Maeva moved to Gimle. “First Scholar, you already have many claims on your time. My scholars wish to discuss history with you, Kiren wants to talk linguistics, and your skill with wards has now drawn the attention of my mages. Do not let them exhaust you.”
“It will be my pleasure to discuss all these things. I look forward to it.”
Maeva moved to Senta, then just stood in front of her looking her up and down. “And First General, please don’t intimidate my soldiers too much.”
Senta grinned. “I think there’s little danger in that. I saw the Alfar on display in Haldis. Your military excellence is well-known, Madame Directorate.”
Maeva turned to Skye, who was standing slightly behind the First General.
“And this is now your First Ranger,” Maeva said, and Senta took note that the Alfar spy network was as proficient as always.
Skye bowed in the Tavinter custom, showing far more poise than Maeva had seen from the girl in the past, although a blush colored her cheeks and made her lovelier than ever.
“Madame Directorate.”
Maeva would be kind for once and not toy with her, although there would be time enough for that, later. She moved on to the ravishing woman next to her whose plunging bodice captured the attention of even the most reserved of the Alfar.
“Ah, Baroness,” Maeva said sardonically. The title was something of a joke between them. Maeva knew that Raine had bestowed it upon Idonea simply to get out of a tedious imperial function. Upon Idonea’s dramatic entrance, Maeva had been the first to buy in on the ruse, solidifying Idonea’s place in the imperial court. The mage’s laughing dark eyes communicated the inside joke.
“Madame Directorate, it is a pleasure to see you again. May I present my brother, Drakar.”
Maeva turned to the rakishly handsome young man, pleased with this unexpected guest. Dark hair, dark eyes, a faint physical resemblance to his sister and a very strong non-physical one. They shared the same sexual energy, full of magic and irreverence, and an impudence that was irresistible.
“Ah yes, the black dragon I saw in the Ha’kan capital. Are you going to rape and pillage your way through Alfar society?”
Drakar bowed exaggeratedly low in self-mocking. “Not without your permission, Madame Directorate.”
Idonea slapped him on the arm, and Maeva noted the same, intriguing sexual tension between the two. The gossips in court were going to have a field day. “And you remember the Knight Commander Nerthus?” Idonea continued.
“Yes,” Maeva said, pulling the identity from the endless catalogue her network provided. Apparently Idonea led this one around on a leash. “Welcome to Mount Alfheim, Knight Commander. I understand your troops fought bravely.”
“Thank you, Madame Directorate,” Nerthus said, lacking the charm of all those before her, but responding with a frank honesty that slightly elevated her in Maeva’s eyes. What elevated Nerthus the most, however, was that the Knight Commander routinely bedded the hellcat standing next to her, a deed provoking inestimable admiration.
“And the Imperial Bard,” Maeva said to Dagna, “present in yet another epic adventure. Will you immortalize this one as well?”
“I have already begun, Madame Directorate,” Dagna said proudly.
“Excellent, we look forward to its completion. And Elyara,” Maeva said, greeting the slender wood elf by name. “Thank you for coming. I regret that Y’arren could not attend, but I understand.”
“Thank you, Madame Directorate. Y’arren has sent a blessing to be bestowed upon you during your Ceremony.”
“I am honored to accept such a gift,” Maeva said. “And we welcome you not simply as Y’arren’s substitute, but in your own right as well. I understand you played a pivotal role in this latest victory. And I think Kiren has anticipated your arrival more than any other, with the possible exception of Raine.”
“Speaking of which,” Maeva said, glancing about, “where is Raine? And your mother?” She said to Idonea.
“They did not wish to pull attention away from the matter-at-hand,” Idonea said, “Although they have promised to be here for the Reception and Ceremony.”
Maeva leaned close. “They’re off fucking somewhere, aren’t they?”
“No doubt,” Idonea said.
“Assuredly,” Drakar agreed.
Chapter 12
Mount Alfheim was already in a state of celebration, and with the arrival of the newcomers, the merriment only increased. The Ha’kan attracted non-stop attention, and there was a mutual fascination between the High Elves and the all-female race. Several elven women in the nobility sought to try their hand with the Royal Guard and found the Ha’kan surprisingly willing, not having completely grasped that sex was yet another form of diplomacy for the Ha’kan. The First General had cautioned the Guard on the differences between their cultures, but then told them to use their best judgment and discretion. They did so with remarkable success, furthering the goodwill between their peoples and giving the elven women a night they would carry to their grave.
Queen Halla met with the Emperor, who thanked her for defending imperial territory against the Hyr’rok’kin assault. The imperials who had accompanied the Emperor were in awe of their comrades who had fought in the Empty Land. They expressed disappointment that they had missed the fight. The fidelity of the veterans of that battle toward the Ha’kan impressed itself upon the soldiers not present in the battle, and soon they were all drinking and telling tales together. The contingency of dwarves that accompanied Lorifal were also deeply depressed they had missed the battle, and joined in with the Ha’kan for both the drinking and the storytelling.
The Tavinter and the Alfar got along remarkably well, strange for two such disparate races. It was further proof in the minds of the elven scholars that the Tavinter were indeed an offshoot of the ancient elves, for they were a striking and well-formed people, shy in demeanor, charmingly self-effacing, but deadly in stealth. The Rangers constantly startled those around them, and Skye ordered her people to make more noise so they did not sneak up on everyone.
Kiren, the young companion of the future Directorate, was overjoyed at the presence of Gimle and Elyara. She had a decidedly scholarly bent that had impressed the Alfar, even those who had at first been predisposed to dislike her. When rumor floated back that Maeva had taken an imperial human as a lover, it sparked outrage. An entire contingent of the High Elven Council was prepared to censure Maeva upon her return from the imperial land. That drive for censure dissolved upon first sight of the girl. She was gentle, brilliant, humble, and stunningly beautiful, with dark blue eyes and a languorous dreamy air that sparked a strange, quixotic lust in almost everyone around her. She was fluent in multiple languages, a skilled artist and musician, and had a grasp and knowledge of history that was astonishing. In short, she was everything that humans were not, or at least not what the elves perceived them to be. The elven scholars immediately claimed her as their own, and what should have been a devastating political faux pas for Maeva instead added to her cachet.
The day of the Reception arrived and a great throng filled the grand hall. Alfar, Ha’kan, Imperial, Dwarf, and Tavinter all mixed freely wearing their finest garments. The Alfar were a picture of stately grace. The Ha’kan were sensual, regal, and elegant. The imperials were stylish and well-tailored. The armor of the dwarves was lavish and ornate. The clothing of the Tavinter was simple but striking.
In fact, the Tavinter clothing was so soft it compelled the touch. Prior to the alliance with the Ha’kan, Tavinter casual wear had been utilitarian: the skins of animals they had killed when hunting. The Ha’kan took those clothes and made them into something harshly beautiful, the tanned leather giving way to the suede of the underside of the skin. The resulting clothes were slightly less durable, but so soft they obliged one to touch them. Skye was subject to this compulsion by many at the fête, and made the mistake of commenting on it to Senta. Senta replied that yes, her clothing must be the only reason why eve
ryone was fondling her. Gimle hid a smile at the dry comment.
The Queen was even lovelier than usual, and she and Astrid were surrounded by a group of elven nobility. Idonea was making the rounds with her brother, and true to Maeva’s prediction, the two generated scandalous speculation as to their relationship as they moved about arm-in-arm. Both Nerthus and Dagna had been drawn into duty by the Emperor, who was having little luck with interaction beyond strained conversation. But once he was joined by his Knight Commander and his Official Bard, both survivors of the recent mêlée, his company became more desirable. The two women were able to entertain his guests with descriptions of the epic battle.
Elyara was in a group of elven mages and scholars engaged in intense discussion, and many were surprised that Kiren was in this group, for rarely was the girl allowed out of Maeva’s reach. Although Maeva’s gaze would occasionally settle on her prize, she trusted Elyara, if for no other reason than the wood elf was so in love with that silly bard of hers that infidelity was out of the question. Feyden made the rounds in the service of his sister, but on this day it was far less painful than normal. He genuinely enjoyed the company of the Tavinter and the Ha’kan, probably even more so than his own people. And Lorifal immediately inserted himself in the midst of the Royal Guard, because no one could drink like those Ha’kan warriors.
Skye saw a couple she knew, and pushed her way through the crowd. The first was a woman in a blue-green gown that set off a pair of stunning, aquamarine eyes. Her companion was a roguishly good-looking woman wearing finery with the grace of a stage actor rather than an actual noble. The first looked to Skye with pleasure and the second with obvious relief.
“Jorden, Syn!” Skye exclaimed, and ran to them. She hugged both women.
“I was hoping you would be here,” Syn said.
“You’re not here on business, are you?” Skye said.
It was a valid concern, for few people in the room knew that the Lady Jorden was actually Lagmann, the head of the Guild of Thieves, and that Syn was the best thief in all of Arianthem.
“No, no,” Jorden replied, “Maeva is a very old friend of mine.”
“Oh,” Skye said, relieved. “That’s right.”
“Why don’t you go take my love over to the bar,” Jorden suggested, “and I will go mix as I should.”
Syn was enormously grateful to be excused. She had no issue with her lover moving about in high society. The Lady Jorden was an imperial noblewoman and subject to that expectation. Syn, on the other hand, was a rogue and a thief, and her only expectation was to park herself in front of a beer. That, and to try and resist the temptation to fleece some of these people.
They moved to the side of the hall, and Syn poured herself a beer and Skye a cider. Skye had become one of her best friends through common adventures, and one of the few who had never looked down upon her due to her station. Skye was so unassuming that Syn had no idea she was the Tavinter ruler until months after meeting her.
“I wanted to thank you again for coming for me,” Skye said, “when I was captive in the Deep Woods.”
“You would have done it for me,” Syn said.
“You’re right,” Skye said. She caught sight of the Emperor and giggled into her cup. “Didn’t you sneak into his bedroom and steal his scepter?”
“That I did,” Syn said. “Even wrote my name on his forehead, and he slept through the whole thing.”
For whatever reason, the reminder of this escapade made Syn feel a little bit better about herself. She glanced to the woman who would become Directorate in the Ceremony of Assumption tomorrow, and then felt even better. That theft had helped put Maeva on her throne, or whatever the elven equivalent of it was. Life was certainly strange, Syn mused, all of the events that led her to break into a cottage in the wilderness, meet Raine, fall in love with the Lady Jorden, meet Skye, and now be invited to the supreme social event in all of Arianthem.
“Aeric is here,” Skye said, “he’s going to want to see you.”
“Oh, good,” Syn said, even more relieved. She had been adopted by the Tavinter, accepted as one of their own. She dearly loved the forest people, even though she was terrified of the forest. And she really liked that dwarf, Lorifal, who loved to drink as much as she did.
All was going well, drink was flowing, the food was spectacular, the conversation was witty and urbane. Ancient rivals were finding common ground. New friendships were forming. Assignations were being discreetly planned for the coming evening. The Alfar would soon have a new leader of their High Council, and this was a cause for celebration. Nothing could distract these guests from having a good time.
Nothing except a great thud that shook the castle walls. Conversation stopped and many looked about fearfully. The Ha’kan, however, were remarkably composed, for they had felt this many times and merely smiled. Maeva herself looked only pleased.
“I believe my guests of honor have arrived,” she murmured, then excused herself from the group around her. She moved to the bottom of the staircase that led up to the private terrace, then waited there expectantly. This was strange to many, because the terrace had no access from the outside and the drop was straight down the face of a cliff. There was a collective gasp as brilliant flash of yellow light appeared through the windows, illuminating the dusk sky.
Then two figures appeared at the top of the stairs, and all understood.
The first was a dazzling silver-haired woman, tall, lean, with glowing amber eyes set in noble, patrician features. She wore red armor that danced with flame and curved about her body as if it were part of her. This armor was more regal, more ceremonial than that which she normally wore, with not quite as many spikes. She also wore a full, flowing, white-and-gold cape that accentuated her supremacy, and a gold circlet on her head that, although simple in design, declared her royalty more emphatically than the most vulgar of crowns. Power emanated from her as she exuded a dark sensuality that snaked out and wrapped itself around every person in the room. The Ha’kan luxuriated in the sensation.
And on her arm was an individual, completely different, yet no less extraordinary. The young woman was stunningly beautiful: striking chiseled features, flaxen hair, and startling blue eyes. She was lithely muscular, serenely confident, and wore the gorgeous raiment of a tragic, lost race. She projected power of a different sort, a raw physicality that would subdue one through sheer brute force if necessary. But as she turned to her companion, it was as if she became another person. Her features softened, her eyes turned violet, and there was a youthful and angelic beauty about her as she looked on one whom she so obviously adored. That change in appearance produced desire in the assembly as a whole, everything from gentle longing to uncontrolled lust.
As these two other-worldly creatures started down the stairs to the assembly below, Maeva had a remarkable and humbling insight. True, she was about to be appointed the head of the Alfar Republic. The powerful Queen of the Ha’kan was here, the ruler of the Tavinter was present, members of the Dwarven High Council were in attendance, and the Emperor himself was in the audience.
But these two, they were the true royal couple. Without a land or people, these two were the undisputed rulers of Arianthem itself. The Queen of all Dragons and the Scinterian-Arlanian were creatures of myth, living, breathing legends, defenders and protectors of all beneath them. Free to do as they would, they sacrificed time and again to save others. And the assembly as a whole seemed to become aware of this same epiphany, viewing their arrival with near reverence.
“She certainly knows how to make an entrance, doesn’t she?” Drakar murmured into his sister’s ear.
“That she does,” Idonea murmured back.
When the couple reached the bottom of the steps, Maeva bowed deeply, displaying more respect to this pair than she had ever displayed to anyone. Talan bowed slightly, her air enigmatic and distant as always. But to Raine, the weight of ceremony was becoming oppressive. She took Maeva’s hand in her own and bent to brush a chiva
lrous kiss across it. Her manner was playful, mischievous, even a trace flirtatious, and it immediately broke the ice. The room let out its collective breath.
“Madame Directorate,” Raine said formally, “thank you for inviting us to your Ceremony.”
“Thank you for coming,” Maeva said, “the honor is all mine.”
“What did they do with your sister?” Lorifal whispered to Feyden, “And who is that imposter in her place?” He grunted at Feyden’s sharp elbow in his side.
“I understand that Arianthem once again owes you thanks,” Maeva said, “for rising to protect our lands.”
“This one would never pass up an opportunity to kill Hyr’rok’kin,” Talan said, reclaiming the hand that she briefly relinquished.
“Nor you,” Raine replied.
“Nor I,” Talan agreed.
Lorifal pushed through the crowd, dismissing the awe that kept everyone else back. “It’s about time you got here,” he said. “I brought you some amber sting, made special by some of my kin.”
Raine’s eyes glowed at the thought of the wicked drink. Most could not consume it without going blind or collapsing in a heap, but it was Raine’s favorite. It was also one of Talan’s favorites as it affected Raine by lowering her inhibitions and increasing her libido.
“For my sake,” Talan said, “thank you, Lorifal.”
Lorifal’s stature amongst the Alfar skyrocketed. For him to speak so casually to the exalted pair instantly increased his standing. There was an aloofness to the dragon that did not encourage approach, and only those that personally knew the two dared come close. Feyden was obviously in such lofty company.
“Raine, thank you so much for coming,” the fair-haired elf said, then embraced her. This drew numerous raised eyebrows, for Maeva’s brother was even more reserved than the Directorate herself. And the fact that the Scinterian warrior warmly returned his embrace satisfied those who doubted the tales of their friendship.
These exchanges became a spectator sport of sort as people ranked the greetings. Anyone who dared approach the dragon and her lover were automatically ranked higher than everyone else at the assembly. Maeva had received extremely high marks because, after all, they had responded to her invitation. Lorifal and Feyden were given points because of their relaxed familiarity with Raine, and because the dragon appeared to tolerate them. The spectators watched with interest as the Ha’kan approached.
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