by Casey Odell
Deciding to occupy her mind with something else, she marched away from the trio. It seemed like threats to her life were becoming a regular occurrence, so there was no point in sulking over it too much. She had had a moment of weakness and would just have to fix that in the future. If they wanted to brood, that was fine. But she didn’t have to be around to enjoy it. She picked a spot to set up camp. That was easy. Now all she had to do was figure out how to start a fire.
Her fingers twisted her hair, working deftly at the braid, a ritual so familiar it seemed almost second nature to her now. When she was younger, she had always wished for her mother’s red locks, a rich auburn color, not the usual orange of most red heads. But that would never be. And that was when she first understood that her mother wasn’t truly her own. She was seven, but she never really knew the real meaning of adoption until she was much older. The friends she would lose, the fiancé that would vanish. All because her parents abandoned her.
At least, that’s what she liked to believe. If it was because of her own faults, then she’d rather not know. She never was as strong as Mother.
The forest around her was quiet. Peaceful. Able to sneak away from the camp for a little quiet time, she sat alone on a fallen tree. Out here, she there was no one to judge her. Her charade didn’t matter. Her shoulders could finally relax. Out here, she was Claire Tanith.
Out here, Miss DuBonte seemed miles away.
Never in her life did she think that playing somebody else could be so taxing. She was exhausted. Always having to be on guard, making sure she didn’t slip up. Trying to adopt the natural grace that seemed to come so naturally to most ladies, never losing her temper, speaking what she truly thought, lying to the man she wanted so desperately to like her back. Her body and mind felt ragged. It truly was tiring.
She even had to lie to be able to come out here unsupervised. But she needed it, desperately. A break from it all.
A snap sounded behind her and she jumped, a gasp escaping her mouth. She spun around, her pulse in her throat. Her hand found the hilt of her dagger, but fell to her side when she discovered who it was.
“It’s only you,” she said as her shoulders slumped. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Why did he always do that? Though, if the elf really meant to keep quiet, he wouldn’t have stepped on that twig. He was too careful for that.
She leaned back on her hands, turning her back on him. There went her quiet time.
A small silver flask dropped down into view as Farron dangled it in front of her. She only looked at it for a second before she snatched it out of his hand. It was just what she needed. Her fingers worked just as quickly at unscrewing the top as they did braiding her hair. She lifted it to her lips, without even stopping to smell it, and tilted it up to take a quick sip. She recoiled at the strong taste. Liquor. And potent, exactly what she needed.
“Thanks,” she said, turning to the elf. He sat on the tree next to her, facing the opposite direction. She handed the flask back to him, the cap dangling on a silver chain attached to the corner. “How did you know?”
“It looked like you needed it.” He raised the delicate container to her before taking a sip himself. Simple and somewhat plain, it seemed to suit him somehow.
“More than you’ll ever know.” She eyed the flask, raising an eyebrow in question. Where in the world had he gotten that?
“Sanre’s finest,” he said, admiring the silver container. “Fran’s parting gift.”
“You are full of surprises, my friend.”
“So now I’m your friend?” He jiggled the flask and grinned.
“I’m just upset you kept that hidden for so long.”
“There wouldn’t be any left if that fool knew about it.”
“You better keep your eye on it, now that I know about it.” He offered it again, and she took it, recoiling again after she took a sip. “At least I don’t have to be a lady in front of you,” she said with a slight laugh as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“It’s nice to know you try.”
She handed him the flask and leaned back on her hands again. Dusk was falling on the forest, the sun painting the sky through the trees a vibrant orange. She looked out, focusing on nothing in particular.
He was quiet as he took another hit of the strong spirit. He didn’t say anything for a while, and she was grateful for that.
“It’s so exhausting.” She blurted out finally. She wasn’t even quite sure why. Why did she tend to do that when she was alone with him? Maybe it was because he seemed to be the only one who listened at times. “Pretending to be someone you’re not,” she continued quietly, “Pretending that everything’s alright. I just want to scream sometimes. But that wouldn’t be very lady-like of me, would it?”
“I suppose not.” There was a hint of amusement to his voice.
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“I’m not pretending anything, Claire.”
She looked sideways at him, her eyes narrowing a little. “You pretend you don’t have a past.”
“Wanting to forget is a little different than pretending. I am who I am, much to your distress.” He smiled and handed her the flask.
“That’s disappointing to hear.” She took the container and another sip, then handed it back. Already her body felt hot, her head a little lighter, her worries a little eased. Sanre’s finest, whatever it was, sure didn’t disappoint. She sighed. “I was hoping there would be a more gallant side you’ve kept hidden away somewhere in there.”
He shrugged. “My lady, I’m as gallant as they come. Everyone else is just pretending.”
That made her chuckle. “I don’t know where you get your confidence from.”
He held up the flask again. “The same as every man.”
“I wish it worked the same way for me.” She leaned back on her hands again and looked down at her boots stretched out in front of her. “I wish I could tell him. Maybe not everything, but at least who I really am.”
He took a long swig. Perhaps he didn’t want to hear this. He never did like the General. But she couldn’t stop herself. Who else would listen? The trees? As appealing as that prospect was though, trees didn’t have a flask full of lovely, lovely spirits.
“It’s scary, you know,” she said. “Revealing your true self to someone. And you can only hope they like what they see. I will always be that adopted barmaid from Stockton. There’s nothing I can do to change that. No matter how hard I try to pretend.” Tears started to build up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I thought that as long I was Miss DuBonte in front of him, it would be alright. I could be charming, and he would fall for me. But then what? I could never bring him home; he would never meet my mother. They don’t even exist to him. But in the end, I guess what I’m really afraid of, is that he won’t even like me. The real me.”
Farron was quiet for a while. He tugged at her braid lightly and turned to her, a slight smile on his mouth. “I think Miss Tanith’s charms are much more captivating than Miss DuBonte’s.”
She stared up at the elf, heat spreading to her cheeks, trying to read his expression. What exactly did it mean when he said stuff like that? She could never quite figure out if there something more, or if he was just trying to cheer her up. Did she hope for something more? Just thinking about it made her slightly terrified.
“You shouldn’t have to be someone else for the one you love, Claire.”
With her cheek resting against her shoulder, she peered up at him. How was it possible that the ice prince was capable of saying these types of things? Perhaps there really was a side to him that he preferred to keep hidden.
He raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“What is Farron like in love?” She really was curious. It seemed like it would be such a foreign concept to him. But seeing as though there was a woman in his life once, it couldn’t be that far-fetched.
He smiled, shifting his gaze down. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and
see, my lady.” He stood, the smile turning into his surely now famous smirk.
Claire’s mouth dropped open, meaning to reply, but was truly at a loss for words at that. What in the world was that supposed mean? Her eyebrows scrunched together as she puzzled it out.
He leaned down and held the flask out in front of her.
Hesitantly, she took it.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” he whispered close to her ear.
A chill went down her spine. She tensed, gripping the silver container tight in her hands.
“Good night, Claire,” he said, and then he was gone.
Tears fell from her eyes, streaming lightly down her cheeks. Confusion racked her mind more than ever. It was bewildering. But deep down she knew. How could she not? But she couldn’t go there with him. Not with him. Could she?
20
“Well, if you boys won’t be needing me.” Claire stood up and brushed the leaves from her pants.
Bren had asked Aeron to show him some archery techniques. Much to Claire’s dismay and very much to Aeron’s delight, he gladly obliged. Wanting to observe, Claire stuck around, watching quietly from the sidelines while being almost wholly ignored. Boys and their toys.
Archery not being her primary interest, Claire dismissed herself, garnering only a nod from the men. Now would have been the perfect chance to escape if only the other elf was thrown into the mix.
She made her way through the thinning forest back to the camp they’d set up earlier. Much to her surprise, the elf in question sat on a log in front of the fire as he unwrapped the bandage on his left arm.
She hesitated, heat slowly rising to her cheeks. After their little talk the other night, she had a hard time facing him, only doing so once to return the small silver flask. The fact that it was half empty by then only added to her embarrassment. But why was she in the first place? It was only him. Though some of the things he said to her that night weren’t entirely bad. Unexpectedly sweet really, filling her head with unnecessary thoughts. Scary thoughts. The Ice Prince was melting, and she wasn’t so sure she hated what she saw.
With a deep breath, she stepped forward. He didn’t look up, but she was sure he knew she was there.
“I can help.” She smiled broadly and straddled the log next to the elf. Mother definitely wouldn’t approve of her seating preference.
Farron glanced at her, eyeing her with suspicion. “I think I got it.”
Claire knocked his hand away and grabbed his arm. “I have to start repaying my debt somehow.”
He studied her for a moment, then shrugged and looked away.
She began to unwrap the bandage but realized she had no idea what to do. The most she’d ever had to deal with was a cut finger occasionally in the bar. Mother always called for Mr. Shubert, the town’s doctor, for anything serious-- or just took care of it herself.
“Well, that doesn’t look so bad.” She examined the shallow cut just above his elbow. The wound had scabbed over but had opened up a little from exertion. “What happened to that salve you used that one time?”
“It seems we lost more than the paddles down the river, my lady.” Farron looked sideways at her, an eyebrow slightly raised.
“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped. She supposed that was her fault as well. After glancing around the camp, she jumped up and grabbed a canteen and the shirt they had used to help hide the mark after the thieves attacked. “I knew I saved this for a reason.” She sat back down, grabbed his arm again and stretched it out. “No use crying over it now, right?”
Farron winced slightly as she poured some water onto the wound. It seemed like elves didn’t heal any faster than humans. That was interesting to know. All those stories about them being special, but really, they seemed no different than humans. However, that could be the result of losing their magic. If they were to get it back, would they be any different? It could explain why the elves were so anxious to discover what her powers really were.
“Come to think of it, I’m surprised you could get injured at all.” She began to wipe the wound dry with a corner of the shirt. “I mean, you’re the toughest person I know.”
His gaze remained on the fire in front of him. “Yeah, well, even I can be caught by surprise sometimes.” A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Three against one just isn’t fair, you know?”
“What happened?” Claire gripped his arm, fingers digging into his skin. “You didn’t kill them, did you?”
“Was I not supposed to?”
Her hands squeezed his arm tight as her stomach dropped along with her jaw. Farron flinched and quickly pulled his arm from her grasp.
Then a smirk stretched across his face.
She sighed, took his arm again and began to wrap the shirt around it. Nothing fancy, but it would have to do.
“I almost believed you for a moment.” She jerked the bandage tight around his arm, making him flinch again.
He was quiet for a few moments and then asked, “Do I frighten you, my lady?” His voice held a rather sad note.
Claire smiled and said, “I’m shaking in my boots!” But the look he shot at told her he wasn’t joking, and the amusement quickly faded from her face. She hadn’t thought he was serious about the question. “Honestly,” she began, “you do sometimes.” He tensed slightly, but before he could say anything she continued, “But I’m more afraid of what you can do, what you’re capable of, than who you are. I don’t believe you are a bad person at all, even though you seem to want others to see you that way.”
“I wouldn’t hurt you, you know that, right?”
She looked at him for a moment, studying his profile as he stared into the fire, finding only a hint of uncertainty on his carefully controlled face. A slight smile spread across her lips and she looked back down at the task at hand. “I know.”
She could almost feel his tension melt away. She wasn’t sure why he cared enough to ask, or why it would even matter. Wouldn’t it be better for a prisoner to be scared of their captor? Besides, she already knew he would never hurt her, not on purpose anyway.
They grew quiet once again. Now that she had the elf alone, it would be the perfect time to ask him about the bracelet. But given his affinity for secrets, she may have to wait until she had some more leverage. Then she could pry the truth from him. So instead, she remembered something else that Fran had spoken of that night.
“Who was she, Farron?” Her eyes concentrated on her hands as she tied the bandage off.
“Who was who, my lady?”
“You can relax. Fran told me about her already.”
He looked at her, eyes slightly wide, before a smug expression slipped into place. “That woman always did have loose lips.”
“So there was a woman!” Claire exclaimed, her back sat straight in excitement. She knew it! She couldn’t believe that trick would work.
Farron sighed, picked up a stick at his feet, and started to poke at the fire. “My lady, you’re starting to get rather sly.”
“So, what was she like? I think she’d have to be quite the woman to put up with you.” She leaned back on her hands, pleased that she’d found out one of his precious secrets.
“That she was, my lady.”
Claire waited for more but he remained silent. “Is that all?”
“What else is there to know?”
“Well, was she a human? Where was she from? What happened to her?” She leaned forward towards the elf.
“I’d rather not talk about it.” He threw an unhappy glance her way. “Why are you so interested, anyway?” He leaned in close, studying her face.
Heat flushed her cheeks. Why was she? “I’m not.” She swung her leg over the log to face the warm glow of the fire. She hated that she was becoming increasingly curious about the damn elf’s past. Why did he try so hard to hide it anyway? Was it just plain curiosity? Or did she really want to know? “Tell me about Rodem,” she said, changing the subject.
“You’ll find out soon enough. We should
arrive there the tomorrow.”
“Already?” She quickly looked back at the elf. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’ve been rather hard to find lately.” He broke up the stick he’d been playing with and threw it into the fire.
She had been avoiding him recently. In fact, she’d almost done it earlier when she saw him sitting by the fire. She opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say. So, she settled for silence instead. Then her stomach fell as she realized that their journey with Bren would end in Rodem. The fire offered an entrancing distraction as she delved into her thoughts. What would happen then? Would she have to say goodbye to him forever?
Millions of questions seemed to race through her mind at once. “Fare,” she said, her voice a little breathy. She didn’t like to think too much about their mission and the fact she was a prisoner, but maybe, just maybe she could finally get some answers. “What do the elves plan to do with me?”
“I don’t really know, my lady.”
“Am I going to be a prisoner for the rest of my life?” Just thinking about it was enough to make her nauseous. “What can I do for them that someone like you can’t?” She held her right hand up between them. “It’s all because of this thing, but what if it’s not what they thought it would be? Then what? Am I just going to be cast aside like some sort of useless object?”
The elf looked at the mark, his eyes avoiding hers. “I don’t know, Claire.” He gently lowered her arm.
Claire dropped her gaze. Worry sat heavy on her shoulders. That’s what happened when she ignored her problems for so long. They start to build up and gather dust, waiting for her to open the door again. They don’t ever really go away unless she faced and dealt with them.
“Would it make you feel better if I let you beat me up?” An amused look swept over his face. “I know how much you’ve been wanting to.”
She looked up at the elf, surprised at the sudden change in subject, and laughed softly at the ridiculous offer. “Why, how did you know?”