Cursed

by Casey Odell

  “Well, almost. The next in line. His father, Harold, is not long for this world, I hear. His great grandfather helped lead the attack that took Lendon during the war.”

  “But he’s so young,” she said, still in awe. So much power and responsibility at such an age. She didn’t think she could handle it.

  “Responsibility does not wait for age. Nor does wisdom. Do not let his youth fool you, though. I suspect he has his own agenda already in place.”

  She looked up at the elf. He had that faraway look in his eyes again. He was a world away, but she didn’t dare to ask him where. She was beginning to think there was a dark side to the elf that she just didn’t need to know about. But that didn’t stop her from being curious about it either.

  “But I wonder, just who the General truly serves,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

  Her heart fluttered slightly at just the mention of that man. What was wrong with her? She looked up at Farron, confused. “What do you mean?”

  He glanced down at her. “He says he’s the king’s man, but which one exactly?”

  She thought on that for a few moments. Did it matter who he served? The prince or the king, father or son. The prince will be the king shortly anyway. There was no telling what would happen until then.

  She let her eyes wander back to the dancers, their movements blurring in a wash of colors.

  “It’s like a dream,” she sighed, off in her own little world this time. “It’s all a girl like me could ever do. I just wish…” that Mother could be here, she finished silently. She would have died to see her daughter all dressed up like a lady. Her gaze sunk down with her heart to focus on the marble floor.

  Farron’s hand popped into view. “Perhaps we should make the best of it then.”

  She narrowed her eyes at the elf. “You know how to dance?”

  “Never said I didn’t.” He set his glass down on the table and a servant whisked it away.

  Claire watched the dancers with a growing sense of dread. The music was in full swing and she didn’t know this dance. Aeron’s lessons the day before surely hadn’t prepared her for this.

  “The great Claire DuBonte isn’t afraid of a little dance, is she?” His hand hovered before her, challenging her to take it.

  She glared up at him. “Of course not.” She gulped down the rest of her drink and slammed the glass down on the table before she grabbed his hand.

  He led her through the crowd to the edge of the dance floor, then turned, pulled her close to him and put his hand on her waist. He held her other hand out, cupping her palm in his.

  “Just follow my lead.”

  He stepped toward her and she stumbled as she hurried to step back. She steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder and looked down at her feet so she could watch the movements.

  “Don’t look down,” he chided. “It’s the same as that fool taught you.” He stepped slowly forward and she stepped back. He stepped to the side, softly counting aloud and she followed the beat of the numbers. “See, not so hard.”

  Claire could feel the stiffness in her shoulders start to ease and the dance seemed to flow more naturally. She stared straight at his chest as she concentrated on the steps, and the slight glimmer of gold tucked into his shirt caught her eye again.

  Curiosity getting the better of her, she reached over with her free hand and pulled the gold chain out from his shirt. A pendant swung on the end. Gold wire wrapped elegantly around a large, teardrop shaped, sapphire-- almost the color of his eyes, and very feminine.

  Farron turned suddenly and the movement caught her off guard again. She dropped the pendant as she gripped his shoulder steady herself. He’d done that on purpose. Perhaps it was something from his past he wanted to hide. She’d never seen it on him before and it was definitely from a woman. Claire smiled as they resumed their dance. The more he tried to keep his past hidden, the more she wanted to know.

  “So who is she?” She looked up at him.

  “Who’s who?”

  She knew already she wouldn’t get any answers, but she’d try anyway. “The woman who gave you that.” She looked down at the pendant.

  “I found it.”

  “You’re lying.”

  She studied his face, but his usual mask of amused arrogance was firmly in place. He wasn’t going to give his secrets up willingly.

  “Fine,” she said, “I’ll just make up my own theory.”

  He turned again, pulling her along swiftly this time.

  “A woman gave you that necklace as an everlasting symbol of the love you shared. She then died, leaving you with only that to remember her by. So you fled to the forest in grief and to this very day you mourn her loss, your heart belonging only to her.”

  Farron’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that so?”

  “It makes perfect sense. And it’s tragically romantic.” She sighed, looking into the distance, and just so happened to spot General Errolle from the day before standing across the room. He toasted with a small group of people gathered around him, and he looked very dashing. She could feel heat rise to her cheeks. Farron turned sharply, snapping her attention back to him. “Besides, that would explain why you turn away all those women.”

  “I think your imagination is very bright, my lady.” He smiled but his eyes held a hint of sadness. A crack in his mask. He spun her around then, causing her skirts to swirl about her. He caught her by the hand at arm’s length before he pulled her back in close. He paused with a serious look on his face. “Or maybe I’m the heartbreaker.” A devious grin crossed his lips before he swept her along with him again.

  “I like my story better.” She returned his smile with a bright one of her own.

  “Fine, but that stays between you and me. If that fool finds out, he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

  “And what do I get in return?” she asked.

  “Assistance with stairs, of course.”

  Her smile faded as his grew broader.

  “The other night,” he said after a few moments of silence. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Those men… You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

  Claire looked up at him, a little surprised at the sudden serious tone in his voice. “It’s not anything I haven’t seen before. Do you forget where I come from?” She gave him a reassuring look. Tavern brawls were a rather common experience in The Blazing Stallion. Though, she’d never actually been a part of one before.

  He seemed to relax a little.

  “Besides, I was more afraid of what those men would do to us if they had their way. I was just shocked at how efficiently you two disposed of them. The forest must have trained you pretty well.”

  He opened his mouth as if to say something, but stopped. His smile returning, he said, “Yeah.”

  The music wound down and she decided it was time for a break. They wandered back to the banquet table. She picked up another flute of the sweet tasting drink and browsed along the length of the buffet to taste whatever caught her eye. She picked up a small cake, round and bite-sized, covered in a purple jam-like glaze, and took a bite. Her eyes closed as she savored the delicate sweetness. She popped the rest of it in her mouth and moved on to the next treat. Before she knew it, she had finished her drink and had another in her hand, this time a light orange one. Sweet, tangy, and very tasty.

  Farron remained at the other end of the table by the salty foods and tried each piece with a thoughtful look. Claire grabbed the nearest sweet, marched back to the elf and shoved the cake at him. It was time for vengeance.

  “Try it.”

  He looked down at it and shrugged his shoulders before popping the whole thing in his mouth. She waited patiently for the disgusted reaction that never came.

  Instead, he just nodded and said, “Not bad.”

  She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. She thought for sure he’d hate it.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting something.”

  Claire’s stomach fluttered at the fami
liar voice. She spun around to find the General with one of those long stemmed glasses held delicately in hand. Heat rose to her cheeks again. She didn’t know what to say. It was strange that she reacted like this; she didn’t know anything about the man.

  Except that he looked remarkable in his uniform. Burgundy tailored jacket, black shining boots, and beige-colored slacks and shirt completed his ensemble. His long brown hair was pulled loosely back. On a less confident man it would have looked sloppy, but he managed to pull it off with grace.

  General Errolle took her hand in his. “Good evening, Miss DuBonte.” He bowed, brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it lightly.

  Her cheeks burned madly. She curtsied in returned and lowered her head to hide her face. “G-good evening, General.”

  “Please, call me Bren.” He nodded to the elf behind her. “I hope you are enjoying this evening.”

  “Yes, very much so.” She had a hard time looking directly at him, so she decided to keep her gaze to the ground in a demure fashion. “Thank you for inviting us.”

  “I trust you are having fun as well.” He looked past her at Farron again. “I know your friend is.” He took a sip from the tall glass. “Although, I feel I must inform him that he is dancing with a married woman.”

  Claire glanced behind the General to the dance floor. It seemed that Aeron had found a dance partner in a giggling young blonde woman. But for some reason, she didn’t think that finding out the woman was married would have stopped him.

  “Would it be too bold if I asked my lady for a dance?” Bren offered his arm.

  Claire’s attention turned back to the General, her throat tight. “O-of course not, General.” She set her drink down on the table, after she took one last sip for courage. She took his arm hesitantly as he handed his glass to a passing waiter.

  “I promise to take good care of her,” he said to Farron and turned on his heel to lead her out to the dance floor.

  He stopped in the middle, bowed to her, and she curtsied back. He took her hand in his and slid his other arm around her waist to pull her in close. His dance was slower than the elf’s, his steps more refined as the other dancers spun around them in a blur.

  The General was almost as tall as the elves, so she had no choice but to stare at his chest and the fine cloth of his jacket. The shirt underneath was buttoned high with ruffles of white lace cascading from around his neck.

  “His majesty seems quite thrilled to have an audience with the elves,” he said.

  Claire looked up at him finally and gazed into his grey eyes. She didn’t know what to say, or what she was supposed to say. So, she remained silent, not wanting to look like a fool who spewed nonsense. She had to remember the role she had to play as well, which added another layer of nervousness.

  “Of course, they formally introduced themselves and told all about your situation.” He smiled down at her and her cheeks flushed again. “It was quite the spectacle. I thought His Majesty would die of shock when he saw them descending the stairs.”

  She needed to get a hold of herself. With a deep breath, she summoned her new persona to the surface, holding her head high. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

  “So tell me about yourself, Miss Claire.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “We’ll start with your hometown.”

  “Banton,” she began sharply, “a small village far to the north. My father is a trader who specializes in fine exotic cloths and other supplies.” She was grateful that the elves sat down with her the night before to work out all the details of their little charade.

  “And how did a lady like you become interested in fighting? It’s an awful long way to travel for a tournament.”

  “News travels far. My father deals with traders from all over and they would bring stories of the tournament with them, all the way from Rodem.” She beamed up at him. “I guess I just thought it would be interesting. And, I figured it would be a good excuse to get out and see the world.”

  “Not ready to be shackled down yet?”

  “Never.” Partly true-- Claire missed her hometown, but she had always felt an urge to get out and see the world and live a life full of adventure. Unfortunately, the driving force was too high a price to pay. “So, after months of begging father, here we are.” She motioned with a hand to the room in a carefree motion. She began to feel a little light headed. Perhaps she had drunk more than she thought.

  Bren gave her a delighted look. “I must say, you are very peculiar. And what of your exotic companions? It’s not every day you come across an elf.”

  “Maybe not here, but in the north they are quite common. Perhaps you have scared them away.” She narrowed her eyes at him playfully. “Father used to trade with the elves and insisted on hiring them. He wouldn’t have let me go otherwise.” She carefully studied the General’s face, hoping that he bought her story.

  Bren quickened his pace and pulled her even closer as they danced. “Speaking of which, your beautiful companion doesn’t seem too thrilled with me,” he said in a lowered voice.

  Claire glanced past the General’s shoulder to where she’d left Farron. He leaned against a stone column with a drink in one hand as he scanned the room with a frown on his face. Not too thrilled indeed. She knew he was keeping an eye on her, no doubt making sure she kept up her end of their disguise.

  “Overprotective is all.” She looked back up to Bren. “He is still on duty.”

  “I see.” He glanced down at the mark on her hand clasped in his and brought it closer for inspection. “This is a rather unusual decoration.”

  “Do my customs surprise you?”

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise. He looked down at the mark again as his thumb traced along the intricate design across her skin. His touch sent shivers down her spine.

  Claire shook her head and suddenly found it harder to remember her story. Had they gone over that part? “It’s an ancient tradition in Banton for young brides to get such a tattoo. It’s a symbol of blossoming love. And also a shackle, as you’ve called it.”

  “So you’re betrothed then?” His surprise grew.

  “Not quite.” With each question, she dug the hole she was in even deeper. She felt more lightheaded, the lies getting mixed up and confused. She couldn’t clearly remember what they had discussed the night before. Was she supposed to be married? She was now, she supposed. “This is sort of my last hurrah before the marriage.”

  “I see,” he said with a touch of disappointment in his voice. “A break, perhaps?”

  “That would be wonderful.” He had read her mind and led her like a gentleman to the opposite wall where a group of white linen-covered tables sat. A waiter came with a silver tray of the sweet drink she’d grown so fond of.

  Bren took two flutes and handed one to her. “To your last hurrah.” He lifted his drink to her.

  Hesitantly, she mirrored his gesture and they clinked their glasses together. She turned away from him as she gulped down the wine, cursing herself for telling him she was married. Maybe she had read too much into the slight disappointment he showed when she told him of her betrothal. She shook her head and glanced back at the General. There was no way he’d be interested in her, lady or tavern maid. It would never work out anyhow. She couldn’t keep this act up for too much longer. She sighed and downed the last of her drink. The sweet liquid slid down her throat much easier than it had before.

  “What are we toasting to?” Aeron strolled up, drink already in hand with a big smile plastered across his face.

  Relief mingled with a different sort of anxiety at his arrival.

  “To her betrothal, of course,” Bren replied.

  Aeron’s face was taut as he tried to decipher the news. She glared back at him, urging him to play along.

  “Oh, but of course.” Aeron recovered, turning the shock into gleeful surprise. He grabbed another flute from a passing waiter, handed it to her and held his own up in front of him. “Here is to misse
d opportunities and the lucky sap of a groom.”

  They each took a sip from their glass. Claire quickly downed the rest of hers, wishing desperately for a distraction from the topic.

  In a surprising answer to her wish, an older man approached Bren and whispered into his ear. He nodded to the man and bowed to Claire and Aeron. “If you’ll excuse me, it seems I’m being summoned.” He took Claire’s hand in his. “I hope to see you again, Miss Claire.” He kissed the back of her hand before he took his leave.

  Claire let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She wasn’t so sure she should see the General again. She became a bumbling fool around him. It took her a moment to look at Aeron, afraid of what his reaction would be. The elf looked down at her with obvious amusement.

  She put her hands on her hips and waited for him to start his relentless teasing. “What?”

  “Oh, nothing.” He sipped his drink casually. “I just wanted to ask Miss Claire for a dance. Or should that be Missus?”

  She ignored the last part. “I thought you’d never ask.” She took his arm after they set their drinks down on one of the tables and he led her out to the dance floor. The room started to spin a little as the alcohol caught up to her. “I’m surprised you were able to break away from the swarms of women.” She changed the topic to his favorite subject: him.

  Aeron’s smile broadened as he took her hand in his and placed the other on her waist. “It seems like the tables have finally turned, my lady. Refined ladies find it hard to resist my charms, I am afraid.” He swept her along, his waltz more free flowing than the other two. “Is there any other wonderful news that you would like to share with me?”

  He looked down at her. His usual pleasant look was in place but his eyes grew serious. He wanted to know how much she told the General. She shook her head, but that was a mistake. It only made the room spin even more. “No. I was only trying to explain the customs of my village, and then suddenly I was betrothed.”

  He sighed. “I guess that means my chances are ruined.”

  She was relieved that he didn’t seem too mad at her. “I’m sure you still have your pick here.”