Page 12 of The Ivory King

“Lord Aelir! Your guard captain approaches!” Joralf called up to me. I shook off my wandering thoughts to find V’alor striding toward me, his jaw tight, his dark eyes locked on the valet, trying to hide behind my mare. The sun glinted off his dark hair and armor. How anyone could not sit in awe of his masculine beauty, I did not know. The man was beautiful. Ugh. No, I was furious with him.

I sat straighter, threw my shoulders back, and turned my nose up into the wind.

“You wished to see me, my lord?” V’alor asked, his gray cape flapping around his stiff body. “There was a note left by a messenger…”

“I am not a messenger! I am Lord Aelir’s shield bearer!” Joralf shouted, then skittered back behind Atriel when V’alor flung a heated glower at him.

“I wished to speak to you on a personal matter, but your business with the good lady Mossbell and her master of the guards superseded my wishes.”

V’alor glanced up at me in confusion. “No others take precedence over you, my lord.”

I shot him a quick glance. He looked sincere, which he normally always was. Ihdos be damned! “I’m sure that whatever you wished of me can be relayed now.”

Atriel reached out to try to nip a sleek gelding that one of the Dewfall cousins sat upon. I gave her braided mane a tug.

“I wish to know why you are seeing the castellan of Castle Moonsweald,” I stated, perhaps a bit too loudly, for several contestants looked my way. “If you wish to leave the employ of the Stillcloud family, there is no need to sneak off like a thief in the dead of night to offer your sword arm to the Mossbells.”

His eyes widened and then narrowed. “You speak in riddles, Lord Aelir. I have no wish to leave the Stillcloud family, for they are dear to me.” I snorted. “I merely went to speak to the lady and her castellan to pass along some information that may affect the security of Lady Bonnalure’s gala this night.”

That sounded incredibly…like V’alor. Fuck. I peeked down at him. His expression was shuttered, but I could see the frustration tightening the lines around his mouth. Fuck. Fuck. “Where did you hear that I thought to leave your employ?” His gaze flew to Joralf. “Was it you who filled my lord’s ear with falsities? Mark me, little weasel, if I discover you were spreading lies, I shall cleave you in twain, then feed the two halves to the ravens.” Joralf teetered over. My bow and quiver fell into the dirt as my chosen bow bearer lay face down in the dust. I rolled my eyes to the quick-moving clouds. “Perhaps you should have chosen a man to carry your weaponry instead of a ferret.”

“Perhaps you should have—”

The rest of my tirade was cut short by the opening of the gates. V’alor, always the gentle elf, walked around Atriel, gathered my bow and quiver, handed them up to me, and then tossed Joralf over his shoulder like a sack of boiled turnips.

“We will discuss this later, my lord Aelir?” V’alor asked with the innocence of a newborn lamb.

“Yes, of course. Take him into the shade and revive him.” I touched my heels to Atriel’s sides and rode off, trying to find the inner calm that I was usually known for. This wild, impulsive, insecure Aelir was a stranger to me. As the contestants trotted about the oval track, waving and smiling to the nobles, I was trying to calm myself. Jagged nerves did not aid in precision shooting. Even Atriel was edgy. She was picking up on my emotional state. I had no clue why I had leaped to such a wild conclusion about V’alor. Heaving a sigh, I had to accept a fact that Kenton had passed to me after his marriage. That love had the power to make even the smartest man act like a pickled eel now and again.

“HAVE YOU EVER SEEN SOMEONE MISSall the targets with such amazing accuracy?!”

I cut into my seasoned fowl as the howls of my friends, and that is a term that I was considering revising, continued to float to the rafters of the main hall.

“It seemed as if his eyes were shut,” Lariam said so loudly surely those in the back of the hall heard him. The urge to stab him with my meat dagger was strong. “But then I looked, and no, they were wide open. Tell me, Aelir, did you think that today was a game bird hunt, and that was why your arrows flew into the air?”

Luchas slapped me on the back. I glared down at the food on my round silver platter before spearing a sliver of roasted duck and meeting their gleeful gazes. Twenty sat at the head table as honored guests: me, as a representative of the Stillcloud family, and Bonnalure’s fiancé as the face of the Dewfall clan. Among us were various dignitaries of the local lands as well as the king’s secretary, Le’ral Fylson, an esteemed elf and retired warrior who was seated on the right hand of the lady of the manor. Rumors abounded about Le’ral and the king. I paid those titterings no mind for who anyone took to their bed was no concern of mine. Granted, the lack of a royal heir did worry the older nobles, for if the monarch should die without offspring, then chaos would ensue. But King Raloven was still in his prime. He hadcenturies to find a queen who would gift him a child to wear the crown. Le’ral and I had spoken briefly before the staff had begun serving the meal. He’d asked about my grandfather. I’d told him he was as well as could be expected in his advanced years. The secretary smiled—a handsome smile from a handsome man—and assured me that Umeris was still possessed of many years. I nodded politely. I was sure of that. My grandfather was too cantankerous to expire.

“Indeed, I was aiming at the flocks of ducks flying over, for I have seen you eat before and knew that the kitchens would need more fowl so the king’s envoy would not go hungry,” I replied as I waved my bite of perfectly seasoned duck in the air.

All at our end of the table laughed aloud, the seemingly endless supply of wine and ale already showing in their actions and volume. As the young men and women around me ate and made merry, I looked back over my shoulder. V’alor stood several feet behind me, along with a handful of the Mossbell guards. Silently watching, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, he would meet my look and lower his head as was the norm.

We’d not had the chance to speak since my debacle at the archery contest. Even Atriel had been upset with me and had nipped my ass when I handed her to a stable hand. The bite was justified. Perhaps she should have bitten me harder. Gods, I was a fool. V’alor must think me a total ass.

“So, Lord Aelir, rumor has it that your correspondence with the Frostleaf maid has been going on for many seasons,” a young Mossbell cousin, P’athel her name was, leaned around Lariam to ask. She looked a great deal like the rest of the Mossbells in her bright lilac party gown. For some reason, they all dressed in the same tones for gala events. I found it rather silly, but then again, I found much of the ways of my fellow nobles frivolous. P’athel was still a child in my eyes, no olderthan twelve or so seasons, but had finally been freed of the nursery to attend fine dinners.

“Yes, that is true,” I was happy to reply. Raewyn and I had become friends over the years, and what had at one time been forced upon me was now an enjoyable endeavor. Raewyn was a clever young woman, sharp-witted, well-educated, and possessed a love of all peoples. Which was why, I assumed, she was happy far away in a temple high in the Lavender Steppes of the Witherhorn Mountains to serve among the sisters of Ihdos. “We have been writing to each other since we were children.”

“Is it true that her skin is marred by the widow’s touch sickness that eradicated the Frostleaf clan save for her?” P’athel’s large blue eyes were locked on me.

Everyone at our end of the long table fell quiet, the ribbing about my terrible performance ending suddenly. Each and every pointed ear was turned to me and my reply.

“I cannot say. I have only seen a small oil of her that we exchanged last year, and in that, she was quite lovely. If she is marred by the fungus that wiped out her clan before the cure was discovered, it matters not for she is a woman of great refinement and would never ask such an indelicate question at a dinner party,” I replied with just enough bite that P’athel shrunk back into her seat like a night lily come morn.

“I, too, have wondered about your relationship with the Frostleaf heiress,” Lariam interjected after taking a sloppy swig of wine. “My mother insists that your grandfather is working to secure her hand for you in marriage. Her estates are rumored to be vast and encompass a third of the rich forests of Knight’s Way.”

“Mm, I, too, have heard that,” Luchas chimed in before I could comment. “I heard that the lands are held in trust for her by the sisters of Celinthe, and once she is betrothed, the sisters will turn her and her massive vills over to her chosen husband.Imagine inheriting such a windfall. Aelir, when you marry her, your vills will triple in size! Perhaps I should take up writing to her! If her face is scarred, I will simply blow out the candle before planting my seed!”

“You would first have to know how to write like a gentle elf and not scribble like a brat of four seasons,” Lariam teased his twin.

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