Page 42 of The Ivory King

It was a simple ceremony. The gold cord was looped around our wrists, all four of them, and the grand cloisterer blessed our betrustment with a baleful expression. Over in the space of a spring swallow call, it was official. We all smiled uncomfortably as we kissed each other on the cheek and then crept off while Eldacar studied us intently.

We met in the bailey an hour later, sleep-deprived but oddly invigorated. I felt as if I finally had some traction on the slippery road that had become my life. I had a queen, or would if the need arose, and I had V’alor. And Merrilyn. Whom I still wasn’t sure wouldn’t rather impale me on that massive broadsword of hers rather than look at me.

Pasil and Beiro awaited us, all four horses saddled as well as two disgusted-looking mules for the lady and her maid.

I made my way to Beiro and placed my hands on his squared shoulders. “I am so sorry for your loss, my friend.” His green eyes flared at the endearment. “V’alor has told me of the deaths of many in the village but knowing that Thavus is alive must bring you some comfort.”

“It does,” he conceded even though his eyes held great sorrow still, his gaze darting to the two women in leather armor petting their mules. “The mules will slow us down, but they promise to do their best to keep up. They are named Aja and Wisp.”

The brown mules brayed when the petting ceased, making Atriel bare her teeth at her long-eared companions.

“All will be well. Are you staying with us once we are past the holy barrier?”

“If you will have me. There is nothing this far north for me now.”

I gave his shoulders a thump. “I am glad. You have proven a valuable guide. If you stay in Celear, I shall ensure your name is mentioned far and wide.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, his gaze flicking to Pasil as he and V’alor fell into a rather strenuous conversation. I assumed the announcement of our unconventional pact was being explained. Given the stunned look on Pasil’s face, I was rather sure of it.

“We are to protect the women with our lives. They are both my fiancée. As is V’alor.” Emerald eyes grew to the size of dinner platters. “It is a long story, but know it is a happy circumstance.”

He studied the lady and her maid. “Nobles are odd, but if you wish to be pledged to three others, who am I to comment? They look well suited to protect themselves, your duo of future wives…and husband.”

I gave him a shaky smile and turned. V’alor always looked impressive in his armor. It was the women who had surprised me. Seeing them in fine leather armor had been a shock. Noting the whip on Raewyn’s hip had taken me aback. No gowns of pastel color now and no flowing locks adorned her head, just neat braids tucked into the back of her armor just as my hair was, no dainty slippers. She was dressed for a rough ride and possible danger. Merrilyn, who stood as tall as V’alor and Pasil, was just as intimidating as my guards with her two-handed blade.

Tezen flitted about the women, talking steadily as we thanked the sisters for their graciousness. The mules were restless, as were the horses, and our saddlebags were full. Ours filled with food stuff and Raewyn’s with her precious books, quills, and vellum. Lady Raewyn’s other belongings would be shipped to her in Celear, or Renedith, wherever we ended our journey. With a final thank you to the still unsure grandcloisterer, we saddled our mounts and began the long journey down the lavender steppes.

The ride down was quiet, the sisters in the lavender fields pausing their work to wave at Raewyn as she passed. She wept silently as she called out her farewells, with Merrilyn riding to her left, her gaze locked on the valley far below. V’alor was fixated on the shimmering veil of magical protection as well, each of them trying to see any danger that may lurk just past the barrier. I doubted the assassins would strike in the bright of day so close to the veil. They would wait until we were miles away, sleep beckoning and our guards down. I tried not to dwell on what the night would bring.

Once we passed through the veil, we all withdrew into ourselves, pointed ears—aside from Merrilyn’s—attuned to every sound as we headed south. Beiro was leading us far from the Glotte woodlands, down to the outskirts of Kanazen and then through vast farmlands to Celear. Avoiding the woods seemed a wise move. Now that the rains passed, the rivers should be receding and travel somewhat easier.

Despite our silent ride, every time I glanced at Raewyn, her brown-green eyes were wide. She had not seen Melowynn before, and it was a glorious sight, even at the base of the Witherhorn. If all went as Umeris wished, she would be queen soon. She would make a strong, smart, beautiful monarch. Although her face bore the scars of the widow’s touch, her inner drive to improve the future of all elves shone through the blotchy markings. Beauty was truly found in the heart and not in the looking glass.

Night arrived with speed and with it, the threat of those that moved in shadow and deceit.

THE MOONS WERE SLIVERS AS WE MADE CAMP, twin slices of pure white in a sky adorned with a thousand twinkling lights.

We’d ridden hard and fast, or as fast as two mulish asses would go. They were surefooted beasts, but when they wished to stop, they stopped and would not budge.

“They are not accustomed to long distances,” Beiro explained as he curried the mules while V’alor and Merrilyn set up perimeters around our little area. We’d chosen a clearing not far from a cart path. A small fire burned in the center of our sleeping mats. “They’re used for pulling carts of lavender from the steppes to the storage sheds behind the rookery.”

Raewyn verified our guide’s claim. “How does he know all of that?” she asked in a whisper when Beiro fell silent, probably speaking with the mules with his mind.

“He possesses beast-speak magicks,” I explained as I pulled a roasted red squirrel from the crackling fire and handed it to her. “Your dinner, my lady fair.”

Her smile was bright. “Thank you, my lord. You do set a most exquisite table.” She waved a hand at the spotty trees on the side of the mountain. The air had a bite to it.

“Only the best for my future bride,” I teased gently, and she nudged me softly with her elbow. With delicacy, she began pulling the meat from the bones and placing the greasy bits into her mouth. I did the same. Tezen had eaten a whole leg andpromptly fell asleep curled into Sirdal’s long mane. Her watch would begin at midnight with Pasil, who was seated under a scraggly pine chewing on a tough squirrel leg as he watched Beiro intently.

“This is perhaps the most challenging meat to chew that I have ever encountered,” Raewyn said after wiping her fingers on her armor. The fat would only serve to condition the leather since we had no tallow, which was preferable. Courtly manners dissipated on the road.

“I once had a slice of rippled seal meat at a state dinner for the Sandrayan vahasi that makes this old squirrel seem like the finest cut of lamb,” I commented between bites. Thinking of butter called up the memory of last night’s lovemaking with V’alor. Not that I needed the mention of butter to do that as my ass was quite tender from being on the saddle all day after riding my lover so boisterously last night. “They say that the seals swim down from the uncharted isles to the north every year to calf. They’re massive things with tusks the size of a young child and blubber thick as my thigh with meat as tough as boot leather. The Sandrayan cooks coated the meat with savory spices that did little to make the chewy slab palatable but the vahasi and his partner seemed to enjoy it.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I dislike spicy foods. The sisters grow peppers that are bright orange, the seeds imported from the Black Sands Isles. I sampled one just once and vowed never to touch another again. There was not enough goat milk at hand to wash the fire off my tongue.”

I chuckled softly. “It seems our tastes in seasonings are similar. Widow Poppy will be pleased.” I paused then sighed. Perhaps if I wore the crown one of my first acts as king, other than sorting out the mess with the upset Sandrayan court and settling the uproar that the new ruling family would not be the usual the elder elves were accustomed to, would be to inviteWidow Poppy to be the king’s personal cook for no one made better honey cakes than Widow Poppy. She would enjoy ruling over the kitchens of Castle Avolire with her wooden spoon. I missed her. I missed my life at Renedith. Things had been much easier when I was a lad whose only concerns were hiding from my dance instructor and following Kenton into the farmlands to peek at badger pups and eat too many brickle berries. Those days were long gone now…

“You look lost, Aelir,” Raewyn commented, bringing me back from my childhood memories with a start.

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