Page 5 of The Ivory King

“Ah, he is shy. Now I see. What you need to do, my backward friend, is make him jealous,” Lariam announced. His twin clapped in boisterous agreement.

“That’s asinine.” I coughed as I reached for a goblet of wine to wash down the suddenly dry chicken clinging to my throat.

“No, it is not, hear me out!” Lariam said, moving to the edge of his padded chair to gaze at me with excitement. “I once was in pursuit of a goose maiden named Pyra.”

“She had a brother named Petra who tended goats and had the thickest cock I have ever seen,” Luchas chimed in around a second chicken leg.

“He was a lovely male even if he did reek of goat buck.” Lariam sighed at the memory. “But Petra aside, Pyra played at being disinterested until she caught me with a friendly milkmaid.”

“I set it up,” Luchas crowed with pride, his chin coated with grease. The sounds of laughter rolled into the keep, the celebration beginning now that some of the early guests had begun to arrive. “We are master plotters.”

The twins grinned at each other. “I’m not sure if V’alor—” I began.

“Oh, surely he will respond with passion if he sees you in the arms of another lover. Lariam is currently bedding a lovely young man from the village. Brawny and fair of face, his name is Riley. He is half-human, but that takes nothing away from his appeal. I say it only adds to it as his bulk is far above what even our most muscular soldiers can attain.”

“Mm, yes, he is quite broad of shoulder. He works in the smithy,” Lariam dreamily said as my mind, usually quite sharp as I liked to think, began to masticate on this plan. Perhaps V’alor did need to see me in the arms of another to ignite his passion. I had seen the desire for me in his gaze dozens of times since I had come into adulthood, yet he denied it even existed.“Why do we not see if we can flush out his feelings for you during the ironwood stag hunt on the morrow?”

“Please tell me you did not bring that green-skinned druid with you? The last time he was here for a fete, he threw himself in front of the winded stag and forbade Lord Dewfall from taking the killing shot,” Luchas asked.

“No, Kenton and his husband are doing research in the Knight’s Way area with their students. They are due back when the moons roll full again to accompany my grandfather and me to the king’s coronation anniversary celebration as envoys for the wood elves.”

I remembered that hunt well. I’d been ten and six, Kenton twenty and six, and his actions had brought much disfavor to our house for months. We’d gotten scathing letters from the other noble houses reprimanding us for allowing our servants such liberties. Grandfather was furious and demanded I write apology letters to the elder Mossbells and Dewfalls. I was happy to oblige. My missives were lacking in atonement, though. They explained that our woodland cousins werenotservants, slaves, or staff but equals, in all ways, and, as such, were free to express their thoughts on hunting or caging the beasts of the wilds. Needless to say, when Grandfather was inundated with ravens carrying more replies filled with shock and outrage, I’d been taken to task. That may have been the first time I had rebelled so loudly and with such veracity. Of course I’d had several privileges stripped away for a moon pass. I had greatly missed my outings and studies with Kenton and Beirich to “allow my thoughts to settle back into more acceptable ways of noble behavior” but I knew that change did not come without sacrifices. To this day, they still have not settled to Umeris’s satisfaction. Something that I took no small amount of joy in as would my parents had they lived. Both were liberal thinkerswho took every opportunity to vex the grand advisor and further acceptance between city and wood elf.

“Praise Ihdos,” they both said in unison.

“Those rheas are such odd elves,” Luchas tacked on before flinging his chicken leg into the fire and plucking a pickled egg from a small round plate.

“They are elves, just as we are,” I replied and got a look from the twins.

“Yes, no, of course,” they hurried to reply as they knew well my thoughts on such thinking. “And yes, before you say it, we apologize for using that term. It is just…” Larium stammered as he tried to explain.

“It is hard to unlearn that which has been taught from birth,” Luchas slipped in.

“Try harder then, my friends, for we shall never breech the chasm between us and the wood elves if we toss about unsavory terminology for our kin.”

They nodded, but I could see they were seconds from rolling their lovely eyes. I worked to smile at them. Both grinned back as my reprimand floated off where most higher thinking went with the Mossbell twins. In one pointed ear and out the other as Beirich would whisper about many of the rather vacant young nobles.

“Right, so back to Riley!” Lariam exclaimed as he and his brother rushed over to sit at my feet, eyes bright with mischief, as they began to plot. I nodded along, unsure if I should even listen to their nonsense, but the longer I thought on it, the more I came to agree that V’alor needed to see that I was a man, not a child, and that others found me desirable. I had tried all other manners of breaking down his defenses and had been rebuffed. If it worked to woo a stubborn goose maiden, then surely there had to be some substance to the plan. Goose maidenswere notorious for being as cantankerous as their long-necked charges, after all…

The following morn, I was bathed, brushed, and dressed by a lovely dark-haired valet by the name of Joralf, who was kind, courteous, and professional. He was also incredibly friendly and offered to start the hunt day by sucking me off. I declined as politely as possible, citing that if I spent, I would be lacking in the vigor required to fell a stag. Which was total flapdoodle as Kenton would say if his students were nearby. But it was a clever enough ruse to get the lithe young man out of my room after he had fussed about. Grandfather had never had use for a valet, and I had picked up that thinking, one of the few things Umeris and I did agree on. Once I’d left the nursery, I dressed myself. Surely I was not so utterly incompetent that I could not tie my own breeches.

“You sound just like him,” I chided myself in the tall, oval-looking glass in the corner of my chambers. My hair was pulled into two long tails that hung down my back to keep it from my face and out of the brambles as we galloped through thick forests. During a hunt or headed into battle was the only time nobles wore their hair in such a manner, for what need of braids did a man or woman of the upper houses need? In truth, I found it quite freeing. My hair was not in my face whenever the wind blew. I eyed myself in the mirror. Joralf had done a fine job helping me dress, even if his hands had lingered slightly longer than was necessary now and again.

My leather armor was deep green to help blend into the woods. Of course, if one was charging about on a horse, was camouflage really important? No, it was not, but the royal leather worker had insisted upon the coloration, and one didnot argue with Morgrath, for she was as formidable as Widow Poppy, our cook. The chest plate was ornate, carrying the Stillcloud arms in the center, all hand-worked into the leather. The bracers were the same dark pine tone as the chest plate. I had forgone pauldrons for ease of shooting with my favored bow. Leather breeches, dark green leather boots, and a finely woven hooded shawl to keep rain off my head completed my ensemble. Outside, I could hear the gathering of horses and other nobles, the braying of hounds, and the shouts of the dog handlers filled the misty air. The assembly had begun, so I rushed to gather my bow and quiver, both elegantly crafted from the darkest cedar wood from the forests of our lands. The bow had been inlaid with a golden swan, our family crest, as had the quiver. They had belonged to my mother, and while the bow was smaller than what most men carried, I cherished it greatly, for my mother was an expert archer. Much better than my father would lament now and again when into his cups.

Running my hand over the inlay, I whispered a good morn to my parents then jogged through the keep, down the stairs, and out into the inner bailey where a massive feast was being prepared for the hunters. The twins and Bonnalure were dressed in light armor and ready for the day. Bonnalure was a good archer who enjoyed the hunts more than her younger brothers. Her saddle was outfitted with a chair back and a sturdy belt. Her steed, a surefooted mare of light brown, was steady and took verbal commands for speed and directional cues. The other guests, those who hunt, were making small talk. I moved among my peers, making light talk with the nobles until the first bell rang.

We then moved to the chapel. A small family shrine set into the western part of the castle. We passed over our bows and quivers to small boys in gray robes who would guard them until prayers concluded.

People were seated by their station, and so I was invited to sit with the Mossbell family as was Bonnalure’s fiancé, Ja’nor Dewfall, who inclined his head as I sat on his left on the cold, hard stone bench. Ja’nor was older than Bonnalure by many seasons, but he still possessed strength and vigor. He had lost his first wife in childbirth after the arrival of his seventh daughter. He needed no more heirs, but he did wish to see his girls raised by a genteel, pureblooded noblewoman, and so the match was made. Bonnalure did not seem displeased with her future husband, for even though his dark hair was thinning and shot through with silver, he was still virile and had a large estate on the edges of the Dewfall’s lands. She would be well-kept and incredibly busy with seven daughters to see over. The choice to take his suit had been hers and, it seemed, all were happy. He gazed upon her with devotion. If only I could see such emotion in V’alor’s eyes…

We chatted in soft whispers until the elder cleric, an ancient elf in gray robes, entered the chapel of Ihdos. All within went to one knee as the cleric moved to a small space before a large, skillfully carved statue of Ihdos, the god of wisdom and intellect. The white likeness towered over the cleric, an elven man with a strong chin, crisp, pointed ears, and hair that puddled about his bare feet. The sun touched on Ihdos, illuminating his face, and we all fell into prayer.

“Light of Ihdos, make me holy,

Save me from temptations,

Caste me from the night,

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