by Shea, K. M.
“I must admit, I’m surprised you have not left for Gloria yet,” Tari said.
Seer Ringali studied the sky for a moment. “I planned to leave earlier, but that pesky human crown prince has been enquiring with great eagerness when I will be departing. I would never do anything to please such a tiny fish, so I’ve resolved to stay longer,” Seer Ringali dropped his gaze to Tari. “When I spoke to him last week he seemed especially intent that I would take you with me when I left.”
“Arion is already aware of the suspicious actions of Crown Prince Benjimir,” Tari said.
Seer Ringali nodded in approval. “Excellent. It is best if you let your dog do some of the work. He is too well trained to be wasted. Good day to you, student, I shall see you tomorrow,” Seer Ringali said before taking his leave and sweeping back into the gardens.
Tari considered following Seer Ringali, but she didn’t feel like mincing with polite society just yet. The betrayal of another elf cut her deeply to the point of making her nauseous, and her anger with Arion still boiled in the background.
The park ended in a hill, which stood directly in front of the barracks, training grounds, and mess hall for the Haven Honor Guards. Tari took a moment to squint up at the sky. It was early afternoon—she had all evening to challenge the betrayer. Perhaps a visit to Grygg, Thad, and Wilford would brighten her spirits.
Tari trooped down the hill with the intent of finding the mess hall, where she knew the three patrol leaders would be eating a late lunch.
The grounds swirled with Honor Guards in their pristine uniforms. They cast odd looks at her, occasionally glancing at her tapered ears that peeked out from behind her hair, but no one stopped Tari as she followed the scent of food.
Tari sneezed when she found a large building that smelled heavily of beer and gravy. She cautiously looked inside—vaguely aware of two fretting Honor Guards trailing behind her. They belonged to Arion’s squad, if she remembered correctly.
Grygg, Thad, and Wilford were inside, finishing up what looked like meat swimming in gravy but was probably supposed to be a stew.
Tari could feel one of the Honor Guards behind her working up the courage to speak to her—probably ask her to leave—so she slid inside the building before he opened his mouth. “Grygg, I want to learn another drinking song,” Tari announced in Calnoric as she approached their table.
The men were caught completely off guard. Wilford actually spat out his drink and Grygg choked. Thad was the only one calm enough to speak. “Good afternoon Lady Tari. I believe you are early for our regularly scheduled appointment,” he mildly said.
“I want to learn a drinking song,” Tari said.
“Yes, so you mentioned. However, I think it would be best if we continued with your lessons in your quarters. The Honor Guard facilities are hardly meant for a lady of your status.”
“You aren’t listening,” Tari said, reaching down to pluck Wilford’s pint from his numb hands. “I want to learn a drinking song. I want to DRINK!”
Wilford rescued his mug. “With all due respect, Lady Tari, this is hardly the place for you to indulge in alcohol.”
Tari snorted. “Nothing will happen. I could drink the three of you under the bench.”
“Under the table,” Grygg helpfully piped in. A small crowd of guards was amassing around the table, fascinated with the shouting elf.
Wilford shot Grygg a sharp look and Thad attempted to further reason with her. “But you don’t like alcohol. You complained bitterly of human wines during one of our teas, remember?”
Tari—to the patrol leaders’ horror—sat on a bench, sliding her legs under the table. “I hate human wines because they taste as appealing as radishes. Beer, mead, ale, all of those we drink at home in Lessa.”
“A drinking song is a far different thing than sipping a cup’o beer at home, Lady Tari,” Grygg said, leaning across the table to address her. The guards around them murmured in agreement.
Tari inhaled and briefly shut her eyes. When she looked at Grygg again the force of her gaze made him plop down in his seat. “Let me put it this way. If you do not get me a mug of beer, as many mugs as I desire, I will go into the city of Haven alone, without Arion to drink. And when your captain finds me I will tell him I told you my plan before carrying it out,” Tari said with a chilly smile.
Grygg bolted from the bench. “Somebody get this lady a drink!” he shouted.
Wilford studied Tari over the rim of his cup. “Something bothering you, Lady Tari?”
Tari placed her elbows on the table and rubbed her eyes with a groan. “Yes.”
Wilford and Thad exchanged looks before nodding. “Right then, a drink or two may help calm your nerves,” Wilford said.
“Only a drink or two, though,” Thad added, scowling darkly at his fellow guards that were jostling each other as they crowded around the table. “And no one tells the Captain!”
The guards sang out a chorus of affirmatives. One nearest to Tari plopped down on the bench next to her. “He won’t find out. How much alcohol can one elf drink?”
“We are in big trouble,” Grygg said to Thad as they watched Tari chug a pint.
“We’re dead,” Thad agreed as Tari’s opponent gave up, gasping for breath.
Tari kept chugging.
“Guards keep coming in. The Captain is going to find out,” Wilford said, staring at the collection of mugs placed next to Tari. All of them were her’s.
Thad rubbed the back of his head. “Did anyone know elves were big drinkers?”
A fellow off duty guard laughed. “You mean you didn’t know?”
Thad, Grygg, and Wilford turned to the guard with murder in their eyes.
The guard defensively added, “What, haven’t you stood on duty in any of the state banquets? Those elves can drink for hours without so much as a hiccup or stammer. Buddy of mine who serves under a bonded earl said the elves have more festivals and feasts than we do—and they drink at all of them ‘til sunrise.”
Grygg, Thad, and Wilford looked back at Tari with horror. She finished her mug with a satisfied smirk and slammed it on the creaking table.
“Who’s next?” the blonde elf demanded.
Guards clamored to go against her.
“I hope it’s a myth.”
“It must be a myth.”
“Do you reckon we can charge for going head to head with her?”
Thad and Wilford glared at Grygg.
“What?” Grygg grumbled, shrugging slightly before taking a mouthful of his ale. “We might as well make a spot of money for our troubles.”
Thad and Wilford returned their attention to Tari.
“How can we make her stop?” Thad asked.
“Out drink her, maybe,” Wilford suggested. “She’s a female. She can’t possibly drink more than us.”
“Your captain is a total—what’s a good insult, Grygg? A kill joy,” Tari emphatically said, banging her beer on the table.
“Oh is he ever,” Thad violently nodded.
“One little joke about queen Luciee’s prissy face and you’re out of his good graces forever,” Grygg grumbled, barely audible above the ruckus raised around them. He took a mouthful of his ale and tipped his mug too far back, splashing alcohol on his uniform. “And he doesn’t even like the queen,” Grygg complained, brushing off his uniform.
“He said,” Wilford started, his voice high pitched and emotional from the alcohol consumption. “If I ever walked into his office without knocking again, he would demote me to guarding the Calnor borders of the Dreadfelv Desert! Like I wanted to see him accosting Lady Tari,” Wilford complained.
“He’s so, so pigheaded,” Tari said. “Did I use that right?”
“Beautifully,” Grygg said, making the gesture for “perfectly ripe.”
“A royal pompous—,” Wilford started.
“No, no,” Thad interrupted with a nervous giggle. “Even with beer to fortify me I don’t have the courage to teach Lady Tari swear words. I’d
wet myself the next time the Captain looked at me.”
“Swear words?” Tari asked with growing curiosity.
“Oh good gog, look what you’ve done now,” Wilford complained.
“How about another drinking song?” Grygg suggested.
“Yes! Yes!” Tari cheered.
“Hurrah,” Wilford said, splashing mead.
“Make it a funeral song,” Thad suggested. “We’re all dead men anyway.”
Tari was contemplating the remaining mouthfuls of mead in her mug when Arion blew into the mess hall. Tari adjusted her feet, which were propped up on the back of a soldier snoozing under the table, and saluted Arion with her mug. “Good afternoon, Arion,” she greeted.
Arion’s eyes were icy flints as his gaze traveled down the table. Tari was the only upright person in the area. Most of the off duty guards were slumped across the table top, passed out on the benches, or unconscious and on the ground.
“What is going on?” Arion barked, his voice thunderous.
“We,” Tari said with a wide, sweeping gesture. “Are having a resounding good drinking hour. Time. Day,” she said, setting her mug down and nudging it to join a large cluster of mugs in front of her.
“That ssssneaky elf,” Grygg said, blinking hard to concentrate as he picked his upper body off the table. “She can drink.”
“She’s the tolerance of a keg master,” Wilford groaned into his elbow from his position on the bench.
Arion narrowed his eyes as he studied Tari. “You’re drunk.”
“I am not drunk. Maybe fuzzy, but not drunk. We elves tend to sing horribly when we’re drunk. I was pitch perfect at my last song. Ask anyone who’s not sleeping.” Tari nodded before adding. “You’re not well trained like Seer Ringali thinks you are. You’re too, too, too!” she finished, reaching for a new, filled mug. “I can’t think of the word in Calnoric. Which is a shame because you humans have better insults.” Arion pulled the mug out of Tari’s grasp, ignoring her feeble “Hey!”
Arion then turned to his men—some of whom were quickly gaining sobriety in the presence of their captain. “You all,” he said, his voice as warm as a winter storm.
“Will clean up this embarrassing spectacle of debauchery, gluttony, and failure of discipline,” Tari paused, blinking rapidly. “I have no idea what I just said,” she declared.
Arion stared at Tari for a few moments. The normally controlled elf smiled sheepishly at him, her hair charmingly disheveled. He bent over and whisked her off her bench, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
“Arion!” Tari complained, pounding a fist on his back.
Arion ignored her and pinned his morning patrol leaders in place. “Clean up this embarrassing spec—just clean it up. We will review your conduct tomorrow morning,” he said before leaving the mess hall. His exit struck fear into the hearts of his men and was not at all hampered—perhaps it was even complimented—by the tousled elf complaining on his shoulder.
“—always serve disgusting wine, never serve any halfway decent beer or ale. It would make state events a lot more interesting if they at least served mead. By the stars above, no wonder the majority of your royalty have pinched expressions. They’ve probably never had a decent pint of ale in their lives,” Tari rambled, making the switch to elvish as Arion strode through the training grounds.
The sun cast brilliant hues across the sky as it considered setting. Tari had been in the mess hall longer than she thought.
“Your mouth is unhinged when you are hit in the head and when you’ve consumed too much alcohol. Is talking excessively your reaction to most things?” Arion asked. He didn’t take the garden route and instead followed the worn paths the guards took on their way to the palace.
“I talk altogether too much, according to Seer Ringali. When he first took me on as a Ringali he called me a whining kitten gifted with remarkable volume,” Tari said, grunting when Arion bumped her higher up his shoulder. “Where are we going?”
“To your room.”
“That’s pretty boring.”
“You deserve to be chained there for a fortnight.”
“That’s not fair. I stayed in the palace grounds and I was surrounded by Honor Guards. I was not being unsafe!” Tari said, choking again when Arion jostled her once more. “You’re doing that on purpose,” she accused.
“I would never,” Arion said in a flat, unpersuasive tone.
Tari grumbled under her breath for the remainder of the trip
When Arion finally set her down inside her sitting room she stumbled once—more from being carried half upside down than from the alcohol. “Explain,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.
“Explain what?” Tari asked, elegantly folding onto her settee. She cast a curious glance around, where was Evlawyn?
“Why were you suddenly ignited with the desire to drink yourself into a stupor?”
“I am not in a stupor.”
“Tari.”
Tari sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I know who commissioned the attacks on us. On me.”
Arion shifted but did not say anything.
“It’s an elf,” Tari quietly admitted.
“Impossible,” Arion said.
“No, it’s not. I have proof, I know who it is.”
“You have consumed too much alcohol and are hallucinating. Tari, your people are not warriors. You do not attack each other.”
“You don’t know everything about us Arion. It was an elf!” Tari shouted, throwing her hands into the air.
Tari and Arion glared at each other.
“You are—,” Arion muttered under his breath.
“I am not a lush! ….What’s a lush anyway?”
Arion eyed Tari. “How did you know I was going to say that? You did it earlier, too.”
Tari gestured widely between herself and Arion. “I didn’t know. I just feel our connection and new human words spill into my vocabulary. I yank words off you. What’s a lush?”
“Yank words?” Arion asked with a frown.
“It’s like they’re swimming out there and I can just… borrow them. It’s only fair that I can do something. It’s not as bad as reading emotions, although in general it might be more useful,” Tari said as she stood up.
Arion watched her waltz inside her bedroom, only to return to the settee with a glass inkwell and several sheets of smooth elf paper. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to write letters to my seconds since you won’t tell me what a lush is. Would you be one? A second I mean.”
“A second?”
“In elvish duels—which are about as rare as a real phoenix—one party challenges the other. Both elves get to have up to 14 but no less than four seconds. The seconds can fight with you, if you need them. I won’t need you, but it would be nice if you came.”
“You cannot be thinking of dueling this renegade elf.” Arion said, unfolding his arms with a frown.
“It’s my right. As the dishonored party I challenge him. He has no choice but to accept, even though he knows he’s going to be slaughtered,” Tari mildly said as she slipped a quill out from between the papers.
“And who exactly is this renegade elf?”
Tari mutely mended her quill.
Arion sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are stubbornly foolish. Very well, I am free to join the fray if you need help?”
“You are.”
“Fine,” Arion snapped. “I will be one of your seconds. Send me notice of the details. You are being a foolish prat, Tarinthali. I expected better of you. Good Evening,” Arion said before storming out of the room, firmly shutting the door behind him.
Tari looked up from her quill. “He said my name right,” she mused.
The following evening Tari, shrouded in a black cloak, glided through a small garden with Evlawyn at her side. Together they approached a crumbling stone structure—the only building in the entire palace that was near ruin.
Seer Ringali a
nd Arion were already there. Tari’s teacher lounged on silk cushions, opening and closing a wax paper parasol. Arion was chewing something—probably a Berry Drop given to him by Seer Ringali based on the open pouch at Seer Ringali’s knee.
“Behold, the late disciple finally arrives. Welcome. I’ve been attempting conversation with your dog. He’s quite schooled in gestures,” Seer Ringali said as Tarinthali and Evlawyn entered the building. (If it could be called that.)
“I thought you said you needed at least four seconds,” Arion said when he finished the drop, his voice chilly with disapproval. He clinked when he shifted, if Tari had to hazard a guess the captain was probably strapped with as many weapons as he could carry.
He was going to be in for a shock.
“Kiva is escorting My King Celrin. They aren’t but a moment behind us,” Tari said, folding her arms beneath her cloak.
Arion’s eyebrows shot upwards. “You invited your king to be your second?”
“I did mention my seconds would be ornamental. Moreover it was his requirement. I am allowed to duel the betrayer because My King Celrin will be present, representing elvish law,” Tari said.
Arion turned to Evlawyn, gesturing “Lady,” “crazy,” and “stop.”
Evlawyn shook her head and bowed to Tari, backing away until she was stationed behind Seer Ringali.
“Tarinthali Ringali.”
Tari turned—her cloak swishing around her—and bent into a curtsey. “My King Celrin,” she said. Behind her Seer Ringali stood and bowed with Arion, Evlawyn curtsied further back.
King Celrin nodded as Kiva and a translator scurried to join Tari. The elvish ruler carried the Sword of Kings—representing the past and present Kings of Lessa—and a white staff covered in swirls and figures—representing elvish law. “Good evening to you all,” he said.
The translator—a human, probably brought by King Celrin in a gesture of thoughtfulness to Arion—retreated to Arion’s side, whispering in his ear.
Kiva wiped her puffy eyes, clearly she had been crying since she received Tari’s letter that morning. “Good luck, I’m sorry, Tarinthali,” she said before going to pay her respects to Seer Ringali.