by Casey Odell
“Do you know who they were?” Farron asked, his voice sharp as a knife.
The man shook his head. Claire loosened her grip on his worn grey shirt. It looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks, stained and rough with rips and tears all over.
“Didn’t recognize the colors or uniform they wore. It’s strange, if you ask me.” His eyes narrowed. “It was as if they were followin’ the beasts. Waitin’ like vultures in the woods to pick at the rottin’ carcasses.”
“Why?” Claire asked. “Didn’t they help?”
The man shook his head. “Don’t know. Was too afraid to ask.”
“Too afraid!” She grabbed his shirt again and pulled herself close to the older man.
“Claire!” Farron gripped her shoulder and pulled her back.
“I’d like to see you try strollin’ up to a strange army and come out with your skin intact. For all I know they could be the ones behind it all.” He paused and glanced down the alley again. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. “Somethin’ fishy is goin’ on. I found a small band of survivors here. We’re tryin’ to get to the bottom of it.” A loud clang echoed through the alley and the man jumped. “You should join us if you can.” He eyed the elf before he took off.
“Wait!” Claire started to chase after the man. He hadn’t told her how to find him or the other survivors. Farron grabbed her by the arm and she spun around. “What are you doing? Let go!” She struggled to free her wrist from his grip. She turned and watched as the man vanished around the corner, but it was too late.
“We should get back to the inn.” His voice was calm but his eyes were worried. Something had spooked him. “He told us all he was going to anyway.” He released her arm and started to walk down the alley. “Stay close.”
Claire hurried after him. They finally had a breakthrough, but she wasn’t sure she liked what she heard.
Aeron sat at the bar. A few people had started to trickle in. The main room was quiet, filled only with the murmur of the small group of people; the musicians probably wouldn’t start until later in the evening. Farron headed straight for Aeron as soon as they walked in the door. He had been mostly quiet on the way back to the inn, his pace hurried, and Claire struggled to keep up.
“Welcome!” Aeron spun around on his bar stool and raised his mug in the air. “I trust you two had a fine day?” His smile was broad and a little mocking.
She guessed that he never saw the relaxed side of Farron. He thought that Farron had been sulking all day, and based on the expression the silver-haired elf wore at the moment, she couldn’t blame him.
Aeron looked between the two of them when neither of them spoke. “So, how did it go?”
“I’m afraid the situation is worse than I thought. We need to talk.”
“Alright.” Aeron remained on the barstool and waited for Farron to start.
“In private.”
“Oh.” Aeron’s face sobered up. He set his mug down on the bar and left a few coins.
Claire followed the elves up the stairs and down the first hallway to their room. Aeron opened the door with the key. The room looked the same as hers, only slightly bigger. A strange feeling of relief washed over her when she saw the two little beds. For some reason she had imagined them trying to squeeze into a single bed. They would kill each other before that ever happened. Farron’s daggers leaned against the far wall under a tiny window, his bow propped up next to them in a neat, orderly fashion. Aeron’s arms were sprawled out across the bed in front of her in a haphazard way.
She sat on the foot of the closest bed and listened carefully as Farron told Aeron about the mysterious man. Aeron listened with crossed arms, his face serious, until the tale was done. He stood quiet for a moment as he considered the information and then he started to speak and it took her a second to realize it was in another language.
Claire glanced between the two. Their conversation grew more and more heated and neither of them looked very happy. She had no idea what they were saying when they talked in their Elvin language. It was as if she wasn’t even in the room. Aeron raised his voice at Farron. A whole different side of him rose to the surface; his usual happy face replaced with one of anger. She hadn’t thought he was capable of the emotion.
Farron just stood there, face unreadable. The conversation had taken a turn for the worse and she’d had enough.
“So I can understand, please!” she finally snapped. The tension in the room had become suffocating. They both looked at her as if they just realized that she was still there.
Aeron gathered himself up a little. She could tell he was embarrassed that she saw this side of him. “Then what do you propose we do?” He glared at Farron. The look sent shivers down Claire’s spine, and she wasn’t even the recipient of it.
“Continue on with our little charade.” He took a deep breath and rested his hands on his hips. “If we run now, we’ll have the whole Lendonian army after us. We’ll go to the ball as planned.”
The elves stared at each other for a few moments. Then Aeron smiled, the familiar look slipping into place. He glanced at Claire, then back to the silver-haired elf. “You’re too soft, my friend.” He patted Farron on the shoulder and strolled out the door.
Farron collapsed on the other bed and leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. He took a long breath. Claire remained seated, not knowing what to say or what really happened.
“Somehow, I imagined that being the other way around,” she said.
Farron gave her a knowing look. “He didn’t rise to such a high rank on his good looks.”
“But I thought you said he was a fool?”
“There’s more to that fool than meets the eye.”
Had she gotten Aeron all wrong? She figured had gotten his rank due to some sort of fluke, or blackmail even. Maybe there really was more to him than she’d originally thought.
“What’s going on? I’m tired of always being left in the dark.”
He looked up at her and glanced away. “Claire,” He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I don’t think these are a series of simple attacks. We can’t rule out the possibility that Lendon is involved somehow.”
“But--”
Farron held up a hand. “I’m not saying they are. It’s just a suspicion right now.”
“But why would Lendon do something like that?” She sat unmoving on the bed, her mind racing with questions.
“There are many reasons why they would; let’s just make sure that you’re not one of them.” His gaze held hers steadily.
She was still for a moment before she looked down at the mark on her right hand. If the elves wanted her for something, then that could mean others might want her as well. And that was more than a little unsettling.
Claire remained silent as she mulled over her thoughts. She didn’t like where this little adventure was going one bit. “So, what should I do?” She could feel her strength start to falter.
“I suggest you learn how to dance.”
9
“Keep your head still, my lady!” Lucinda the maid, an older woman with stark black hair and an attitude to match, pulled Claire’s hair tight. She was armed with a comb in one hand and pins in the other.
The small backroom bustled with women. A battlefield of the finer sex. Dresses and shoes were the casualties of war. Claire sat at a tiny vanity area after waiting almost an hour for her turn. Ever since she’d arrived at the palace it had been a whirlwind, having been rushed away to a room deep in the palace, separated from the two elves. Racks of dresses lined pale pink walls, and shoes and accessories were spread out in every available space. She would have liked to look more, never having seen such fine things close up before, but the maids hurried her from one area to the next.
Claire sighed, the most she could in the tight corseted dress. She’d always admired the slender waists of the wealthy ladies, tugged tight into tiny corsets. Although slim already, it didn’t stop
the maids from stripping and stuffing her into one. Fashion wasn’t always about comfort or the ability to breathe easily, but she had to admit: it was the best she’d ever looked.
Her face always had a more delicate look, innocent some called it, young others. The light sprinkle of freckles from her youth had all but faded away. Pretty, but plain, she’d always considered herself. But not tonight. Tonight she looked truly like a woman. Rouge on her cheeks, black around her eyes; she hardly looked like herself. The coppers and the bronzes in her dress brought out the darker tones in her hazel eyes, which she’d always thought were-- at least when they were at their greenest-- her best feature. She’d always wondered who she had gotten them from, her mother or her father? Perhaps she would never know.
The dress was simple but elegant, and still the finest thing she’d ever worn. Rich brown velvet made up the bodice and swept down into a full skirt. The middle parted to reveal a gold silk skirt underneath. The back was gathered up into a small train, with tufts of material held in place with tiny gold pins, a nifty trick to adjust for her shorter stature. Her shoulders felt cool and naked, the straps of the gown draping off her shoulders, down around her arms, meant more for style and decoration than practical use.
The maid finished with her hair and handed her a hand mirror so she could examine the elaborate up-do full of soft curls and pins before she quickly ushered her out of the seat. Her dreams of a grand entrance were dashed the instant the door to the room slammed closed behind her.
Polished stone floors gleamed under the illumination of oil lamp chandeliers down the center of the ceiling, their flames encased in round glass globes. Paintings and tapestries decorated beige walls. Layers of petticoat swished from underneath her skirt as she walked a little unsteadily, the click of her heels echoing through the strangely barren hall. The faint sound of music drifted down the hallway as an orchestra wove an elegant lighthearted tune together.
The corridor opened up to a large foyer. Two staircases on either side led to a lower level, where couples mingled under the biggest chandelier she had ever seen. Millions of tiny crystals glowed brilliantly and bounced the light passing through them in all directions. Claire walked over to the railing and gazed down at the people below, dressed in their finest eveningwear.
Butterflies started to flutter in her stomach. Would she really be able to pull this off?
“This way, my lady.”
Wrenched from her daze, she spun around to find an older man that stood to one side of a crimson curtain dressed in a fine suit of black and white. He bowed to her and pulled open the drape to reveal the ballroom beyond. She stood motionless for a moment. The scene past the curtain was like a fairytale. She quickly curtsied to the man and walked through the entrance, where she emerged atop a grand staircase.
Music from the orchestra filled the grand ballroom and couples twirled on a marble dance floor in the middle of it all. The night sky was visible through a glass dome that made up nearly the whole ceiling and below it hung the new biggest chandelier she had ever seen. The massive light cast a brilliant glow throughout the entire room, putting the previous chandelier to shame. Flowers decorated every space imaginable, their sweet fragrance drifting on the air. Glass made up the wall to the right of the stairs, with doors out to an open terrace.
Claire’s mouth gaped open as she tried to take it all in. Never before in all her life had she seen such opulence and grandeur. She gripped the white marble banister and started to descend the stairs with her skirts held up. She gazed up at the ceiling and the spectacular chandelier in awe. She could get used to this lifestyle. If luck was on her side, she would meet a rich, handsome noble…But even before she could finish the fantasy, she knew that it would never happen, and it was shattered.
Her foot slipped on a step and she lost her balance, snapping back to reality as she started to fall forward. Her hand fumbled for the rail, but it was too late. Then, before she could go tumbling down the stairs like a fool, she collided into something solid. A pair of hands gripped her shoulders tight, cutting her fall short and saving her from potential doom and, even worse, embarrassment.
Claire’s face burned red as she peered up to discover the identity of her savior.
Farron stared down at her, eyes unblinking. Finally he said, “Watch your step, Claire.” His voice somewhat soft. His hands still gripped her shoulders tight.
Why was he looking at her like that? Did she really look that strange? She knew she wasn’t used to dressing up, especially like this, but at least she thought it looked good. Better than usual at least. Slowly, she regained her footing, straightening up and patting down her dress to make sure everything was still in place.
He shook his head and lowered his hands. “I mean, my lady.” A slight grin took over his mouth as he bowed on the stairs below her.
She looked at him, finally standing even with the tall elf. “You clean up nice.”
He looked down for a moment in an almost shy way. Nice was an understatement. He was striking, dressed in a tailored silver jacket and black slacks tucked into knee black boots. The collar of the white shirt underneath hung loose, unbuttoned to reveal a hint of a gold glittering around his neck. He looked surprisingly, dare she say it? –Dashing.
“You look lovely as well, my lady.” He took her left hand into his and started to unclasp her mother’s bracelet. “But I’m afraid this doesn’t go with the dress.”
She had forgotten that it was there, although the mark on her right hand stood out more. The maids must have missed it in the chaos of dresses and hair. Farron tucked the bracelet into his jacket. She found it odd that he noticed such an insignificant detail, but brushed the thought aside. Perhaps he knew high society fashions better than she thought. Overlooking such a detail could ruin their whole cover, and she felt bad for not noticing it.
“And remember not to gawk so much.”
“Sorry.” Her cheeks flushed again. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” She glanced past him to the dancers.
“You haven’t, but Miss DuBonte has.” He offered his arm.
She took it and descended the stairs more carefully this time. “Where’s Aeron?” she asked, scanning the room.
“It seems he’s finally found his audience.” Farron nodded to the left.
A group of women surrounded the blonde elf, dressed in a similar fashion as Farron but with a deep blue jacket instead. A large smile decorated his face as he no doubt regaled the women with his elaborate stories.
“And where are your admirers?” she asked.
“I think they’re scared of me.”
Her amusement faded when she glanced around. A few women stared at her, their eyes piercing her like knives. “I think I should be the one afraid.” She sighed and averted her gaze up to the marble columns that held up the glorious ceiling. Golden vines wound up their length in an intricate manner.
“They say flower petals used to rain down from the ceiling.”
“Really?” She looked up at the glass ceiling and tried to imagine the air filled with floating petals.
“This palace was built by the elves, you know.”
Claire looked up at Farron. “How do you know that?”
“Everyone knows that.” He glanced sideways at her.
Well, she sure didn’t. “Are you here to look after me again?”
“Someone has to keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t kill yourself on the stairs.” He smirked at the last part.
“It’s these heels.” She walked carefully as she held on to his arm. “I’m not really used to them.” Heels were not a luxury she could afford, and not practical for the extensive hours of standing in the tavern. She had worn them a couple times before, borrowing a pair from a friend for local gatherings and dances, but they still felt awkward and took a little while for her to get used to walking in again.
“Have you ever been to a ball like this before?” she inquired. He seemed surprisingly at ease, although he didn’t seem t
o be the type easily rattled. The way he looked, how he held himself as he walked, she had a feeling this wasn’t his first time dressing up.
“Yes,” he said softly, and she was surprised how easily the answer came. “A few, long ago.”
Claire gaped up at him silently, not able to help herself. Just where in the world had he come from anyway that he was able to attend such extravagant affairs?
He led her to a long table covered in white in front of the glass wall. Various snacks and drinks sat neatly on tiered silver trays in between colorful flower arrangements. Servants bustled behind the buffet as they restocked and refreshed at a dizzying pace. Farron grabbed a tall stemmed glass filled with a clear liquid and handed it to her before taking one for himself. She brought the flute up to her nose to smell it before taking a tiny taste. Sweet and light, just how she liked it.
Farron sipped at the sweet liquid as his eyes swept the room.
“See that man over there?”
She followed his gaze across the dance floor. A young man, not much older than herself, stood surrounded by ladies and gentlemen dressed in their finest. Golden cane in one hand, he had a sort of regal posture, confident, but at the same time relaxed. Everyone around him laughed, while his face held only a glimmer of amusement.
“I do,” she said, examining the man. He looked important, but she wasn’t exactly sure why the elf was pointing him out.
“That is the king. Philip of House Harston.”
Claire could feel her jaw drop open for the second, or maybe the third, time that night. She had heard of him, Prince Philip, even saw his father’s likeness stamped on gold and silver coins, a proud, regal profile. But never in her life had she thought that she would see him in the flesh. The royal family was simply a tale told by travelers and traders alike, never something tangible in her world until now.