Page 21 of The Ivory King

“He tends to be possessive of me but fear not. He has never fed any body parts of any well-behaved staff to any birds. Now, we should work on the knots in my hair before they dry,” I said, smiling at the soft mutterings of my borrowed valet as he expertly began to gently move a comb through my knee-length hair.

“He speaks as if he were your consort,” Joralf offered as he combed, then worked some scented oil into my hair. “But he is just your guard captain. Is he not?”

“He is not just that, he is my life’s joy, and we are one of heart and soul,” I replied, feeling his fingertips on my scalp stall for a mere second. “Do you find that appalling?”

“No, my lord Aelir, I think he is the luckiest elf in Melowynn.”

Funny, for I thought thatIwas the luckiest elf in Melowynn for having V’alor’s love.

“You smell like a prostitute’s quiff,” Umeris remarked as we made our way to the royal hall. V’alor and Pasil accompanied us. Tezen, much to her upset, had been summoned to the pixie king’s suite where she had been dressed down and guilted into shedding her armor to dress accordingly. I’d not heard the outrage, but Pasil said that the air was so thick with vulgarities that many of the guards blushed. I scanned the long line in the white hall to find her, but I could not spy any of the pixies.

“It is scented oil from the stores of the king’s own perfumer,” I answered, keeping my pace at a crawl so that Umeris, in his long robes and pointed slippers did not get his puffy feet tangled and fall down in front of his peers of the realm. “You are always encouraging me to use more courtly ways.”

“By courtly ways, I meant ideals, not smells,” he snapped back and smiled at an older woman in deep purple robes. “Ugh, that one should not even be here given her son has been cited by the city manager for public intoxication and pissing in the fountain of Ihdos,” he whispered to the side.

I threw a fast look at the elven crone in purple, then stared at my grandfather. “And you know this how?”

“I keep an ear to the wind, something that you should do if you ever hope to step into my shoes someday.”

“I would sooner have my feet lopped off and walk about on seal flippers than wear those gaudy slippers of yours. They are a century out of style and too small for your feet. Even the royal healer stated that you should use a wheelchair as Bonnalure does—”

“I do not need a wheelchair! I am not a cripple!” His ire flared brightly and then, just as quickly, he got himselfunder control. It would not do to cause a scene in the line to be presented to the king. To be fair to my grandfather and his crossness, the inside of the royal hall was packed tight with elves, all in finery that, if sold, could feed the whole of Melowynn for ten seasons. The air was hot, stuffy, and reeked of floral oils worked into pale skins and scalps. Much like mine, I lamented. “Now, listen to me, boy, when we are announced we are to simply walk to his majesty, bow, and then leave for our seats at the high noble table. Do not sit at the secondary tables, or the third. Your place is beside me at all meals.”

“I know where to sit. I have come to court many times.”

Umeris sniffed, nodded at the ginger-haired ruler of the Witherhorn dwarven tribes who stood ahead of us, and then leaned more heavily on my arm. The doors were closed tightly on the massive hall as a sea storm had blown in with no warning. Winds raged outside, ripping at the palm trees in the gardens and sending the peafowl into their pens to avoid the rain lashing the coast. Last-minute changes to the meal and presentation to the king had to be made when a large palm tree toppled into one of the twenty panels of stained glass in the throne room. The ivory throne was unharmed but rain and water now soaked the room and the tapestries. That led to mass chaos among the staff who had to move the throne, not a small feat, into the royal dining hall. A testament to the workers in the castle as they somehow managed to change direction on the drop of a silver, or a tree, and make the change seamlessly.

And quite a feat—and feast—it was going to be. Small casks of ice wine, dandelion wine, and rich fruity mead were toted about the tables by servers to refill hammered goblets of silver. Each table bowed under the weight of gourmet fare. Platters of dark lichen bread sat amongst appetizers of heavily peppered rolled rabbit haunch and green mushroom filling, dishes of nuts from around the kingdom, small cubes of red melon heavilydoused with honey, and grated nut meat. We elves did enjoy our sweets as did the yeti and dwarves. There were also plates of dried meats and fish served with bright orange fruits from the Black Sand Isles to please the palate of those delegates. The mains would be beasts roasted to perfection in one of the ten kitchens. Wild boar, fatty geese, succulent hams, tiny quails, fish as large as a man filled with heady herbs and golden spinach leaves. For the wood elves in attendance who did not partake in meats, soups created from only beet stock and garden-raised vegetables. The purple soup, a particular favorite of Kenton and Beirich, who were far behind us in line, would be served with hearty buns with thick crusts. My friends would be seated much later than the noble elves but before the city officials. Protocol was all important. Ihdos bless us all if a wood elf might sit his backside next to the heir of a vills to sup. Again, it was all nonsense to me. People were people, let them sit where they wished and enjoy the soup that most in the bowels of Celear would beg, borrow, or steal to take a sip of it.

Still, a breeze would have been pleasant. Sweat rolled down my back. My ruby-red tunic and trousers were heavy, and my newly crafted leather jerkin intricately embroidered with gold swans around each buttonhole let no air pass through. Perhaps I, too, should have worn robes, but only elder elves appeared in public in them now. A breeze on my balls would be delightful.

“Then remember your lessons. My legs ache. Can they not seat the elderly first?” Umeris lamented.

Thankfully, the line was moving quickly, and within a short span of time, I was leading Umeris up the dais to where King Mirolar Raloven sat on the ivory throne, his secretary Le’ral Fylson at his side clad in dark plum and gold tunic and trousers. Both men were striking mature elves. Fylson nodded at those presented to his king with a kind smile but a firm demeanor.

King Mirolar was the opposite of the man who was always at his side. Our king was a regal male with hair in shades of softest red and gold that hung to the floor. His eyes were as green as a clover, his face lean. He had a long nose with a small knob on the end and rather large ears, longer than most and more severely pointed, a sign of our ancestry as fey creatures before the great enlightening took place and Ihdos came to rule over the wild gods and goddesses. He wore a long-sleeved robe of deepest blue and white over white leggings and ivory slippers. Glistening diamonds hung from his lobes and along the shell of his long ears, his svelte fingers bore gold rings heavy with gems from the Witherhorn mines. The silver crown of Melowynn sat comfortably upon his head.

Mirolar was a kind ruler, high-spirited at times, lean and wiry. He loved rich foods and fruited wine, archery, horseflesh, and trying to lead his people forward. A trait that many in Melowynn abhorred as large masses of elves rebuked any kind of change, even if it would benefit them and their progeny. Progeny that our king, at well over six hundred years old, had not produced. Nor did he show any interest in doing so, which gave my grandfather countless sleepless nights.

With his grip on my forearm tight, Umeris did his best to bow before our ruler.

“No, do not go any lower,” King Mirolar called down to us. I rose slowly, easing Umeris back from his knee, and bobbed my head to the king as thanks. “My grand advisors have no need to buckle themselves in front of me. Nor do the heirs to my vills. Aelir, I would like to speak with you over the meal about a few new ideas that I think someone of your forward thinking would find interesting. Please, seat yourself at my left and your grandsire beside you. Le’ral, flag down a servant and have them bring a stool and two pillows for Grand Advisor Stillcloud. Iknow the pain of such foot ailments well. I, too, am plagued with them after I enjoy too much mead or ox roast.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, for the honor of sitting at your table,” I said, Umeris smiling at me as if I had done something of great import. We bowed or bowed as best as we could, and I slowly moved Umeris to the head table. There I saw Tezen seated at the farthest left end of the king’s table, sitting among her family. The pixies’ king, queen, and their seven daughters had their own chairs and a small table, which sat atop the linen runner. Tiny servants flitted about bringing the Plumwax family small bits of food and wine. Tezen shot out of her seat upon spying us. The queen, dressed in bright pink flounces, grabbed her as she rose, tugged her back to her seat, and then gave her a most spirited talking to. The look on Tezen’s face made me smile. It was clear she detested being forced to act the part of the royal court. Her scowl would have stalled a snow ox in full charge.

I nodded at the pixies, giving my upset friend in the too-tight bright yellow ballgown that showed a great deal of her bosom an understanding smile. She bowed her head and then mouthed something that made Umeris cough uncomfortably.

“That pixie is surely not from the loins of King and Queen Plumwax,” Umeris muttered as we made our way to our chairs, bobbing our heads in greeting to the dwarven, yeti, and Sandrayan nobility. I was struck by the beauty of our cousins from the Black Sands. The young ruler was incredibly handsome, with amber eyes and a smile that surely stole many hearts. “I suspect she was a foundling who merely slipped into the pack of royal females and since there were so many, the king and queen took no heed.”

“That is highly unlikely. Tezen is simply not a princess who bows to acting as the other courtly pixies do. I see nothingwrong with expressing yourself,” I replied as a servant pulled out a seat and quickly placed a stool in front of my grandfather.

“Of course you would not. Ah, thank Ihdos.” Umeris sighed, sitting at last and then lifting his legs up and onto the plush footstool after he was eased closer to the table. The king’s seat was a monstrosity of pale ash carved into spirals that climbed several feet into the air. The secretary’s seat was far less grandiose but larger than the chairs we sat upon. “Finally, I may rest.” I sat on Grandfather’s right. V’alor and Pasil took their places behind us, leaving room for the kitchen staff to move and serve while still being close in case they were needed. Not that I suspected anyone would rush the king’s table. The castle was as tight as a good sister’s tuppy to quote the plum princess glowering at her tiny goblet of dandelion wine. “Now, I ask that you do not engage his majesty in fanciful discord tonight. Keep your conversation on simple things such as his peafowl, his horses, and his archery. Do not tread into areas of discontent or things that will push him into acting on your radical ideas.”

A servant filled our goblets with ice wine, the liquid as clear as water, while the aroma was fruity and floral.

“I doubt a young elf from the farmlands would hold much sway over the king,” I replied, lifting the goblet to take a drink. The chill of the wine cooled me as it flowed down into my stomach. I was not even all that hungry as I’d eaten several honey cakes while being dressed, powdered, and coiffed. Two roast boars were placed on the table, massive beasts, holding golden apples the size of my head in their mouths. The king rose from his throne. We all stood, even Umeris, who complained under his breath about just resting his ass before being made to rise. The king and his secretary moved across the room to his table at the front of the hall. When Mirolar sat, then we all retook our seats.

Wine was poured into the royal goblet. A thin waifish girl slipped up between the king and me, took the goblet from the server, and sipped at it. How sad that a good and just ruler had to fear for his life but such were the times we lived in. When the taster nodded and did not fall over dead, the wine was passed to the king. Umeris was tucking his robes around his feet now back on the stool under the table, when Mirolar stood up to lift his goblet into the air. Everyone in the hall rose from their seats.

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