Page 1 of The Ivory King

MANY ASPECTS OF BEING THE FUTURERULERof the vills of Renedith were quite pleasant.

Riding my dapple mare, Atriel, through the verdant hills of our lands, playing a game of lock knee with the old men in the village square, and spending hours in the woods with Kenton and Beirich, learning the ways of the druidic elves. Sparring with V’alor, listening to ribald jokes over a cold glass of frost wine with Tezen, our only female pixie guard, or spending a quiet eve reading in the library with V’alor discussing the old elven masters’ poetic prose.

All of these endeavors were pleasant. Incredibly so.

Hosting parties where I was pinned down by the vills’ overseer, a portly man with sea gems fastened along the outer edge of his pointed ears down to the lobe where they dangled like fishing lures, was not one of them.

Yet, these viciliennes, our monthly meetings with the upper echelon of our vills’ government, were part of my ever-increasing duties. Since I reached eighteen three seasons ago, my grandfather had begun heaping more and more diplomatic missions and frivolous celebrations on me. While I knew they were necessary, even vital, to ensure our vills were properly run, the tithes gathered regularly, and the people happy, I would much rather be playing at swords with V’alor. Doing anything with V’alor Silverfrond brought me the most joy, for he was astriking male possessed of short hair the color of chestnuts, eyes as soft brown as a doe’s pelt, and a body honed from years of military training. His humor was dry but plentiful and he was kind to those who toiled in the hot sun to keep our castle fed and protected. He was the sole thing I dreamed of at night and the first face I sought in the morn, but he was as out of reach as the twin moons that shone over Melowynn. For he was a mere royal guard and I a future ruler of a noble house.

And yet I yearned for him…

My sight darted from the bright green and blue gems in the ears of vills overseer Jassin Runewind to find my protector. He was close at hand, as always, possessed of noble bearing even if his blood was as common as the fishmonger who visited our keep weekly. Our ranks were filled with handsome males and females, but none looked as beautiful in their copper armor as V’alor, and they paled in comparison to him.

Funny how often the man crept into my thoughts. In truth, he lived in my mind always. If only I could get him to see me as more than that knock-kneed child whom he had looked after and as the man that I now was.

“Lord Aelir, I do think that we should aspire to be less willing to allow so many humans into our vills.” I tore my sight from my guardian to level a stern look at Runewind. He paled considerably, for he knew my stance on bigotry. I carried the same mind as my parents had before me. A vills only grew stronger by bringing in all races. “I know that you have spoken out against such measures at the monthly royal audiences at Castle Willowspirit and that our beloved ruler, King Raloven, feels as you do about accepting less—”

“Jassin, I will hear no more of barring any who seek to call Renedith home,” I snapped, and his thin eyebrows flew up his brow. He had no hair for them to get lost in, so they sat there,atop his bald pate, like twin centipedes quivering in a cold Witherhorn gust.

“I do beg forgiveness, my lord, but there are many refugees seeking to enter our vills and they are perhaps carrying—”

“They are perhaps carrying skills that our vills sorely need. Every season more children are born, which means more farmers and workers are needed. Each person seeking to enter Renedith is checked by healers to verify there are no signs of illness present. They swear fealty to the Stillcloud name. They are good people. I will not see humans or wood elves treated with less respect than we give our hunting dogs when they arrive from the other noble houses for breeding.”

“But, Lord Aelir, your grandfather—”

“Is not in charge of immigration. This is the last time that I shall hear this complaint from you, Jassin Runewind. Now, go enjoy the sweet honey cakes that Widow Poppy and the kitchen staff toiled over. Several of the young cooks suffered stings gathering the honey for your enjoyment.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you for hearing me out.” Jassin placed a fist on his chest, lowered his chin in respect, and stalked off with his resplendent robes of blue whipping about his thick calves.

I sighed dramatically as I rubbed at the sore spot my silver crown always caused above my right ear. Grandfather had assumed I would grow into the diadem that my father had worn as heir to the vills, but I had not. Aye, I had grown surely, but my frame was not that of my sires. I was more my mother’s child. Willowy and lithe as the court bards who penned silly songs about me liked to sing. Yet, sore spot or not, I wore the coronet of hammered silver with pride even though it weighed heavily on my spirit at times.

“Are you suffering a hemicrany?”

I smiled softly at that deep, familiar voice. He was teasing. He did that often with me, far more often than society would say was fitting. “Aye, I am suffering from a splitting case of having to explain to intolerant shitwits why we need to accept all who come to our gates.”

“You sound much like Tezen. I knew I should have sent Pasil to be your escort to the orchards for the fall blessing ceremony.” V’alor chuckled as he came to stand just to my left. “The vills overseer only seeks to keep those in Renedith safe from illness. Surely you cannot speak against such a reasoning?”

“No, I cannot, nor do I fault people for fears of plagues. Many here recall with great clarity the sleeping sickness that ravaged our lands when the humans first arrived.”

“The humans do seem to enjoy wallowing in filth,” a less pleasing voice said. I stiffened as my grandfather arrived to my right. Umeris walked with a cane now, his elderly body slowly bending like a willow branch, but his mind was sharp as a kestrel’s talons.

“They only wallow in filth when they are subjugated to living in midden heaps,” I fired back instantly. To say that my grandfather and I had vastly different ideas on how to run Renedith would not begin to touch on our dissimilarities. “Much like any living being that is not given good housing, fair work and wages, and the chance to be educated to better oneself.”

Umeris heaved a mighty sigh, raising one slim hand to push his floor-length silver hair off his shoulder. He’d worn red robes today, simple ones, yet crafted of the finest silks imported from the Black Sand Isles. His crown was ornate, his fingers thick with golden rings heavy with gems mined by the dwarves. Even though it was a temperate day, he had a cape of speckled black and white snowcat fur gifted to him by a visiting yeti dignitary. He did not enjoy the chilly winds or light snows that would settle on our vills over the next few months. Most of his timewas spent in the solariums where he ruled over Renedith with one hand while trying his best to mold me into being a younger him. I liked to remind him that a good potter usedbothhands to form an urn. He would then fire back that some clay was easily formed into a pot while other clay fought against being worked. I rather enjoyed being unruly clay. I felt my rebellious parents would be proud.

“Aelir,mustwe delve into this again?” Umeris snapped his fingers. A courtly apprentice appeared with a padded seat. I turned to aid my grandfather into his chair. He waved me off and shot V’alor a pithy look. “As for you, I suggest you find your underlings and explain to them that the food is not for the royal guard. I have never seen a pixie eat so many plum tarts so quickly. How she can even fly as bloated as she must be is a mystery even Ihdos cannot unravel.”

“My Grand Advisor,” V’alor said as he hurried off to find Tezen and remove her from the pastry table. A member of the pixie court she may be, but our purple princess was a wild spirit when it came to sweets and sex.

“You should mingle,” Umeris said after a moment of me standing at his side. “Move among the ones who will be reporting to you soon.”

“Soon? Please, Grandfather, you have stood the tests of many centuries’ worth of gales, snows, and landslides. Your roots are too deep and your bark too craggy for you to tip over anytime soon.”

“Likening me to a tree is not the compliment you think, Grandson. Trees are immovable.”

“Yes. And so are you.” I bent low to kiss his weathered cheek and left him to glower at my back as I moved among governmental officials, tax collectors, catchpoles, bailiffs, and liners. I spent the rest of the afternoon among those who kept Renedith functioning smoothly. V’alor, who had gone off topluck his sugar-drunk guard off the pastry table and hand her off to a guard at the doors of the ballroom, had returned to my side. Each step I took, he took one as well, always three feet behind and to my left.

As twilight fell over the vills, Umeris rose, announced the vicilienne to be over, and ordered the ballroom cleared. I stood at the doors, smiling and shaking hands as the people filed out, most not in the least put out over my grandfather’s curt dismissal. He was aged, even by elven standards, and was afforded some grace when his courtly manners slipped. Of course I was not sure if it was old age that made him act out at times or if he was cunning enough to use his elderly state as a means to be able to be a shitwit. I suspected the latter.

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