With a Love Sorceress, We’ll Parade with Suspence

Dusk settled across the countryside, and the village of Rivasvale came alive.

Music filled the streets, as flutists and trumpeters made their way into the crowd and invited the guests to clap along. Colorful stalls kindled their cooking pots, preparing street foods and roasted meats. All while flower petals scattered the air, tossed by villagers from second-story windows.

Children’s laughter and a mill of voices filled the busy pathways. Only the occasional whinny of a horse, as a noble family trotted through, briefly disturbed the festivities.

Gathering around the town square, the nobles situated themselves to witness the main event: the tributes of their vassals.

Certainly, the tributes were meant for the moon, but the quality of the harvests would be an indicator of whose lands were performing the best. And that fact turned this otherwise pleasant event into a subtle battle of wealth.

Away from the festival, on a quieter back road, the mayor of Rivasvale gathered together all the farmers that were to present tribute. He started arranging everyone into a line, calling out names.

“Tellarsen Farms!” The mayor cried, reading from a list. “Up here,” he gestured to the front. “Next, Orarian Fields!”

The groups took their places as they were called. Each farm sent a representative wearing a traditional outfit of red and white, decorated with flowers — just like Mia’s dress.

“Are you ready?” I whispered to Mia, who stood nervously next to me. “This event will be full of people, and I know crowded places frighten you. Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

Mia nodded, tightly holding onto her tribute. The wicker basket was covered in a white cloth: hiding its contents until it was time to offer them to the moon.

“I-I’ve attended this event many times before.” The waver in Mia’s voice gave away her fright. “Even if it’s crowded, it’s my hometown, and I want to do this. I’ll be alright.”

She clenched her fists and offered a smile. At this point, all I could do was trust her.

I turned towards Toren. “What about you?”

Toren fidgeted with his bow tie, then stood at attention. He wore a gray and white vest suit; an outfit supposedly borrowed from my clothes (when in actuality, the suit came from somewhere in the depths of Claire’s endless closets.) The half-beast looked a little stiff, but the formal wear fit him nicely.

Toren was prepared to be Mia’s assistant for the evening. He held up the second tribute basket and patted it encouragingly, showing that he was ready.

“Faralind Orchards, next in line!” The mayor called. The mayor then paused, doing a double take. “Wait, Faralind?”

Even the crowd started to murmur. Thankfully, their questions were cut short by Mia’s voice.

“Here! We’re here!” Mia cried, scurrying ahead to take her place in line, Toren right behind her.

“Good luck,” I called.

Mia turned towards me one more time. “We won’t need it, Roki!” she smirked, raising her basket high. “We make our own luck, right?”

“...I suppose we do,” I admitted with a grin.

While Mia and Toren prepared for the procession, I straightened the collar of my suit. Compared to them, I had the easiest job of the evening. All I needed to do was bring Mister Faralind to the parade — after that, I just had to stand there and look like a very important elf for the rest of the evening.

Everything else was up to Mia.

↞♡↠

In the town square, the festival planner watched the full moon. She compared its angle to a compass in her hands, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. A flare of trumpets called out, bringing a silence to the nearby crowd.

“Lords and Ladies!” The woman raised her voice, smiling as she greeted them. “Good neighbors, and nobles from towns beyond. We thank you for gathering in our village of Rivasvale tonight to honor the summer harvest!”

Hearing hints of her speech, I fought through the crowd of onlookers, dragging Mister Faralind (rather unwillingly) behind me.

“I still can’t believe you’re doing this,” Mia’s father grumbled as we reached the front. “If there’s even the smallest hint of trouble, I’ll run through this blasted ceremony and protect my daughter myself.”

I gave Mister Faralind a fleeting grin. “Trust me, if something happens, I’ll probably be the one running out there first,” I chuckled.

The nearby crowd hushed us, and we fell quiet. I caught pieces of the continuing speech.

“...let us not forget our great ancestors: the human mages of centuries ago, before the Chaos, that once used their grand powers to summon clouds to the sky and colors to the moon! Three cheers for the mages that protected our world! Three cheers for the moon!”

The crowd cried, raising their hands. I was caught by one detail.

The Chaos? That sounded like something that Madam Claire might accidentally cause as a World Breaker. But it was centuries ago?

...exactly how old was Madam Claire anyway?

“And now, at the moon’s peak!” The festival planner announced, raising her hands to the sky. “We begin the tribute parade!”

The trumpets blared once more with a burst of cymbals. Then, the music softened to a background volume, as flutes and clarinets joined in to create a jaunty marching tune.

The festival planner stepped aside and revealed the flower-filled fountain: the centerpiece of the ceremony. The top of the fountain was adorned with a semi-circular wreath made of tree branches and shimmering white ribbons, shaped to look like a crescent moon.

Then, down the street, the first farming family appeared from around the bend. They paraded down the dirt path, smiling and waving. Townsfolk along the sides of the road cheered, and flower petals rained from above with renewed vigor, as people from second-story windows and rooftops joined in the excitement.

“For the Tellarsen Farms, I present this tribute to the moon!” The young farmer announced as he reached the middle of the town square. He held up his tribute basket and placed it into the fountain basin. From where I stood, I saw hints of corn and tomatoes within. The tribute glistened brightly — clearly, just the same as us, they had chosen only the best crops to present.

The parade continued in much the same manner: the marching music played and the crowd applauded each tribute. While the roadway was filled with rowdy commonfolk, the seats around the town square were reserved for nobles. The elite group watched the event with mild interest, yawning and fanning themselves from the nighttime heat.

As the names went on, I knew Mia would be soon to present. I pushed myself closer and closer to the town square, trying to make sure the nobles could see me.

Mia rounded the corner: her red dress swirling at her heels, her chin held high. Toren marched right behind her, almost a shadow in his gray suit, but there to offer his support. There was a flicker of fright in Mia’s expression as she saw how busy the street was, but she pushed it away and put on a smile for the crowd. Flower petals descended around her as the people cheered.

Only a few of Rivasvale’s locals hesitated upon recognizing Mia. They started to whisper, but they were drowned out by the out-of-town visitors.

Mia stepped towards the town square pavilion, and held up her basket.

“For the Faralind Orchards, I present this tribute to the moon!” She said with a confidence greater than herself.

A visible wave of murmurs shook through the nobles. They turned towards each other, repeating the Faralind name.

Quieter voices whispered, ‘I thought the Faralinds were cursed,’ and ‘their lands couldn’t possibly grow!’

Mia brought her basket to the fountain and placed it along with the rest, pulling aside the covering blanket.

She revealed a bushel of beautifully blue, sparkling, star-shaped fruits.

One of the noblewomen gasped, causing the others to stand up and look at the tribute in disbelief.

The disturbance finally reached the rest of the common crowd, as they noticed something was amiss. The musicians stopped playing and the parade came to a halt.

A nobleman that was sitting next to the mayor suddenly pushed back his extravagant seat. He stepped closer and picked up one of the fruits.

“And here I thought your lands were dried up with a curse,” he eased the words.

The man smirked, smoothing down his brown hair and glaring with green eyes.

From beside me, Mia’s father bristled. “Duke Elvett,” he hissed the name of the nobleman. “That’s the one who would’ve seen me jailed. The man’s always had eyes on this village!” Mister Faralind was ready to jump out of the crowd, but I just barely held him back.

“Calm down, Mister Faralind,” I said in a hushed whisper. “We anticipated this. Mia has a plan!”

In the middle of the town square, in the flickering candlelight of the lanterns, Mia stood her ground.

All the while, Duke Elvett looked over the fruit in his hands.

“If you could make berries like this,” the Duke grinned, “why didn’t you tell me sooner?”