by D. H. Aire
The black robed warders watching only made matters worse. How Master Stenh, first Alrex’s ally and now the human mage’s, had managed that was beyond crediting. He tried not to wince as the Faeryn delegation raised cups and shouted, “Talik!”
The faeryn archmage from Lyai held up his smiling wife’s hand. That an elflady of such good breeding was not railing… well, Talik was the Empress’s cousin, which gave her new rank in the Empire.
So, much greed, he thought, but things were about to change. His scheme was so much simpler and not even that wolfenbeast’s sense of smell was going to make a difference.
#
George’s staff was set behind him. It glowed, offering a protective field that gently bathed his friends and family in a nearly invisible light. The reception would go on for hours during which the Elvinsilk would begin to deteriorate and they could leave for privacy.
In the meantime, George was starving. He was offered a serving of meat. He declined that, electing fine portions of fruits and cooked vegetables. “What’s this one?” he asked.
“It is one of the delicacies brought from the southern isles.”
The Empress smiled, “The Empire has one great advantage, the isles offer us fruit when none is in season here.” She picked up a slice of the succulent looking fruit. “We must eat this together — it’s the only way we are, by tradition, to be seen kissing in public.”
“Oh,” he said.
Juels felt a twist in her gut. She turned, uncertain, nothing seemed untoward. Then she saw the fruit in the Empress’s hands, saw her add a dash of salt to it to enhance its flavor as was her custom.
“No,” Juels gasped, her luck flowing out.
Beneath the table, Raven had begun licking George’s leg, when she suddenly itched worse than ever. Eyes wide, she rose, arching her back and rubbed up against George’s ankle-crossed legs.
“What?” George rasped just before the Empress could set the slice to either her lips or George’s.
Raven groaned, wiggling, as eyes-wide, George kicked backward in his chair.
The slice of fruit went flying, landing before Me’oh and Balfour, where it suddenly let off a smell of almonds. “Poison!” Me’oh gasped as Aaprin, Gallen, and the others rushed closer to see.
“What?” The Empress cried as Raven rushed from under the table to sit on George’s chest with a relieved gasp.
The warder rushed forward as the ogress growled, reaching for the plate of fruit. She sniffed, “I do not smell anything odd.”
:Scanning.:
“Uh, Raven, sweetie… You all right?”
Smoke began to steam off her. Raven sighed as her Elvinsilk gown deteriorated rapidly. She leaned down and hugged him and more steam poured off her. “Ah, better.” She shimmered as he grunted and quickly bounded away, allowing him to get back to his feet.
:It was the addition of the salt the Empress favors.:
“The salt?” George muttered as the Legionnaire captain and Herald Varian came running.
:It turned the fruit’s juices to cyanide.:
Balfour held up the fruit, “Uh, Je’orj, this wouldn’t have harmed anyone with sufficient elvinblood, only a human.”
“What?” the Empress rasped.
“What’s delicious to elvinkind is not always to humans,” Balfour said, “as heralds should very well know.”
“The kitchens have been left strict orders on what they may buy and serve for the wedding,” the herald assured.
“And that exotic fruit was on the list?” George asked, taking up his staff.
Varian paused, “I will… check it personally, Milord.”
“Do so most expeditiously,” the Empress demanded. She turned to the rather silent throng below. “Music. This is a festive occasion, is it not?”
The orchestra returned to playing as Varian marched off unhurriedly. Cle’or reset George’s chair, gestured, as he increased the staff’s defensive level. He took a loaf of bread and cut it. Raven came over and sniffed it, no longer impaired by the Elvinsilk’s magic. She nodded her head.
George began eating as Balfour watched. The Empress had a servant remove the food and salt. The Legionnaire accompanied the servant and the evidence away. The Empress daintily took a bite and everyone began eating.
Fri’il, holding Ri’ori closer, whispered to Se’and, “And I was looking forward to a pleasant meal.”
Chapter 13 - Dancing
The Mother Shaman frowned. She looked out at the throng of guests, trying to ferret out who might have been behind this second attempt in hours to kill Lord Je’orj, yet the visions did not come at her bidding.
Then she felt drawn to look back at the Empress’s table; no, to Revit’s table. The redhead was whispering to Revit, who seemed to be heeding her advice. Like a thunderbolt, she saw the elsewhen. She was robed in black, older, but still a young woman. She stood beside him as what seemed more than a score black liveried young ladies, backs to her, bowed, beginning to swear to their lord.
The oldest rose, a familiar face half turned as she removed her livery.
The moment returned to the here and now. De’ohr blinked, “Mother Shaman Aliana, then…” and glanced at Revit, knowing that, though, she had not understood completely; Revit was, apparently, vital to her House’s future. Yet it was Belina’s presence, not viewed in that seeing that left her uneasy.
#
“What’s taking him so long?” Mahr said, waiting for Ruke to return from the bathroom.
Za’an knocked and went in after him. She came back, cursing, “He’s run off again.”
“Find him! He likely feels it important to report to Master Terhun again…”
#
Varian quietly returned to the head table and whispered to the Empress and the Highmage, “My humblest apologies, but the fruit was not on the proscribed list. There was no indication that it could become poisonous to humans. The cook personally expresses his—”
“It is not his fault,” the Empress said, glancing at George, “find who ordered it, Varian, where it came from.”
“The same with the salt,” Balfour suggested, leaning over their table.
Varian hurried off.
#
Gallen saw Spiro signaling. “Aaprin, we’re apparently expected to dance.”
“But our gowns won’t last much longer,” Ander said.
“That’s true,” Gallen replied, “which means he needs to dance with all of us.”
Juels squealed, “What do you mean by that?”
“Yeah,” Aaprin rasped. “What do you mean by that?”
“The longer we deal, the worse this may become… Look, everyone else is getting up to dance.”
“Revit’s not,” Juels protested.
“Now he is,” Aaprin muttered, seeing Belina half-drag him to his feet. “And I envy the fact that he’s dressed.”
#
The prelate sat nursing his drink, having finished a rather tasty dish. He saw Aaprin dancing with his two lovely young ladies. Thought he looked a tad uncomfortable, as if he would be trapped between them. The lad was too young to understand what traps this world baited those whose fate it played with.
The ogress who guarded the Empress met his gaze. He raised his glass to her.
He could practically hear her muttering, “Melvyn.”
He gazed to the left and frowned. There was a warder, watching rather intently. Archmage Abernathy pulled up a chair beside him. “A rather fascinating wedding, isn’t it?”
“Ever play dominoes?”
“Dom-a-what?”
“An old human game.” At the faeryn mage’s frown, the old prelate, smiled, “It’s a game of tiles, where you must match like side to like side. But it’s the like double tiles that offer opportunities to go in new directions.”
“And you see the calamity of the unexpected on the wedding dais as offering new directions?”
“That’s what Alrex wanted, wasn’t it?”
“So true… Just loo
k at Revit there, matched to Lady Belina and that redheaded lass that is apparently from a lesser family, beneath their notice.”
The prelate shook his head, “Not for long.”
The warder was now watching them.
The prelate frowned, knowing the presence of so many was affecting the wards making scrying the palace rather impossible unless… The prelate muttered, “Your Faeryn are not here in the kind of numbers, I would normally expect.”
Abernathy smiled, “We’re quietly watching the city. It’s our special gift to Her Majesty and the Highmage.”
Nodding, the prelate asked, “What do you think of our warder friends?”
“Rather competent.”
“They do not seem as I remember… reading about them.”
Abernathy nodded. “You should ask Stenh. He might be more willing to explain to one of your rank and order rather than I.”
The prelate smiled.
#
The floor was cleared as the Empress and Highmage walked onto the floor. The musicians began a new tune and George called up the steps he had learned from Aaprin months before.
“I must thank Se’and for whatever she said to you before our descent from the dais… No one will ever question… your manhood.”
“Um, she only commented… that tonight should be… memorable.”
“I expect so,” she said as moved in step with him. “Though, I think… we will… need to have… a long talk.”
“As Your Majesty… wishes.”
The Empress paused with the music, seeing Se’and and Fri’il seeming to enjoy the sight of Je’orj’s backside. She glanced behind her and saw Lonny, the staff in her hand, and Cle’or grinning appreciatively. Above them as the afternoon sun moved closer to sunset, Raven now flew in her falc form disturbed by feelings she did not quite understand.
At a gesture, Se’and replaced her as their husband’s partner. The Elvinsilk flared in flamboyant patterns, setting off the sapphires in the necklace she had borrowed beautifully. The Empress glanced over the artists sketching the scene as they tried to capture the moment. She was careful not to wince, knowing that Lonny was not the only one watching her reactions carefully.
Se’and held George close and they danced with a grace that brought tears to her eyes. The moment passed and Se’and stepped back and Cle’or came forward and joined the dance. The Empress wasn’t the only one whose eyes widened as the Cathartan set her hands rather low and danced very close to George, indeed.
Taking Ri’ori from Fri’il, Se’and smiled as the young woman joined a slightly winded George as the sun edged closer to setting.
#
Thomi, Lord Niota, enjoyed the food, but wished he could be doing something, well, heroic. Idiot.
He paled, sensing his wife’s presence. “Uh, Amira?”
Are you feeling sorry for yourself? You are in command of the Imperial Honor Guard from what Esperanza tells me.
“Well… it’s been made abundantly clear to me that Guard Captain Haessings is who’s really in charge of security.”
You are Lord Niota, a man of responsibility. Don’t forget that.
Walsh looked about, then tapped his shoulder, which nearly knocked him down in his elvin chainmail. “She talk?”
He nodded.
“You listen… she… smart.”
“Uh, thanks, Walsh.”
Now, am I to understand there have been two attempts on Lord Je’orj’s life just today?’
He glanced around and said, “They’re claiming the cooks just made a mistake.”
Do you believe that?
“No.”
Then find out who’s behind it. Whether this Captain Hassings in charge or not.
“Me?”
Yes, you… you’re not a complete idiot. You survived Raslinn’s reign of terror.
He looked around, saw that all his Legionnaires were doing their duty and said to Walsh, “Come on and follow my lead.”
Walsh frowned, thinking, I always follow you.
#
Dancing with Belina meant Revit was constantly tripping over his own feet, which Aliana was not the only one to chuckle over.
Aaprin was drawing stares as he danced in a pattern, where he switched from Gallen to Ander, back again, then to a startled looking Juels, who felt too short to enjoy his attentions. “Juels, please, don’t trip.”
“How do you not trip over that thing?”
“Practice,” he replied, all too glad she was little more than a child before finding himself once more in Gallen’s arms.
“Having fun yet?”
“No.”
She chuckled. “I expect it’ll get more awkward shortly.”
“Hmm?” he rasped, finding himself now dancing with Ander.
“Aaprin, this stuff is starting to itch.”
He dreaded saying it. “We need to get out of here…”
#
Herald Varian spoke with all the cooks and servants he could find, but the reception was busy. Soon the sun would set and the Empress’s party would retire. However, the celebrations would continue throughout the palace grounds and the city below.
Perhaps in a few days he could get some answers for what he hoped was merely a mistake.
Cook was more than pleased to have Varian and the Guard Captain leave. There was so much to do. That’s when the ogre and the very young man dressed as an elflord entered the kitchen. “We’ve plenty of food outside, milord,” he said.
Walsh leaned close, “Not… hungry.”
The entire cooking staff stopped to stare.
“We’re here to investigate the recent unpleasantness.”
“We’ve already answered the herald’s questions and we’ve much to do.”
The ogre reached out and picked him up, “No.”
Cook squeaked, “Put me down.”
The lordling strode forward, “I have questions on behalf of… my good friend the Highmage, who feels his attentions to this matter my result in the Empress taking more interest than any of you may truly enjoy… Now who handled the deliveries and the ordering?”
Everyone turned to two servants and up at the Cook in Walsh’s hand.
“Excellent,” he gestured to them. “No one leaves the palace until I, for one, permit it… The ogres can get rather… particular, I understand.”
#
Ruke climbed out the narrow window with an ease that would have surprised Mahr and her friends, who made rather pleasant jailers, otherwise. But he had to talk to Ander; had to explain. He could at least do that much now that she was married to Aaprin.
He winced, focused on his task and edged around the corner of the building, then climbed. How hard could it be to slip into Ander’s bridal suite?
#
“Have you found him yet?” a young Cathartan cried appearing down the hall.
Terhun frowned, realizing he was surrounded by equally young Cathartans. “Lost someone, have we?”
“Where is he?”
“Ah, Lady Mahr, I take it you mean Ruke? Haven’t the faintest idea. Have you considered that he might, well, have gone to the festival without you?”
“He hasn’t left the First Tier, Master Terhun.”
“Are you certain?”
“Of course.”
Terhun smiled. “Good luck, then.”
She looked suddenly less certain. They raced off with her. He shook his head. Ruke was definitely going to have his hands full with that one. He continued on his way, knowing he was being followed. Cathartans were most stubborn, no matter what the age.
#
Ruke peered in a window and quickly moved on. Talik and his wife looked like they would appreciate their privacy. Verny had signaled him that Aaprin’s room was on this side. He moved into the shadows as a patrol of Legionnaires went by below. Once they were clear, he moved on.
He looked in a bathroom window and saw the servants had readied a warm bath. He edged along and peered inside.
#
> Ander was scratching Juels’s back. “Why does this have to itch so?” Juels rasped.
“Stop talking about it. You’re making mine worse.” Ander said.
“We only have only a quarter glass left before...” Gallen was saying, when she gasped. “Aaprin, don’t you dare put that on. Get over here.”
He was standing by the drawers and pulled out a robe.
“Put that down,” Gallen ordered.
“What?”
“You’re going to help me out of this, first.”
“I’m what?”
Juels frowned. “He can do that?”
“Were you paying attention to Raven’s getting out of hers?”
“Huh?” Juels said. “She rubbed up against him?”
“Uh,” Aaprin said. “I don’t think so… you can all itch. I’m getting dressed.”
“Not interested in a honeymoon?” Gallen half chuckled.
“Um… I’m certain we can come up with something appropriately sensible like playing cards.”
Gallen came up to him and kissed him. “Hug me, you idiot… It really itches.”
Aaprin blinked and drew her close. “Uh, Gallen, are you, all right? You look… rather warm.”
Ander sat down on the bed, feeling her head spin, “Aap.. Aaprin, I’m feeling a bit… funny.”
Juels eyes widened. “She looks feverish.”
“Aap,” Ander gasped, “I’m scared. Hold me.”
Ruke burst from the bathroom. “Don’t you touch her!”
“Ruke?” Gallen rasped.
“I know I shouldn’t be here.”
“How did you get in?” Aaprin said, as Gallen nuzzled close.
“Jimmied the bathroom window,” he said.
“Well, talk to Ander in there, then!”
“What? Oh,” Ander said and ran past and grabbing Ruke’s hand as Juels just scratched herself as the itching worsened.