The Crystal Chalice (Book 1)

by R. J. Grieve

  A burst of sound from the hall captured his attention as the tall doors were briefly opened to allow two people access to the paved terrace. He instantly recognised one of the voices

  “A beautiful night,” the Prince remarked. “So clear and mild.”

  “Yes,” Elorin agreed. “I hope you don’t mind coming out here for a few moments. It was just so hot in there.”

  Celedorn risked a swift glance round the tree and saw them walking together on the terrace a short distance away. He had no wish to spy on them, but if he arose, he would be instantly seen and he did not wish to precipitate an embarrassing encounter, so he sat where he was, hoping that once Elorin had got her breath of air, they would return to the hall.

  But it appeared that she had something else in mind. “I wanted an opportunity to speak to you alone,” she said. “I just wanted to thank you for this evening, for all you have done for me.”

  Thinking she referred to the invitation, Andarion disclaimed politely. “It was my pleasure, Elorin. The evening would not have been enjoyable without you.”

  “I wanted you to know that I understand what you.....well, what you indicated to me and I think I should assure you that your feelings are returned.

  The listener by the tree froze, suddenly realising what had happened.

  The Prince, not having the requisite knowledge, was puzzled. “I’m sorry, Elorin, but I don’t quite follow you. My feelings?”

  “Yes, I understand now. I had thought there was no hope for us, but now that I know that you feel the same way, I......”

  “Elorin,” he interrupted her, looking distressed. “I think there has been some kind of misunderstanding. I care for you very deeply - but as a friend, not, I think, in the way that you mean.”

  She stepped back sharply, her face paling. “But I thought this evening - everything you have done! I thought that.....”

  “Forgive me,” he said, “but I think you have read into the invitation a little more than I intended.”

  Celedorn sitting in mental agony by the tree, heard her gasp of shock.

  “I should have known,” she declared in a bitter voice. “I’ve been such a fool, mistaking kindness for love. I should have known that there is too big a gulf between us. The Prince and the nobody! I should have known that such things are only for story books.”

  As she spoke, she turned from the Prince and fled down the steps of the terrace, past Celedorn, whom she did not notice, and into the darkness of the park.

  “Elorin!” Andarion called after her, clearly in great distress. “Elorin, come back!”

  Celedorn sat rigid, unsure what to do.

  “Oh no,” he heard Andarion groan. “What am I to do?” The Prince took a couple of steps towards the garden, then halted. “I’m only going to make things worse if I follow her. I have done enough harm tonight.”

  He turned and slowly, with his head bowed, returned to the hall.

  Celedorn rose to his feet, and looked into the darkness in the direction in which Elorin had disappeared. He felt for her hurt, and wanted to help her but was unsure what to do. However, he could no more walk off into the night without attempting to comfort her, than he could have refused to take his next breath. He also realised that his good intentions had indirectly led to her predicament, so he began to search the parkland for her.

  At last he found her, sitting on a bench by a small fountain. She had her face buried in her hands and was quietly crying. The trickle of the fountain masked the sound of his footsteps and consequently, when he called her name, she leaped startled to her feet.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said hastily. “Elorin, I’m so sorry. I know such words seem totally inadequate but I don’t know what else to say, except that it is Andarion who is to be pitied this evening. He has lost more than he realises.”

  “What!”

  “I know that it seems.....”

  “You overheard our conversation!” she cried, enunciating each word in a dangerous manner.

  He should have been warned. “Well, yes, I did inadvertently but......”

  “You listened!”

  “Not intentionally but....”

  She made a violent gesture with her hand to cut him short. “So now you’ve come to gloat, is that it? Now you’ve come to tell me that you were right all along. You once said to me that he would never feel anything for me. You always knew that happy endings were just for story books. Are you pleased that you have been proved right?”

  “No! I just wanted to offer....”

  But she was in the grip of an explosive mixture of hurt, anger and rejection, and once more overrode him. “I don’t want anything you have to offer! You told me he would never look at a nobody like me! So now enjoy your triumph!”

  Her unfairness stung him despite himself. “It’s not like that,” he snapped.

  “It’s always like that! You always have to be right!”

  “If you’d just for one moment use your head and stop behaving like a damned fool.....”

  He got no further, because fired by humiliation and injured pride, she flung back her hand and slapped him across the face.

  The next instant she gasped in horror, suddenly realising that she had struck him on his injured cheek.

  There was a shocked silence for a moment, then he stepped back from her, deeply hurt, and bowed ironically. “You owed me that from long ago,” he said quietly, and turned on his heel and left.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The House of Parth

  Elorin awoke the next morning heavy-eyed, and even more tired and miserable than when she had gone to bed the night before. She had sat by the fountain a long time, her pride in the dust, her conscience seared by what she had done to Celedorn. Finally she had arisen and returned to their quarters in the palace. She had knocked gently on his door, determined to beg his forgiveness, but there had been no reply. On opening the door, she had found that the room was empty, the bed unslept in. Wearily she had returned to her own room, and taking off the dress that she had put on with such pleasure earlier in the evening, fell into bed to be haunted in her dreams by the reproachful look on the Prince’s face and the even worse look on the face of the man she had struck.

  It was late in the morning when she awoke and she dressed quickly, aware that at all costs she must speak to Celedorn. When she headed down the stairs to the dining hall, she encountered Triana coming up.

  “Where did you go to last night, Elorin?” she asked in great concern. “You did not return to the banquet and the Prince was so upset that he hardly spoke a word for the rest of the evening. What happened?”

  But Elorin brushed aside the question. “Have you seen Celedorn?”

  “Yes, he came down to breakfast looking as if he hadn’t slept all night. He has now gone down to the stables to attend to the horses.”

  “Thanks,” Elorin replied briefly and hurried down the stairs.

  Triana leaned over the banisters and called after her: “Elorin, wait!”

  But she had already gone.

  As Elorin passed under the arch into the city, the difficulties of what she was about to attempt struck her for the first time. She felt her behaviour had been unforgivable, particularly in view of the fact that she had known all along that he had not come to mock her, but her pride had been lacerated both by her rejection by the Prince and the fact that her humiliation had been witnessed. The dangerously volatile mixture of rejection, blighted hopes and a sense of unworthiness had found expression in the worst possible way. Again and again she remembered the look on his face when she had struck him. The memory tortured her, bringing her as close to hating herself as she had ever come. He had come to offer her comfort and instead she had hit him on his injured cheek. Nervously, she began to rehearse what she would say to him, what explanation she could offer, and became so involved in her difficult thoughts that twice she lost her way amongst the maze of narrow streets.

  At last she arrived at the inn, half
hoping he wouldn’t be there. She went round to the back and quietly entered the stables. He did not hear her come in and continued with his task of grooming the grey horse. The brush travelled in firm, rhythmic strokes down the horse’s flank.

  Elorin stood rooted to the spot, utterly confounded as to how to proceed. Before her fragile courage could desert her entirely, she called his name. The brush froze on the horse’s flank and he slowly turned to face her. He was never a man whose expression was easy to read but she made the mistake of looking into his eyes, and with uncanny perception, read in them the hurt that he would have hidden from her. Her resolve broke. Her carefully constructed sentences collapsed in ruins. Tears sprang into her eyes and she took an impulsive step towards him.

  “Forgive me, Celedorn,” she managed to blurt out, before her throat closed. “Please forgive me.”

  Neither of them afterwards knew quite how it happened, but somehow she was in his arms. His brush slipped from his grasp and fell unheeded to the floor. She buried her face against his shoulder, her tears choking her, and said disjointedly: “It was the cruellest thing I have ever done in my life. I knew you had come to comfort me and I just lashed out at you. I took out on you, all the hurt and anger I really felt against myself. Can you ever forgive me?”

  He tightened his arms around her and leaned his cheek against the top of her head.

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said constrictedly.

  “You said that I owed you such a blow from long ago, but it’s not true. That was long before I knew you, when we were both two different people. All that has been forgotten. Yet....yet of all the cruel things I could have done, I had to pick the worst and actually strike you on your injured cheek. How could I have done such a thing!”

  “That injury healed a long time ago,” he reassured her.

  “Did it?” she asked quietly. “Sometimes I think it never did.”

  He did not reply but stood in silence holding her tightly. Her tears had gone and she stood at peace in his embrace, her cheek resting on his shoulder, but as she stood, a strange and mysterious feeling stole over her. He had put his arm around her many times before during the course of their travels - to support her when she was tired, or protect her, but for the first time, she became acutely aware of him as a man. She could hear the steady beating of his heart, feel the strength in his arms and the warmth of him through his shirt. The peace that his forgiveness had brought her, began to become vaguely frayed by a nebulous, yet deeply disturbing feeling that she did not understand.

  She felt his head turn, and briefly, so briefly that she could not be certain, she thought she felt his lips brush her hair.

  Gently she made a move to disengage herself and he instantly released her. She found herself avoiding his eyes, unwilling to let him see her confusion.

  With his usual disconcerting instinct, he had sensed her unease but had mistaken the cause, assuming that her thoughts had returned to her encounter with the Prince. He had stood holding her closely, hoping that his heart was not beating as fast as it seemed and fighting an almost overwhelming urge to tell her the truth. But she had turned to him for comfort, not love, moreover her emotions were very raw, still wounded by the Prince’s rejection, so he had stood utterly still, absorbing every moment, realising that he might never have the opportunity to hold her thus again.

  “I meant what I said last night,” he remarked, his voice low. “It is the Prince who has lost. I almost pity him.” She smiled a little disbelievingly and he continued: “I didn’t mean to listen, I swear I didn’t. I wasn’t in that garden to deliberately eavesdrop.”

  “I know that. Injured pride is a strange thing, utterly irrational. I just don’t know how I am going to face the Prince. I made such a fool of myself.”

  “If Andarion’s expression this morning at breakfast is anything to go by, he is blaming himself. He looked positively haggard. In fact,” he added, a gleam creeping into his eyes, “the only happy person was Relisar, because he was on the point of disappearing off to his beloved library again. Even Triana was a bit subdued.”

  She groaned. “I have done all that!”

  He shook his head. “It was a misunderstanding. It was no one’s fault. I give the Prince credit for blaming himself. He would do anything to avoid hurting you. He may not care for you in the way you wish, but care for you he certainly does, and he is now in misery at the thought that he has caused you harm.”

  She was thoughtful. “You knew this was how it would end, didn’t you?”

  He looked at the floor and slowly bent to pick up his brush. “I only wish I had been wrong.” But even as he said the words, he realised that they were not entirely true. He was heart sore for her pain, but being only human, he felt that the Prince’s rejection had somehow brought her closer to him. The rational part of his mind told him it was an illusion, but his heart refused to listen.

  As it turned out, Elorin’s next meeting with the Prince proved not to be as difficult as she had anticipated.

  She spent the rest of the day with Celedorn, succumbing to a rather cowardly desire to avoid the others, and ended by putting her troubles to the back of her mind and quite enjoying herself. They mounted two of the horses and leading the rest, repaired beyond the city gates to enjoy a canter in the open countryside. A little village tavern supplied them with a pleasant meal and her companion, anxious to distract her thoughts, was entertaining company.

  Twilight was just beginning to fall as they wended their way along the tortuous streets back to their quarters in the palace. Elorin’s conversation faltered and died as the gateway approached, conscious that they were likely to meet the Prince.

  Her surmise was correct. When they entered the dining hall, they found him seated alone at the long, polished table. He looked up, his expression a little strained, as they came in.

  Elorin experienced a craven impulse to retreat but she felt Celedorn’s hand on her back, giving her a little push forward. She turned to him, her eyes begging him to stay, but he shook his head and murmured quietly: “You must face this alone. You owe him that,” and with a friendly nod to Andarion, he withdrew.

  “Elorin,” said the Prince tensely, “we must talk.”

  She stood by the door for a moment longer, reluctant to get involved, then slowly came to him and sat beside him on the bench.

  “We didn’t part on the best of terms last night, did we?” she remarked a little uncertainly. “It was my fault. I read more into your actions than you intended. You must not blame yourself.”

  His eyes were very troubled. “But I do, Elorin. How could I have been so blind? So insensitive? I......I genuinely didn’t know. I know I handled things badly last night but I just didn’t know what to do. Perhaps I should have followed you into the gardens, instead of returning to the banquet.”

  She bowed her head. “Celedorn followed me. He was in the garden and inadvertently overheard our conversation. I behaved very badly towards him but he has forgiven me. All I need to do now is ask your forgiveness and also ask you to try to forget what I said.”

  “My forgiveness?” he repeated incredulously. “Elorin, I am deeply honoured by what you said to me - but I think you will find as time goes on, that I am not the right person for you. As Relisar would say, fate takes some strange twists and turns. All I know is that you will not always regret what happened last night. What I want you to do now, is to reassure me that you don’t hate me, that we are still the good friends we have always been.”

  She smiled suddenly, unable to resist his frank charm. “We will always be friends,” she confirmed.

  “That means more to me than I can ever tell you.” He paused for a moment, then ventured: “All this has not been the cause of a rift between you and Celedorn, has it?”

  She shook her head but her voice sunk low with shame. “He followed me to comfort me last night and I was so.......well, so overwrought that I ended up by slapping his face.”

  The Prince drew in his breath
sharply.

  “He did nothing to deserve it,” she said quickly. “He only wanted to help me. I was the one who was totally in the wrong. I found him this morning and begged his forgiveness and he gave it without hesitation. I had not expected that.”

  “Did you not? I think there is nothing that you could do, that Celedorn would not forgive,” said Andarion a little rashly, then feeling that he had said too much, he hastily changed the subject.

  “We have been summoned tonight to dine with the King, and I, for one, intend to take the opportunity to thank him for his hospitality and inform him that we are departing tomorrow.”

  At that point, the door opened to admit Triana and Celedorn. The latter directed a look of enquiry at Elorin and was reassured by her smile.

  “Andarion is going to tell the King that we are preparing to leave tomorrow,” she informed him.

  He seated himself facing her. “His reaction should be interesting.”

  Triana, feeling brave, sat beside him. “He seems very keen for us to remain.”

  “Too keen,” replied Andarion sardonically. “I wonder what excuse he will now offer to delay our departure? Captain Naldian will be along shortly to escort us to the King’s private apartments but before he comes, we must agree amongst ourselves to stand firm and not be persuaded to consent to yet another delay.” He glanced round the table and received unanimous nods of assent.

  “We appear to be missing one fifth of our company,” Celedorn observed. “Where is Relisar? Or need I ask?”

  “No, you need not ask. He spends every waking hour in that library up to his eyes in old manuscripts, dust and paper mites. He has made a crony of the librarian and they are now practically inseparable. Naldian called in earlier, and knowing the problems we have with Relisar, has gone to fetch him. The King, although pleasant enough, is touchy about his dignity and if Relisar simply failed to respond to a diner invitation - as he is well capable of doing - we would all be in trouble.”