by K. M. Shea
Myth merely shook her head—her friend had long denied her remarkable magic abilities, even though she was nearly a graduate of the wizard program, which would make her one of the youngest wizards in Calnor’s history.
“If we want to talk about geniuses, we should be talking about you,” Blaise said in Calnoric before switching back to Elvish. “How are your studies? What new language are you learning now?”
“I’m continuing to work on the written language of Calnor,” Myth said. “But lately I’ve been studying the language of Finlay in the far west. It’s a fascinating language that is proving to be easier to learn, although they have a symbol-based writing system that will likely take me a decade to truly master.”
Blaise shook her head. “You have got to be the only translator who picks up languages the way some people pick up hobbies.”
“It’s hardly something to be praised for. Linguistics interest me, and many of the languages I’m learning won’t further my career or be of help to anyone.”
Myth refrained from mentioning she had found a few original High Elf manuscripts in the Library of Haven that described High Elf magic. She didn’t want to get Blaise too excited about the topic, only to discover her knack for languages didn’t work when it came to deciphering the ancient runes of her absent cousins.
Although High Elves technically used the same language, Elvish—as all languages did—had morphed over the centuries and rapidly changed once the High Elves had left the continent and sailed across the seas. So the older the books were, the smaller the chance Myth would be able to read them.
“You don’t value yourself enough,” Blaise declared, setting her teacup and saucer down on the table.
Myth smiled and chose to tactfully change the topic. “Are you free for lunch tomorrow?”
“Oohhh, if we’re eating at the Translators’ Circle, then surely!”
“I’m afraid not. A number of us trade translators have been invited to a luncheon provided for us by the royals as a thank you for smoothing out a few wrinkles for the orders sent requesting elven goods. I’m allowed to bring a guest, and I thought you’d find it interesting.”
“It sounds fun, and I always appreciate free food.” Blaise briefly drummed her fingers on her knees as her forehead wrinkled—probably trying to recall the right words in Elvish. “I’ll look ahead to it!”
“The proper phrase would be to look forward to it.”
“Look forward, got it. How has work been? You can’t still be observing translators.”
“I’m afraid so.” Myth sighed, then heartened herself with another sip of tea.
“What?” Blaise abruptly switched to Calnoric. “Wait, I must have said something wrong. I said you can’t still be observing translators, meaning by now they have assigned you to an official master to serve under, right?”
Myth shook her head.
Blaise’s jaw dropped. “What are they doing in the Translators’ Circle? Comparing beard lengths?”
“The department has been stretched thin lately with all the demands placed on us. It’s not surprising that they haven’t taken the time to place me in a position yet.”
“Maybe so, but it’s a crying shame they’re wasting you on observation when you should be working with your gift of languages,” Blaise grumbled.
“It’s been a little strange,” Myth admitted. “Because they’ve had me observe governmental meetings in addition to trade sessions. But I’ve found my observational periods quite useful, and even if I don’t have an official master, I’m still translating various trade logs and agreements as assignments.”
Blaise eyed her. “Have they assigned the other apprentices from your year to translators?”
Myth hesitated.
“I knew it!” Blaise jumped to her feet. “Those—” She spoke rapidly and spat out words Myth didn’t fully recognize, but she guessed by the redhead’s expression they were probably insults.
Myth, on the other hand, sipped her tea and remained calm. “It’s fine, Blaise.”
“It is not fine!”
Myth slightly raised her shoulders. “It is what it is. I’m certain I’ll be assigned to a translator eventually. Sit.”
Blaise mulishly tucked her chin and looked ready to storm the Translators’ Circle.
“You’re worrying some of your wizards.” Myth glanced at the nearest pair of wizards—an elderly female with bone white hair and a young man with giant glasses. Both were watching Blaise with puckered lips, but concern made the wrinkles on their foreheads pop.
Blaise glanced at them, then reluctantly sat down again. “You should ask what the holdup is. This isn’t acceptable—especially if the Translators’ Circle is stretched as thin as you claim it is.”
Myth smiled at her friend’s fierce love. “Regardless of what my future holds, I’m certain that with enough diligence I can prove my worth to the Translators’ Circle and win a spot for myself.”
“It’s not your diligence that is being called out here.” Blaise sighed and rested her chin on her fist.
“I actually am enjoying my most recent work assignment,” Myth said. “I’ve attended several governmental meetings with three senior translators who serve senior officers in the army. I’ve gotten to see Prince Benjimir, but not My Princess Gwendafyn.”
Blaise relaxed a little and returned to speaking slow Elvish. “That does sound interesting. You said you’ve been translating some logs?”
“Indeed—it’s why I was included in the luncheon. The orders from the humans of Calnor for elven goods continues to increase. Although my work had to be verified by a translator before the documents were passed on.”
“Your people make beautiful goods. It’s no small wonder we enjoy elven-produced goods and materials…” Blaise trailed off. She squinted, peering across the central chamber.
Myth turned to see a messenger boy bearing a bag with the Calnorian royal emblem. He appeared to be about ten or twelve, and his clothes were too big for him as he flipped through a few sealed envelopes. He found what he was looking for as he jogged up to Myth and Blaise. He sketched a bow to both of them, but surprisingly it was Myth he looked to. “Translator Mythlan?”
“Apprentice translator,” Myth corrected. “But yes, I am Mythlan.”
“Got an urgent message here for you.” The young boy passed the envelope over. He bounced in place as Myth ripped the envelope open. “Do you need a reply?”
Myth skimmed the contents and had to re-read them twice in her surprise. “No,” she finally said. “No reply is necessary. Thank you.”
He bowed again—first to Myth and then to Blaise—then jogged off, leaving the golden tower.
“Is something wrong?” Blaise asked.
“Of a sort, though most might disagree with me.” Myth carefully re-read the letter, trying to absorb the new twist that would greatly test her perseverance. “It’s from an instructor in the Translators’ Circle, requesting my presence at my earliest convenience…so he can give me the details of my new assignment.”
“You’re getting a master, then!”
“No…” Myth made herself rise to her feet, even though now more than ever she wanted to sip tea and chat with Blaise. “It says I’m going to be given a full position and serve as an official social translator.”
Blaise hopped to her feet and followed Myth as she marched toward the door. “But you’re a trade translator. You weren’t schooled for a social translator position!”
“I know.” Myth wasn’t entirely able to keep the chagrin out of her voice.
But truly, a social translator?
Myth would have rather served as a government translator if things were really that dire!
Blaise rushed ahead and opened the door for her. “Do you know who you’re serving under?”
“Yes,” Myth grimly said. “His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Arvel of Calnor.”
Several hours later—and still in the throes of shock and disappointment—Myth kept pace with
Translator Rollo as he strode down a long corridor in the palace and explained the situation that had landed her playing the role of social translator to Calnor’s crown prince!
“Because I’ve served in this position, I can personally assure you that this role won’t be as challenging as it sounds,” Rollo said.
Myth didn’t believe him, but she forced her expression to remain blank.
“Crown Prince Arvel has a couple of trade translators who directly serve beneath him,” Rollo continued. “So even though he’s involved in the trade partnership between Lessa and Calnor, you needn’t worry about that.”
I wish it was involved! I’m far more confident in translating numbers and copying out logs than I am in interpreting purely social situations. I wasn’t trained for this, or taught any of the social customs I’ll need to know!
“Although you’ll accompany him during his workday, you’ll mostly be translating during events—luncheons, tea, that sort of thing. Oh! And at least twice a week the royal families of Calnor and Lessa break their fast together.”
That tidbit caught Myth’s attention as the lone ray of sunshine in this storm. Did that mean there was a chance she’d get to see Princess Gwendafyn?
“The socials are more work than they used to be since there are more visiting elven nobles these days and fewer of us translators around to help, but you’ll only be responsible for Arvel, which will greatly simplify your workload as it means you won’t have to be keeping an eye on Benjimir, too.” Rollo grinned winningly up at Myth, as she was a few scant inches taller than he. “And while the amount of translation you’ll have to do is more than it was, it’ll still be easy for you. Most people only exchange polite niceties, and perhaps ask about one another’s families.”
Rather than frankly ask if the Translators’ Circle had lost their minds due to being overworked, Myth worded her concerns with the smoothness of a still lake. “I’m afraid you may be overestimating my abilities, Translator Rollo. I am a mere apprentice, and I was not trained for social translating work. Even if the translations are simple, I am not confident I know the proper protocol—or will even understand the nuances of Calnoric when it is used in a less formal setting.”
“Nonsense! All of us in the Translators’ Circle know about your friendship with the apprentice wizard Blaise, and that you meet with her for the sake of practice. Your Calnoric is nearly flawless—certainly better than your fellow apprentices’ accents. You’ll do fine, Translator Myth.”
Rollo turned up a hallway that Myth recognized as leading to the library. “The royal breakfasts can be a little tricky, but I’ll be present for those, so you can rely on me then!” he boasted. “And outside of the breakfasts, you can and should come to me with any questions or concerns you have. I’ll be happy to teach you anything you may not know.”
Yes, and I’ll have to interrupt King Celrin and King Petyrr to do so—no thank you! Myth pressed her lips together as she turned the issue over in her mind. I’m being placed in this position because the Translators’ Circle is short on help. If I go about making inquiries and interrupting everyone frequently, I’ll only slow everyone down, and you can bet my superiors at the trade workshop will learn of it. Even if this trial as a social translator will delay my progress as an apprentice, embarrassing my rule-abiding department will be even more detrimental to my career. I’ll have to be self-sufficient—which means I’ll need to go to the library at the earliest chance. It seems I’ll require books about Calnorian customs and manners…
Rollo stopped at a plain wooden door. “You’ll like Arvel. He’s a good lad—kind, and not prone to sarcastic remarks like Benjimir.”
It surprised Myth that he spoke of the royal princes so casually, but it also made her stomach sour because surely this showed just how far out of her depth she really was. She didn’t have the foggiest notion how nobles and royals addressed one another, much less how much friendship and formality was allowed between the royals and their employees.
But I can’t fail. Failure might get me kicked out of the trade department. I’ll just have to make certain I shore up my ignorance as swiftly as possible. She tried to ignore the anxiety that squeezed her heart, and squared her shoulders when Rollo knocked on the door.
Myth was once again surprised when Rollo casually shoved the door open without waiting for a reply. “Your Highness!” He trooped into the room, booming in Calnoric. “I’ve brought you your new translator.”
“Hello—and come in, of course!” Prince Arvel stood up from the desk he was seated at and crossed the room, a smile flashing across his face.
Rollo grinned at the younger man, then turned and beckoned for Myth to enter, shutting the door when she reluctantly did so. “Mythlan, this is His Highness, Crown Prince Arvel of Calnor.”
4
Myth recognized Arvel, of course. She’d seen him at enough public celebrations to recognize him when he started frequenting the library. Over the years he’d grown taller. In fact, since he’d become crown prince, he’d surpassed his brothers and become the tallest of them all. He’d been lanky and a little awkward for a year or so, but he’d filled in since then, and now looked, Myth supposed, like an idealized variation of his title: the charming prince with fair hair and boyish features.
Myth bowed, her voice managing to sound calm even though she felt anything but. “Greetings, Your Highness. I am Mythlan, daughter of Wylorym and Lusana. I am to be your temporary translator.” She was tempted to stress the temporary bit given Rollo’s introduction, but that seemed unwise.
“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Mythlan,” Arvel said.
Surprised, Myth met his gaze when she stood up from her bow.
“Since we’ve been patrons of the library together for so long,” he supplied.
“Yes,” Myth carefully said—she hadn’t thought he’d recognize her. She was just one of the many library visitors. But his observation took the edge off the disappointment of her new role; he must be kind if he noticed a small thing like that.
“I look forward to working together with you—hopefully we’ll have fun despite all the socials we’ll attend,” Arvel said.
“Your Highness, the point of many of those socials is to be fun,” Rollo said.
“Fun maybe for you,” Arvel snorted. “But you could talk the leg off a chair. Are you staying long, Rollo?”
“No, unfortunately not. Your father needs me, and I already gave Mythlan a rundown of what to expect.”
“I understand. Good luck with my father—watch out for all his cats and dogs,” Arvel advised. “If you step on a tail, you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“I shall do my best.” Rollo offered the prince a quick bow, then smiled at Myth. “Remember, Mythlan, seek me out if you are unsure about anything. I’d be glad to teach you.” He flapped his outer robe and was out the door before Myth could think of a coherent response, leaving her alone…with the crown prince.
Crown Prince Arvel leaned against the edge of his massive desk. “Thank you for agreeing to take the position. I’m sure you’ll do great.”
“I will do my best, Your Royal Highness.”
Arvel ruefully rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around his uniquely organized office. “I suppose you’ll need a work space…I don’t run into many elves during my workday, but I still imagine you’ll want a spot of your own.”
Myth turned in a slow circle, studying what would likely be her main location as long as she served Crown Prince Arvel.
The study was a bright and cheerful room. The back end bubbled out of the building and was encased in glass from the floor to the domed ceiling. It looked out over a corner of Rosewood Park—the massive gardens the palace curled around—which added vibrance to the room.
The bookshelves that lined the walls were, curiously, only about a third filled. End tables, however, cluttered up much of the room and were stacked high with paper, bound logbooks, and records. A cabinet was stocked to the point of bursting with in
kwells, quills, and candles, and more than a few jackets made of fine cloth were scattered around the room, horrendously rumpled and nearly covered by the paper stacks.
“If I may have a chair, that will be enough, Your Royal Highness,” Myth offered.
“Nonsense. We’ll get you a table, too. I can call for some servants to bring one in—I just have to stop being a pig and put away my papers so we’ll have the space for it.” Arvel picked up a stack of papers and made his way to the bookshelves.
“You are too kind, Your Highness.” Myth fidgeted with her hands—she didn’t know what to do with them or what kind of protocol was required, and it was making her nervous. Her gaze strayed to the bookshelves, and she wondered how one who frequented the library so often came to have so few books.
Or perhaps that is why he frequents the library? You can see the library entrance from his doorway, after all.
“Ah,” Arvel chuckled. “Wondering why the shelves are empty?”
Myth guiltily peeled her eyes from the shelves and ducked her head. “My apologies.”
“No, no. It’s understandable. I used to keep these shelves packed. Unfortunately, I had to move all my favorites to my private quarters.” Arvel made a face. “My brother, Benjimir, got into the habit of stealing my books whenever I annoy him. He suggested I could stop baiting him, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, I resort to hiding my books in less dignified places.” Arvel’s lips were curved in a fond smile, and he stared expectantly at Myth.
Oh. He wants a reply.
“Is Your Royal Highness close to Prince Benjimir?” Myth asked, hoping the question wouldn’t be viewed as prying.
She was rewarded with his smile brightening into a grin. “Pretty close, yes. We work together a lot, which helps. He still helps with the Honor Guards and is also responsible for most of the army now—which he can have!” He shook his head a little and put another stack of papers on his sparsely populated bookshelves.