by Shea, K. M.
Arion stared at Tari’s hair. “Hm?”
“Arion,” Tari said, stamping a foot. Her clenched hands shook under the force of her emotions. This lumbering ox can feel what I’m feeling. WHY ISN’T HE SAYING ANYTHING!?
Arion shrugged and set his goblet down as a servant mopped up Eric’s mess. “I wished to spare you.”
“What?”
Arion thoughtfully looked to the end of the room where Kiva was speaking to Princess Claire. “You are already forced to attend numerous banquets, luncheons, and events. I didn’t want to force another on you, nor did I want to use you.”
Tari tilted her head back and pushed an eyebrow up. “Please explain in further detail.”
“Our presence can be used as an attraction, as a weapon. If I invited you—and I knew you would say yes—our joint presence would attract a crowd at least three times the size of this. It would be excellent, socially speaking, for Princess Claire, but it would be thoughtlessly using you.”
Tari frowned as she looked around the room. “Isn’t Princess Claire choosing exclusive guests?”
Arion shook his head. “No. Princess Claire sends out many, many invitations. People choose not to come,” Arion said.
Anger drained from Tari as she realized what Arion wasn’t saying. The courts are snubbing her. She’s married the prince, and they’re still snubbing her.
Tari relaxed her stance, unclenching her hands. “I see,” she said, her voice returning to its usual warmth. She glanced around, frowning slightly when she realized almost all of the tea attendees were still staring at her.
“Perhaps it was a miscalculation to break into the tea dressed in my practice uniform,” Tari said, turning back to Arion. Eric was still gape mouthed next to him.
“That may have helped some, but it wouldn’t have done much. I don’t think any of us have seen an angry elf before,” Arion said, glancing at his brother.
“So they’re gawking at the rare emotion?” Tari asked, a ghost of a snicker in her voice.
“Not at all,” Arion said, shaking his head. “It’s the fact that you’re stunning when you’re angry. You look very different, not like the usual elves we see.”
Tari shifted, growing uncomfortable, but she was saved by Eric snapping out of his funk. “Lady Tari,” he said in Calnoric. “You look beautiful…,” he said more, but the words were too fast for Tari to understand. When finished he turned expectantly to his brother.
“I am not translating poetry for you,” Arion told his brother before calling a servant over and speaking quietly to him.
The servant ran off as Eric grew bright red and turned to Tari to attempt to sign his admiration to her. Tari suspected he was trying to form the gesture for “beautiful,” instead it looked more like the sign for “pregnant.”
Tari looked over to Arion, who was smiling quietly into his reclaimed goblet of wine. “You aren’t going to let him know he’s doing it incorrectly, are you?” she asked.
Arion thoughtfully sipped his wine before replying. “Not likely.”
Tari shook her head slightly and smiled to Eric before signing “Thank you.”
Another wave gasps broke out, and Tari turned to look for the spectacle.
It was King Petyrr, storming the room with a bright smile, askew hat, and his usual procession. Today, trailing behind him were: four courtiers, six guards, two assistants carrying quills and scrolls, a footman, and one fat, orange tabby cat that sat on the King’s shoulders.
King Petyrr caught sight of Tari and Arion and brightened. He was thoroughly distracted, however, when his eyes happened to land on Prince Vincent and Princess Claire.
“Daughter!” King Petyrr said, descending the platform and bowling over his son to get to Princess Claire. His infectious laughter spread through the room like his procession, effectively removing all attention from Tari and Arion.
“Does His Majesty King Petyrr normally attend Princess Claire’s drinking party?” Tari asked.
“No. That would be your doing. He was sent for by one of the footman that left when you first arrived, I suspect,” Arion said as Eric stepped back to allow a servant holding a tray to approach them.
Arion took the lone tea cup that sat on the tray. “Here, your drink for the evening,” he said, passing Tari the cup and saucer.
Tari grinned in delight. “It’s tea,” she said, inhaling the decadent scent.
“I thought you would enjoy it more than the wine,” Arion dryly said.
Tari took a careful sip. It was an elf herbal tea, mint based on the flavor, but there was also strangely a hint of chocolate to it. “This tastes wonderful.”
Arion placed his hand on Eric’s elbow. “I am glad to hear it. If you’ll excuse us for a few minutes, Tari, as Princess Claire’s siblings it would be best for us to greet the guests,” he said.
Eric opened his mouth to argue, but Arion’s grip on him was firm. The brothers walked away as more members of the human courts trooped through the entryway of the Crystal Hall.
Within minutes Princess Claire’s small group of 25 had turned into a bustling gathering of 80, and more were still arriving.
Tari exhaled, content with the evening as she sipped her tea, noting when King Celrin and Crown Princess Yvrea arrived.
“Tarinthali, you are gorgeous….usual,” King Petyrr said, chortling to himself as he approached her. He took a moment to cast off his orange tabby on a servant before joining Tari against the wall. “Captain Arion is one lucky…,” he chattered.
Out of all the humans, King Petyrr was probably the easiest to understand and learn new words from. Tari wasn’t certain if this was because the king was so easy to like, or if it was because he repeated similar words to her at just about every occasion.
“Always wanted a daughter. Instead…. Four sons,” King Petyrr grumbled before his face transformed into a brilliant smile when Princess Claire smiled at him from across the room. “Sons are boorish. Daughters are so pretty…..such joys,” the monarch wistfully said. “Cannot wait……….sons get married. Celrin is lucky,” he finished as the elf monarch and his daughter approached.
“Tarinthali Ringali,” Crown Princess Yvrea smiled, reaching out to lightly embrace Tari as King Celrin exchanged greetings with King Petyrr. “You have been practicing with Seer Ringali? I hope you will perform for us before he leaves. You are always such a treat to watch.”
“I’m not certain Seer Ringali would agree with you,” Tari smiled, pausing to curtsey to King Petyrr and King Celrin as they edged away.
“Nonsense. You are fantastic, otherwise Seer Ringali would not have named you his protégé,” Crown Princess Yvrea fussed.
There was a slight commotion when Crown Prince Benjimir appeared at the entrance of the Crystal Hall. He was blank faced, but Tari got the feeling that anger stormed beneath his seemingly calm façade. Her suspicious were proven correct when the human prince spied Tari and Crown Princess Yvrea. For the merest second his expression darkened, and the corners of his lips twisted ominously as he glared at them. The second passed—probably before anyone else noticed—and Crown Prince Benjimir was the picture of decorum as he descended the stairs.
“Benjimir has come too? Poor Princess Claire. I fear we have completely overtaken her tea,” Crown Princess Yvrea laughed.
“Were you invited to the tea, Princess Yvrea?” Tari asked. She did not think it likely—elves were not into the political games that humans were. Unless the princess had been previously engaged she would not have said no.
“No,” Crown Princess Yvrea guilty admitted. “Neither Father nor I were invited. King Petyrr heard that you came to the tea wearing odd clothes from a footman, so he made up his mind to come. He sent word to my Father and me, asking us if we would like to join him for, let me see if I can use the same phrase he did, “a rousing good time.” Father came because King Petyrr is his friend, and I came because I was hoping your odd clothes would be your practice uniform.”
Tari smiled at the con
fession. “I am glad you came. I think you have greatly heartened Princess Claire,” she said, nodding in the direction of the young princess.
Princess Claire was all smiles and laughter—clearly she was overjoyed that her tea had become so big.
Tari opened her mouth to speak again when Crown Prince Benjimir ghosted out of the crowd. Tari immediately sank into a curtsey, and Crown Princess Yvrea smiled.
“Ah, Benji,” she greeted before forming the gestures for “Good to see you,” and “Glad you’re here.”
Crown Prince Benjimir bowed slightly. “Princess Yvrea, Tarinthali,” he said.
Crown Princess Yvrea smiled, but Tari looked up from her curtsey in surprise. Crown Prince Benjimir had spoken with elvish fluidity and inflections. He was quite good, surprisingly so for one who hadn’t devoted himself to the language as a scholar.
Crown Princess Yvrea did not look at all surprised, and she said—in horrible, mangled Calnoric, “It is a lovely evening, no?”
Crown Prince Benjimir nodded. “I agree,” he said again in elvish, his pronunciation almost perfect.
Crown Princess Yvrea turned to Tari. “I’m sorry, this is something of a game Benji and I have developed over the years. We try to talk to each other in the other’s language. I’m very bad at Calnoric, but Benji has been getting quite good at elvish.”
“How much can you speak?” Tari curiously asked. She had never heard that the heirs could communicate without a translator.
Crown Princess Yvrea’s smile dimmed slightly. “Very little,” she admitted. “We can only make observations about the day and the weather. We know a little less than a hundred words, and it’s taken us years to learn that many. It’s nothing like…,” she trailed off, the rest of her thoughts clearly hanging.
It’s nothing like you and Captain Arion.
Tari uneasily felt for her bond with Arion in the back of her mind as she searched for him in the crowd. It sputtered there like a flickering candle, and Tari had a realization. It’s because of Arion that I can learn human so easily.
As if feeling her thoughts, Arion straightened and looked to her, quirking an eyebrow. Tari ruefully smiled and shook her head, glancing back to Crown Princess Yvrea and Crown Prince Benjimir.
Crown Princess Yvrea smiled and raised her wine goblet to her lips. “Now that is what a Nodusigm pair should be like,” she praised before glancing to the Crown Prince. “Ah Benji,” she trailed off before making the gesture for “translator” and “where.”
“Coming,” Crown Prince Benjimir replied via sign language.
Crown Princess Yvrea nodded and returned her attention back to Tari, clearly ready to settle in and converse for a lengthy time, when Crown Prince Benjimir said, “Yvrea,” again in nearly accent-less elvish before he started signing. “Royal duty,” he signed, “Speak with,” “Guests.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Give thanks” and a sign Tari thought stood for “person of honor,” but wasn’t certain.
“Ahh, Benji is right. We really should greet the hostess,” Crown Princess Yvrea said, nodding to show her agreement. “I’m so glad we had a chance to talk. Please, call on me sometime,” she said, hugging Tari again before straightening the skirts of her forest green dress. She slipped into the busy crowd. Crown Prince Benjimir inclined his head to Tari, his face devoid of emotion, before joining her.
Tari smiled as she watched them go, nodding to a group of elves that wandered in her direction to exchange pleasantries.
The rest of the evening was spent talking, mostly with humans via a translator, but also to some of the translators themselves. (Surprise.)
Arion rescued Tari an hour later from the clutches of a duchess and a translator.
“Thank you,” Tari sighed, her arm linked with Arion’s as they walked the perimeter of the room. “I fear I’m starting to resemble a damp rag.”
“I doubt any elf can resemble something so low,” Arion said.
“If this party continues much longer we shall certainly find out,” Tari grinned for a moment. Her smile faded and she added, “Do not think you have completely wormed out of this. I am still angry with you for not telling me about this tea. I appreciate the thoughts behind the actions, but I do not like being left out of such decisions.”
Arion nodded, “I knew I would very likely provoke you, but I will not allow anyone—even my own kin—to use you.”
Tari and Arion stopped to watch Princess Claire and her husband, Prince Vincent. The princess was all smiles as she held her husband’s hand. The prince looked at her with deep affection and indulgence warming his eyes. “She looks very happy,” Tari observed.
“She is,” Arion said. “This is her eighth time hosting a tea, and she has never been able amass such a crowd. She is happily wed, but sometimes I suspect the political nature of it all drains her of her joy.”
Tari nodded, still watching the young couple—Vincent was barely 20 summers, and Claire was a year or two younger.
“Tari,” Arion said, drawing Tari’s attention.
When Tari looked to him Arion pulled his arm from hers. “Thank you. Thank you for coming, I did not want to impose on you, but it has changed my sister. You are truly selfless,” Arion said.
Tari opened her mouth—about to joke that sweet talk wouldn’t buy her forgiveness—when she was shocked speechless by Arion.
The captain picked up her right hand, raised it to his lips and kissed her bare fingers, keeping his glittering eyes on Tari. Although he wore a ghost of a smile, his eyes were serious.
Tari’s thoughts screeched to a halt, and her mouth went dry. She slammed an iron door on her feelings and concentrated on nothing.
Arion lowered her hand and released it before studying the guests.
The two were silent for a moment before Arion spoke again. “Feel free leave. I know you must be tired from your practice. Sleep well, Tari,” Arion said before departing.
Chapter 6
Reluctantly in Love
Tari watched Arion leave before turning on her heels and slipping through the crowd. She exited the hall without saying any goodbyes—she hadn’t even said hello to Princess Claire—and wove through the hallways until she reached the edge of Rosewood Park. She sat on a stone bench and stared at a sputtering fountain.
“I,” she said out loud to the chuckling water and comforting breeze. “am in love with Captain Arion.”
Her emotions rebelled in her heart when she said this, ready to create a tremendous upheaval, but Tari clamped down on them like a steel trap. If anything got through her defenses Arion would sense it, and he would know.
Tari could feel her rational and world crashing around her, but she would not emotionally acknowledge it. Instead she tried to reason herself through it as her heart thundered in her ears.
“Elves take longer than a few weeks to fall in love with their intended,” Tari reminded herself. As odd as it seemed, Tari had only known the Captain for a month or so. Elves typically don’t learn human in a matter of days, or converse easily with their bond partners Tari’s rebellious heart reminded her.
Tari stabbed the traitorous feelings. I cannot not let anything through!
Tari didn’t even want to imagine what the stone faced captain would say to her if he knew. “Of course I would fall for Captain Emotionally Constipated. I could train a rock to hold more affection for me. What’s so good about him anyway?” Tari said, instantly regretting her words when a million different thoughts of Arion’s strengths lined up in her mind. Tari mercilessly silenced them all.
Tari shut her eyes and cradled her head in her hands. Even breathing felt like work, and the ringing reminder that she was in love with Arion wouldn’t shut up.
“This isn’t good,” Tari grimly said. “For starters, elves and humans do not mix.”
Elves and humans did not intermarry. No one knew when this rule was imposed (which was odd as Lesser Elves were once upon a time the offspring of Higher Elves and humans.) but since Calnor had become
Lessa’s protector, there hadn’t been any exceptions. For elves the very idea was laughable. For humans it was a point of pride.
“And it’s Arion. Arion!” Tari groaned.
Prince Benjimir had a higher likelihood of loving Tari than Arion.
Tari had fallen in love with the most troublesome person she could find. Seer Ringali would die if he found out. Tari chuckled slightly at the thought, but did not release her inner death grip on her emotions.
“I will hold it in,” Tari decided. “I am an Evening Star, it will be like practice. I can acknowledge it, but not feel it.”
Tari glanced down at her hand, which still felt the warmth of Arion’s lips. “I am neck deep in horse crap,” Tari sighed in Calnoric.
“Evlawyn, I need your help,” Tari said the following morning, setting her breakfast tea down as she looked across her sitting room to her handmaiden.
Evlawyn curtsied. “I will help you however I can, Lady Tari,” she hesitated. “Is all not well with Seer Ringali?”
“No, everything is fine—if one ignores the fact that he works my spirit out of me on a daily basis. You have been a magnificent help there. What I require your assistance for is something more… secretive,” Tari said.
Evlawyn nodded. “I am at your disposal, My Lady,” Evlawyn simply said, offering a smile.
My Lady, it was an honorable title in elvish society, one you bequeathed upon someone you were willing to follow and serve for life. Tari felt the weight of such an honor and nodded. Just like Tari and Arion were bound, Tari and Evlawyn would be bound for life.
“Thank you, Evlawyn,” Tari said, pausing before continuing. “It is nothing dire, I-I have the desire to learn some of the human language.”
Evlawyn blinked. “I see,” she carefully said. “Could we not ask a translator to tutor you?”
“I would rather not. I want to keep it a secret, and I don’t want anyone to find out about it,” Tari said.
After spending a great portion of the evening awake, pondering her traitorous emotions, it occurred to Tari that it was slightly odd that Crown Prince Benjimir spoke such passable elvish when Crown Princess Yvrea slaughtered the human language. Learning languages was not a test of intelligence, but a trial of determination. If Crown Prince Benjimir spoke better it was very likely he had practiced a great deal more.