sound. She looked toward the forest that ringed the manor. For the first time, she noticed how it seemed to lean closer, branches arching inward like claws over prey.
She turned at a soft crunch behind her.
Kael stood near the door, coat unfastened despite the cold. Frost clung to his dark hair, and a streak of pale light traced the strong lines of his face. He looked more human this morning—tired, almost gentle—but there was still that otherness around him, the stillness of a predator at rest.
“You shouldn’t wander alone,” he said.
“I wasn’t wandering,” she replied, setting down the bucket. “Just… breathing.”
“Breathing can be dangerous here.” His voice held no mockery, only quiet warning. Then, more softly, “The forest watches.”
Elara met his gaze. “Do you watch too?”
A muscle moved in his jaw. “More than I should.”
For a moment, neither looked away. The air between them felt different from fear—warm, close, unsettling. The faint mist of their breaths mingled, silver against the white morning.
She broke the silence first. “It’s almost Christmas.”
His eyes flicked toward the distant trees. “The humans’ Christmas, yes.”
“You celebrate something else.”
“Not celebrate.” He hesitated, as if the word itself were forbidden. “We endure it.”
He stepped past her, lifting the bucket easily with one hand. The movement pulled his sleeve high enough for her to glimpse the faint shimmer of a scar winding across his wrist—thin as silver thread, old and strange. She wanted to ask how he’d gotten it, but the question died in her throat.
“Come inside,” he said. “The cold bites harder than you think.”
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The afternoon passed in subdued routine. Elara joined the servants to polish crystal goblets etched with unfamiliar symbols. Outside, snow thickened. Once, she heard distant singing from the forest—soft, unearthly harmonies that set her heart racing. No one else seemed to hear it.
As dusk fell, Maera announced that the master would dine privately tonight. “All will rest before tomorrow,” she said. “Keep to your quarters after the ninth bell.”
In her room, Elara lit a single candle. She tried to read the small prayer book she’d brought from home, but the words blurred. The manor’s silence had a rhythm of its own now, a slow heartbeat echoing through stone.
Then, a knock.
She opened the door to find Kael holding a tray. A cup of spiced wine steamed beside a small loaf of dark bread.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he said.
“I thought the master dined alone.”
“I am the master.” He set the tray down and stepped back, a hint of amusement shadowing his features. “Though sometimes it feels as if the House rules me instead.”
Elara smiled despite herself. “Thank you.”
He nodded once, but didn’t leave immediately. His gaze drifted to the candlelight brushing her hair, to the faint tremor in her hands. “Are you afraid of tomorrow?” he asked.
“I think I should be,” she said. “But I’m not sure of what.”
Kael studied her, as though searching for something he’d lost. “Fear keeps you alive,” he murmured. “But it also blinds you. Learn the difference, and you might survive the Feast.”
When he turned to go, she caught his sleeve. “Kael—”
He paused.
“I saw you last night,” she said quietly. “By the fire.”
His expression didn’t change, yet the air seemed to tighten. “Then you saw too much.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
He gave a low laugh, without humor. “Who would believe you?” Then, softer, “Sleep, Elara. Tomorrow, everything changes.”
He left her standing by the candle, the scent of frost and smoke lingering where he had been.
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She lay awake long after the ninth bell faded. Snow whispered against the window. From somewhere deep within the manor came a single, echoing howl—low, mournful, and undeniably real.
Elara closed her eyes. The sound carried through her bones like a promise.
Christmas Eve had begun.
- Writer
