“So,” Henry demanded of Simon as they sat down for the feast. “What happened to my horse?”
“Horse?” Simon inquired, tearing a strip of chicken off a drumstick.
“Oh, he ran off earlier to-evening, probably headed home. Why?”
“Do you have any idea how much that stallion cost me?”
“Well, I’m back. Isn’t that all that matters?”
Henry rubbed his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know. But Simon?”
“You are aware that to-evening is not a real word, right?”
“It may be not a real word, but it is a very sensical one. Now stop worrying and eat, little brother. The chicken is.”
“The chicken is what?”
“Existing. And very good.”
Reluctantly, Henry took a poultry thigh from a platter in the middle of the table and nibbled on it while scanning the rest of the guests in the hall. Alasdair and Mialina were seated at the head of the table, flanked by visiting friends and acquaintances from the magical and non-magical worlds, as well as residents of the Castle Carviliet. The MacInnes family was directly across the table from Henry and Simon. Fiona and her mother looked concerned. Duncan, her youngest brother, was sullen. Seoc was missing.
Seymour, Henry noticed upon completing his scan of the room, was also absent.
“Do you know where Seymour went?” he asked Simon
Simon shrugged. “He probably went right to his room. I don’t think he was feeling very well today.”
Henry felt a new twinge of worry—concern for Seymour’s health—but after a moment, the feeling was washed away by cold dread. “Where’s Seoc?”
“Probably with Seymour…aaand, judging by the face you’re making at me, that was the wrong thing to say…”
Henry set the chicken down on his plate and stood up from the table.
“Where are you going?”
But Henry strode away without answering.