Page 26 of The Pastel Prince

She smiled at me, pointed teeth as white as ivory. “From your mouth to my father’s cranky old, hairy ears.” I lingered for another moment to look upon my mother before I shook free from the urge to hug my family one last time. “You’ll be back, you and Beirach, and we’ll be singing at your wedding.”

My face warmed at the thought. “A wedding is nonsensical. We’ve not even kissed yet. We may not make it out of this—”

“Tut!” She held up a diminutive finger. “No such talk. We will survive. We will kick the ass of that bratty kid of Beirach’s, and wewillcome back here to see you two properly joined. I’ll make it happen.” She darted down to kiss the tip of my nose, then streaked off. I followed the trail of purple particles as they floated in a sunbeam.

“A wedding. From her mouth to your holy ears,” I whispered to the goddess as we made our way to our horses, waiting patiently and unaware of the brutal miles that lay ahead of them.

We rode as fast and as hard as the horses and Eldar could manage. Even with sleeping potions and spells to quicken his healing, his battered body was slow to mend. We stopped more than Tezen liked, but I refused to drive the steeds, or my brother, into the ground. The small hamlet of Swanshire, a collection of perhaps twenty or so wattle and daub homes, was surrounded by rice fields with the craggy Witherhorn range standing sentry. The Verboten hugged the exterior of the area closely, the bogs caused by the shifting of underwater springs fed by the Vilhall River, according to Beirach. And he should know. These were his people. He had spent time here during his childhood as well as when he had been wandering aimlessly after the loss of his wife.

Tezen rode between Atreil’s pricked ears, her enthusiasm for seeing a human colony subdued for some reason. We rode slowly up on the tiny settlement, the smell of wood smoke and musty water tickling my nose. A heavy morning haze hung in the air as several human children appeared in rickety doorways,round eyes wide, as we rode past. I lifted a hand in greeting. A few waved back. Many dashed off into the darkened interiors of their homes to peek at us through rough-hewn shutters. Humans in Melowynn did not live as the city elves did, or even, sadly enough, as the forest elves did. They were looked down upon as disease-ridden third-class citizens. We green-skinned elves were second class, much like the dwarves, yeti, and elusive Sandrayans from the western isles. None were quite as impressive as those who dwelled in massive vills.

“My cousin lives in the last hut,” Beirach informed us, sitting tall in his saddle, my brother resting in his arms. Eldar had refused to be bound into the travois by summoned vines any longer and had staged a rebellion last night. Seeing his mule-headedness creeping back pleased me, even if his stubborn refusal to rest while we covered so many rough miles did not. “Actually, she is my cousin removed a few times.”

I smiled and nodded. Being half human, Beirach would live about four hundred years if he kept himself in good shape, which he did. His human mother would have passed away many years ago. His father had returned to his people after his wife died and was killed by a mad boar while hunting when Beirach had been a newlywed. The man had lost so many dear to him…

“I look forward to meeting her,” I said and meant it. My time spent with, and my knowledge about humans, could fit into a thimble. I hoped to amend that so when I returned to Aelir I could teach him the good things about humans. If they possessed any good things. Surely they must, for Beirach carried their blood, and he was one of the finest men I’d ever met. “Eldar can use a good rest.”

“Eldar is fine. Eldar wishes you would cease discussing him as if he were not even present,” my brother snarled with vigor, even though his face was ashen.

“Apologies,” I replied with a fast look at Beirach, who gently smiled behind Eldar’s grimy head. We all needed soap and water badly. Beirach claimed there was a small hut that sat over a small hot spring nearby that the townsfolk used to steam themselves and bathe. To lounge in a bath of hot water sounded decadent. It was appalling how spoiled I had become living in Castle Willowspirit. “I will address you henceforth.Youcan use a good rest.”

“You have become bossier than I could have ever imagined,” Eldar said, his voice hitching in pain, the headstrong fool.

“I spend my days with a young lad, so I have learned to speak to those who are being childish with a certain tone,” I parried.

“You’re claiming that I’m childish? I’m older than you, Kenton!” Eldar snapped and winced when Beirach pulled Methril to a sudden halt.

A slim human woman emerged from the earthen plaster home, her auburn hair and bright blue eyes nearly identical to Beirach’s.

“You return with elves and pixies this time,” she called out as a skinny cat slunk around her ankles. She wore a simple dress, a heavy apron, and her feet were dressed in thick socks.

“Greetings, Agathe Bronmura,” Beirach called out as a beefy dwarven man stepped out of the home, his black beard down to his belly, his bald pate glossy, and his brown eyes sparkling. “And to you, Bissori Bronmura. Cousin, this man is in dire need of rest and some of your beaver stew.”

“Aye, then bring the poor sod inside out of this mist. Husband, fetch a keg of ale from the root cellar and grab a handful of misty clover that’s gone to mold. He’ll need tea. Come inside then, Beirach, and bring your misfits with you.”

The dwarf grinned up at Beirach. “Good to see you, my man. Here, hand the elf to me.” He reached up. Eldar slithered off the horse, the gelding none too pleased with his dismount. Bissori caught my brother with ease and carried him into the small home like a bride. “Come inside before your cousin bitches about the mist seeping into her rugs.”

“We best get inside,” Beirach said as he dismounted. “I’ll take the horses to the barn. Go inside and see to your brother.”

I sat atop the mare, suddenly reluctant to go inside. Tezen clung to Atreil’s left ear. The horse twitched it violently to shake off the pixie, to no avail. “I promise you that my cousin is a kind, gracious woman who holds no quarrel with elves or pixies. Go. I’ll be along shortly.”

I dismounted. Tezen flew into my hair, then wrapped a few grimy braids around her middle.

“Humans smell funny,” she whispered into my ear when I handed the reins to Beirach.

“That’s the rice patty,” I informed her.

“Oh.” Tezen fell silent as I slowly made my way inside. The interior was warm, cramped, but rich with atmosphere. Eldar was lying on a long sort of settee, already covered with a woven blanket of darkest red.

“Come in, shut the door,” Agathe barked from the fireplace while stirring what I assumed was the mentioned stew. My stomach rumbled at the smell of rich gravy. “Your brother is in need of proper food and some herbal tea to knit the bones. Take off your boots! Have you grown up in a pigsty?!”

“Apologies, my lady,” I hurried to say as I toed off my boots and placed them in a low box beside the door.

“Pfft, I’m no lady. That title is reserved for the city elves,” Agathe replied as she dished up some stew. “Sit down.”

I hurried to plant my ass in a chair by the fire. Tezen stayed bound in my braids like a fancy court hair accessory. “Bissori, goget the ale and the herbs. By all the gods, you stare at that elf as if you ain’t never seen a forest child before.”

“I ain’t never seen onethatshade,” the stout man in homespun trousers and shirt confessed. “Don’t give me that eye of yours, woman. I’m going.”

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