by Shea, K. M.
“Where are we going?”
“To see King Celrin.”
“Perhaps we humans do not give you elves enough credit,” Arion said, shifting in his formal armor.
“Why do you say that?” Tari asked, brushing the long sleeves of her gown down so she could adjust her hair.
“We see you as being a defenseless race. One without cunning and guile. I no longer think that is true.”
Tari snorted. “It is. If anyone with a decent amount of organization attacked us we would be overtaken. Few of us can fight, and there are not nearly enough of us to form more than an offensive strike or two. We can be cunning, yes, but we haven’t the stomach for war tactics and the useless squabbling you humans entrench yourselves in,” she said, peering around the corner. “We still are very much in debt to Calnor for protecting us. We would be long gone without you.”
“I do not doubt you need us. Your race is too noble for something like war, but I never had the chance to admire elf brilliance before our bond. Nor did I think King Celrin could have such a degree of shrewdness in him.”
“His plan is perfect, but only if they do take this route, as My King Celrin thought they would,” Tari cautioned before she turned to stare at the images sculpted and chipped into the wall.
It was a war scene, one between the men of Calnor and the High Elves. Tari grimaced, studying her war prone cousins. Even in the stone record their beauty was cold, powerful, and cruel.
“If it weren’t for the Lesser Elves I would think the High Elves to be nothing but fairytales, told by mothers to inspire caution in their children,” Arion said, leaning against the corridor railing as he too studied the wall scene.
“They’re real,” Tari promised, casting her eyes over a tribe of gorgeous elves who were hurling spears shrouded in lightning at the defenseless humans.
“Do you believe the legends that say they will return to the Continent? It’s been centuries since they left,” Arion said.
Tari looked away from the wall, as if the scene pained her. “Regardless of what I believe, I do not think it is wise to forget them.”
Arion shrugged. “All traces of their bloodlines are gone. There is not an elf left on the Continent that has the ability to fight as they did.”
Tari did not answer and instead tipped her head back to listen, her tapered ears twitching.
Arion shifted into position after glancing at Tari’s face.
“Someone is coming,” Tari said, tilting her head to hear better. “It’s them,” she said before bolting across the corridor to stand next to Arion.
As the footsteps drew closer Tari slumped against the corridor railing. She thought of Arion leaving and her eyes brimmed with tears. She sniffed and spoke earnestly in elvish. “Perhaps we could write. Although I do not know the written code of Calnoric… and I have been told learning the written language of elves is even more difficult. Oh, Arion. What are we going to do?” she said, her voice colored with anguish.
“Tari,” Arion said, halting Tari’s flow of words as the walkers rounded the corner, coming into sight. “We will find a way.”
Tari nodded, the tears in her eyes finally spilling from her eyes. “But I will miss you so,” she said, taking a step towards him.
The walkers stopped. Fantastic!
“I will miss you as well,” Arion said.
“What, what?” King Petyrr puffed. “Why on earth would you two miss each other?” he asked, not at all embarrassed for listening to what was clearly a private conversation. At his side was Crown Prince Benjimir. Surprisingly, the Crown Prince was the only member of King Petyrr’s procession for the moment.
Tari elegantly straightened herself from her slumped posture, taking care to flick the tears from her eyes before smiling ‘bravely’ at King Petyrr. “Good afternoon Your Majesty,” she said in human. Arion murmured the same as he bowed and Tari sank into a curtsey.
King Petyrr jiggled his portly belly. “Why would you two miss each other, what is wrong Lady Tari?” he asked, approaching the pair and taking Tari’s hand, patting it like a fond grandfather.
Tari smiled at King Petyrr before redirecting her gaze as Arion spoke—as if she couldn’t bear to face the news.
“I have been reassigned, Your Majesty, to my previous post in Sacred Wood. They require my immediate presence.”
King Petyrr stopped patting Tari’s hand and puffed like a porcupine. “What?”
Arion bowed slightly. “I will be leaving Haven, and Tari, within the week.”
King Petyrr’s face grew dark as he dropped his cheerful, good natured façade. He growled under his breath like a badger. “Stupid Honor Guard idiots, give me the army any day,” he said as he adjusted his grip on Tari until they had linked arms—following elvish custom. He abruptly turned, hauling Tari with him. “Benjimir,” King Petyrr called, scowling at his son. “Are you aware of this? Did that Guard Commander of yours ask you beforehand?”
Benjimir shifted. “No, I was never approached about transferring Captain Arion.”
Tari inhaled, making the gesture deep and somewhat shaky.
King Petyrr absent mindedly consoled Tari. “There, there, dear. Have no worries. It is Benjimir who is in charge of the Honor Guard. That idiot commander of his will have to stuff it, or we’ll skewer him. Honestly, what dunce tries to separate our one translating bonded pair?” he said, his words eventually growing deeper and quicker as he groused rather than attempted to comfort Tari.
“Your Majesty,” Arion started. “I understand that we cannot be given preferential treatment—,”
King Petyrr swatted his free hand. “Nonsense. You two are more mythical than a pair of unicorns. What good are you to us if you’re separated? Benjimir! This is a result of your dull witted men. Fix it! Captain Arion will be serving at the palace, indefinitely,” he barked.
“Oh really, Your Majesty?” Tari said with a real smile.
“Absolutely. Anyone who wants to ship one of you two off will have to deal directly with me. And King Celrin—and he’s got a mean right hook. Now then, is there anything else I can do for you my dear?” King Petyrr asked, returning his attention to Tari with his usual cheer.
Tari shook her head, still smiling. “Oh no, Your Majesty. You’ve done so much. Thank you,” she said, curtseying when the king released her hand.
King Petyrr smiled indulgently. “You’re welcome,” he said before turning to Arion with a slight frown. “You’ve got quite a treasure for your bond partner. You should fight for her a bit more,” he advised before he smiled and reached out to smack Arion on the shoulder. “Carry on Captain Arion. You’re the luckiest man in Calnor, and you probably deserve it. Benjimir! Come, we’re going to correct the thinking of your wayward commander,” the king said before storming down the corridor.
Benjimir stared at Arion as he glided past them. “Father you have a meeting with your advisors. I shall address the commander, you must go to your meeting,” he said, trailing after his father.
Tari and Arion waited until they could hear them no more.
“King Celrin knows His Majesty well,” Arion said. “Everything went exactly as he said it would.”
“Getting King Petyrr to pin down his son—it is a brilliant tactic. I did not know Crown Prince Benjimir ran the Honor Guard,” Tari nodded.
“He does. The King runs the army, the crown prince the Honor Guard. The latter is meant to prepare him for the former,” Arion said. “What I wonder at is the idea that King Celrin thought it a better plan to directly involve His Majesty rather than approach Crown Prince Benjimir alone.”
Tari was silent, even though Arion turned his eyes on her. Not yet. I’m not ready to face the Crown Prince yet.
Tari gleefully swung the small wicker basket Evlawyn lent her as she craned her neck to take in as much of the marketplace as possible.
Arion stood at her side motioning for two of the Honor Guards to walk to the far end of the market. “Is it really that exciting?” he doubtfu
lly asked.
“It is. It’s so noisy and bustling. Everybody wants to get someplace and it’s chaotic and colorful and loud!” Tari said, her attention momentarily drawn away by a fruit vender.
Arion furrowed his eyebrows. “What are your markets like?”
“Very peaceful and quiet. Everyone moves like it’s a slow dance. When you’re purchasing things there are certain phrases you use. You approach the venders, the venders do not try to get your attention.”
“That sounds more enjoyable than this,” Arion said, gesturing to the boisterous market.
“It’s very different. I love our elvish markets, but it’s so fun to experience a human market,” Tari said, leaving Arion’s side to investigate a stall of wax paper parasols.
Arion trailed after her, talking to Grygg—the leader of the patrol squad they were accompanying. “Two guards should patrol the gold and silver smith stalls. There is no need to linger there—they have their own hired guards—but have a different pair circle the bakery stalls. They’ve been popular targets for thieves lately,” Arion instructed.
“Yes, sir,” Grygg said before falling back.
“Everything is so exotic,” Tari said, moving from the parasol vender to a stall stuffed with silk scarves. “Our craftsmen never think to produce goods like this.”
Arion arched an eyebrow. “I imagine it is far beneath their dignity to produce such paltry items.”
Tari shot Arion a look before smiling to the scarf vender—who gaped at her—and moving on. “Mmm, you can smell the fruit and the baking bread!” Tari said in delight.
“And the refuse and stink of the unwashed,” Arion said. “One moment,” he added before disappearing behind a stall.
Grygg magically appeared in his absence, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his face serious. (Tari could hardly believe this stoic guard was the same man who stood in her sitting room yesterday and sang to her—in falsetto—a drinking song. Tari’s speaking education had taken an interesting turn when the patrol leaders learned she wanted to know some of the less polite phrases to insult people with.)
Tari smiled at Grygg. The patrol leader gravely bowed to her before he surveyed the area, occasionally gesturing to his men.
Arion returned after a few minutes, his cape swirling behind him. He nodded to Grygg, who saluted before melting into the background.
Arion lead the way out of the food stalls and back to the craftsmen.
“I think Evlawyn and I should come here for an afternoon. It’s very pleasant,” Tari said, barely avoiding crashing into Arion when he abruptly stopped.
“No,” Arion said.
“Pardon?”
“You will not return to the market without me.”
Tari bristled. “That’s unfair. It’s not dangerous here.”
“Tari, please,” Arion said, getting her attention. “You are correct. The marketplace is not normally dangerous—if one ignores the danger of losing one’s pocket money. However, you were attacked in the palace gardens. Anyone seeking to hurt you would have an easy time of it if you were to come here without guards.”
Tari sighed, seeing the wisdom in his words. After all, when it came to Calnor humans her normal defenses were forbidden. “Very well,” she agreed. Her attitude shifted when they entered a new row of venders. “How beautiful!” she said, admiring the work of the silver and gold smiths.
There was a stall with a craftsman who specialized in settings with opals. Another worked only with sterling silver. Another crafted animals from precious stones—jade, amber and the like. The little animals had tiny jewel eyes, and were carved to the smallest detail.
Tari admired the stalls—causing awe wherever she lingered. Although many elves occupied Haven they did not often venture to the human markets as there was an elvish market on the opposite side of the city.
Arion followed Tari, observing the humans that swarmed around them. “I do not understand,” he finally said. “I have seen you wear more finely forged jewelry and hair ornaments at tea time then what is on display here. Why the awe?”
Tari thoughtfully glanced at the craftsman and replied in human. “Admiring jewelry isn’t just about what is more pricey and costly. Look at this,” she said, gesturing to a tiny figurine of a mounted knight. “It’s beautiful, and it’s something we elves would never think of crafting. We are masters of our crafts, but that is probably because our styles do not change. We are not creatures of innovation. Our decorating style is the same now as it was a century ago. You humans are all about change and development. Everything is so new and fresh,” Tari said, moving to the next stall.
“Which may be why your craftsmen are still more skilled than ours,” Arion wryly said, walking past Tari. He stopped when he realized she hadn’t moved. “What?”
“What are these?” Tari asked in Calnoric, reaching out to touch the object in question.
The table was lined with beautiful flowers crafted of golden metal, hand painted and set on golden sticks. There were clusters of pearl pink cherry blossoms, sunrise red roses the size of a thumbnail, tulips in vivid purples and sunshine yellows, swan white chrysanthemums, tendrils of pale green ivy, and orchids ranging the tones of a sunset.
Arion blinked. “I believe they are hair ornaments. The stick is stabbed into the hair to anchor the flowers.”
“Why have I never seen them before?” Tari asked, her hand lingering on a vibrant orange orchid.
“The ladies of nobility no doubt think of themselves as above such cheap styles,” Arion dryly said.
“But they are so beautiful!” Tari gasped, jerking her head up to cast Arion a look of outrage.
Arion smiled slightly. “I did not say they are correct in their thinking.” He took a step forward and nodded to the vender—an elderly woman who was doing her best not to stare at Tari, and her young granddaughter who could not do anything except stare at Tari.
“Do you make these?” Tari asked the older woman, still speaking in Calnoric.
The grandmother inhaled and licked her cracked lips before replying. “Beggin’ your pardon my lady, no. My husband and son do.”
The granddaughter blinked, her mouth hanging open as she hinged her eyes on Tari.
“They are well made,” Tari said, wistfully running her hand across a row of miniature roses.
“Do you want one?” Arion asked.
“What? Oh no, I can’t,” Tari said, taking a step back from the stall, dropping her empty basket in the process.
Arion was already reaching into a pouch belted to his side. “Which one?” he asked, coins clinking in his hand.
“No, no. I could not possibly let you buy one for me. I should get it myself—,”
“You don’t have any human currency, do you?”
Tari avoided Arion’s eyes.
Arion took a step closer to Tari and reached out to take her hand in his gloved one. He squeezed it once, making Tari look up at him.
She knew she was a goner when she met his dark gaze.
“Which one?” Arion simply asked.
Tari shyly reached for a hair pin of three budding chrysanthemums clustered together. They were soft pink, matching the soft blonde color of Tari’s hair.
Arion handed the money to the grandmother, who shook her head and said something in reply.
Generally Tari could understand human better when she was with Arion, but she was too captivated by her new hair ornament and Arion’s hand holding hers that she didn’t give the snippets of conversation much thought.
She was holding her new hair pin up to the sunlight when the grandmother laughed and finally took the coins.
Tari smiled at the grandmother and granddaughter, making the granddaughter drop the basket she was holding. “Thank you,” Tari said, holding up the flower stick before bending to reclaim her basket when Arion released her hand.
“Here, I’ll wrap it for you,” the granddaughter said in a rush of words, holding out a piece of cloth so thin it was nearly sheer.
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Tari relinquished the flower stick, which the girl neatly and efficiently wrapped before passing it back to Tari with a clumsy curtsey.
Tari took the small package and slipped it in her basket before gravely returning the curtsey, making the little girl beam.
As Tari and Arion strolled away Arion asked, “Whatever did you bring that basket for if you haven’t any money on you?”
“Evlawyn heard it is essential to take a basket to a human market in order to properly enjoy it,” Tari reported. “She was right.”
Arion exhaled deeply. “Just when I think you elves are all guile you show off your innocent nature.”
“You enjoy it and you know it,” Tari teased.
Arion shook his head, minutely amused, and made a hand gesture at four of the Honor Guards, redirecting them.
“Arion,” Tari said, reaching out to momentarily touch Arion’s arm, causing the captain to look at her. “Thank you,” Tari said with a pink blush. She squeezed his arm and leaned against it for a moment before moving on.
Tari spent most of the afternoon in the city with Captain Arion, observing the Honor Guards as they patrolled the area. They finished and started the journey back to the palace shortly before dusk. The Honor Guards were already gone—dismissed by Arion so they could make it to the mess hall for dinner.
“That was an amusing afternoon,” Tari said as she and Arion wound their way up the lane that would lead to the palace gates. “But I have been wondering…What prompted the city patrol? Grygg’s patrol shift is in the morning. Why use him and his men for the afternoon?”
Arion shrugged. “You are unavailable in the mornings due to practice with Seer Ringali, and Grygg’s patrol is one of the best under my command. If I were to take you into the city I wanted it to be with a competent squad.”
Tari smiled at the admission as the golden gate that opened into the palace grounds twinkled into view when they turned a corner. “Thank you. I am very glad we went.”