Page 16 of The Ivory King

We talked as we walked, Kenton’s ideals and mine aligned well, passing busy castle staff and pages until we were at the door to the kitchen. The rich smell of seasoned beef floated under our noses as inside the massive food preparation area Widow Poppy could be heard shouting at her helpers.

I glanced at Kenton with wide eyes as Widow Poppy tore into someone about using dill on the lamb for dill upset the grand advisor’s palate and bowels. A slim, young elven man rushed out of the kitchen, saw me, bowed, saw Kenton, bowedagain, and then darted off to dry his eyes in private. Widow Poppy brooked no fools.

“Run faster, you dullard, and do not return without the mint this time!” Widow Poppy shouted after the upset lad.

“Let me lead. She is less inclined to use her wooden spoon on me,” I whispered as the head cook continued to rail and toss pots about. “Good day, Widow Poppy,” I exclaimed as I entered the kitchen. The heat inside this room was always stifling. The staff all stalled, bowing in respect, aside from the short, stout elf with flecks of flour on her cheeks. Widow Poppy stood by the massive spit-roasting hearth, her hands on her substantial hips, red curls tucked under a white cap, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she supervised two spit boys slowly turning two lambs over the fire. The hearth was huge, easily large enough for four grown men to stand in. It was one of two, the other slightly smaller, with a low fire under a hefty black cauldron.

“Get back to work, you gawkers. There is bread in the ovens that need to be taken out and pheasants that yet need to be plucked,” she said to the workers. They sprang into action. Kenton and I smiled sweetly at the head cook as rich lamb juice dripped from the evening meal to the flames under it, sending delicious plumes of smoke into the air. A wild boar hung over in the corner, waiting to be cleaned, as well as several hares, and a dozen or so game birds. Barrels lined the walls as did thickets of drying herbs hung from the hand-hewn wooden rafters. Thick oaken tables dotted the room, most covered with flour and bowls, berries from the castle garden, and differing kinds of pottery. One girl was in the far corner churning butter, another worked on rolling out thin pastries, and a pair of young men were coming in and out of the rear door toting firewood for the ovens and hearths.

“Widow Poppy, what a joy it is to see you again,” I opened with as I strode to the tiny woman with the huge spoon in herhand—she was never seen without it and everyone in Castle Willowspirit had felt it on their ass or hands at least once including myself, Kenton, and even Umeris but his slap came not from stealing honey cakes but from fondling the widow’s generous backside many years ago—and gave her a courtly bow. “The lamb smells delicious.”

“It would smell better if the halfwits that work here knew one herb from another. Now I shall have to feed the grand advisor quail again this eve,” she said, then sighed wearily. “And pray what brings you two into my kitchen? Can you not simply ring for something as all the other nobles do?”

“And miss looking upon your beauty?” Kenton chimed in and got a scathing look from the head cook. Several of the helpers tittered. Widow Poppy threw glares around the steamy room and all giggles stopped instantly.

“You two have grown in stature but not in maturity,” Widow Poppy scolded us as she had for years. “There are some gingerbread loaves cooling on the sill and some pottage and pig stew in the cauldron. Help yourselves then vacate lest my helpers trip over their tongues and plunge into the fire.”

After helping ourselves to bowls of pottage and pig stew and warm slices of gingerbread, we were chased out the back door like common helpers. Something that always made Kenton and me chuckle. Carrying our bowls in one hand and a cloth with fat slabs of gingerbread in the other, we made our way to the shade of a mighty red oak that overlooked the training grounds.

“Oh well, imagine us finding our way to this side of the keep. What a shock. Truly, I am beyond surprised,” Kenton teased as we took a seat at the base of the tree to watch the guards drilling. V’alor was leading the training exercises, clad only in tight-fitting breeches and his undershirt. A sight that I had yet to tire of and doubted I ever would. His dress was much different from mine. His station called for such and so, while he was commonlyoutfitted, I wore a pomegranate tunic, fine leggings, and boots with silver buckles that matched the eating dagger sheath on my hip.

The men were also in linen shirts and coarse trousers, all with hair cut short as was dictated by doctrine. Only nobles wore their hair long in Melowynn. One of many differences betwixt us and our woodland cousins who all had long white hair, no matter if they were a stonemason or wilder warden. Of course they braided theirs and we did not, but it was just another way of ensuring that those with regal blood were never mistaken for working class. It was beyond ridiculous, but hair was far down on the list of things that needed to be changed in our lands. With Ihdos’ blessing, I hoped to live long enough to see sweeping changes in our vills, and hopefully throughout Melowynn. For such advanced people, we clung to wildly backward thinking at times.

“Perhaps I may have been told that the guards were practicing wrestling moves this afternoon before they moved into throwing stones,” I offered nonchalantly as we sat in the shade to eat and enjoy the scenery.

“Ah, would that same knowledge of the guards’ schedule be the reason that you had little time to break your fast this morn?” Kenton asked as he balanced his bread on his knee so he could begin pushing the chunks of meat in his stew aside, intended for the staff and not us, into his mouth.

“I have no idea what you mean,” I replied as I chased a large turnip around in the thick brown gravy. I had always enjoyed the simpler fare that the workers in the castle were fed, sometimes much more than the grander fare we were served. Although the Widow Poppy’s salmon pie was a favorite meal of mine and made only for the heir and grand advisor. So yes, I did enjoy being noble born at times. I suppose that made me a rather lackluster fighter for the common people.

“You may play at being innocent, but I know you better than most, my lord. Also, I took note of the markings on your neck and ribs when we took the students to the pond to find willow skippers for research and you decided to take a swim.”

Oh. Well hells. I might need to speak to V’alor about his love marks. “He forgets that my flesh is delicate as a water blossom’s petal.”

Kenton snickered into his stew. “I am glad to see that you have not lost the ability to jest about yourself. And, my lord, I am happy for you and him. V’alor is a good man, just and virtuous, and deeply enamored of you. Beirich and I see his feelings for you whenever he glances your way.”

I felt my cheeks warm. “He is truly a valorous and selfless man.” I poked at a fat carrot resting beside a chunk of pork. “If only he did not think of himself as being lesser simply because of his birth.”

A shout went up from the men. One lay on the ground on his back as a flitting purple pixie flew in circles above the downed guard, celebrating with hoots and dirty words. How a mite the size of Tezen could drop a full-grown elven man was nothing short of miraculous.

“He will someday come to realize that it matters not what blood a person has in their veins. What is of the most import is what resides in our hearts.”

I nodded at his wisdom. “You are, as always, a fine man to converse with. My secrets are safe with you.”

“Well, to be honest, my lord, the fact that you and V’alor are lovers is not much of a secret to anyone with eyes in their head.” He nudged my elbow with his. That was when a passing page spied us sitting in the dirt. Within seconds of his wide eyes falling on us and him haring off a plethora of staff appeared with small brooms to sweep our backsides, a table, two chairs, apitcher of chilled apple juice, and a small lad with a large feather fan to cool us.

The guards watched in silence as all of this unfolded, then, as one, clapped a fist on their chests and went into the barracks so as not to foul our luncheon with their sweaty, dirty, hard bodies. I was greatly disgruntled but thanked the staff just the same. All the guards disappeared aside from Tezen, who flew over, coated in sweat, dust, and a few droplets of blood, to join us. Being of royal pixie blood, she was always welcomed at any meal, but she generally preferred to stay with the soldiers she served with. Tezen Plumwax was not the standard pixie princess that one normally met at court.

“Lady Plumwax,” Kenton and I said in unison, both of us rising as the pixie darted around the large fan to sit on the edge of one of our wooden bowls. She was, as my grandfather liked to say, a horrific mess. Black hair tangled, round face smeared with dirt and sweat, her tunic and tiny breeches coated with dust mixed with blood.

“Ugh, stop that shit. I’m no lady.” With that, she reached into the dregs of our stew to pluck a carrot out of the now chilly fare. “I am starved, though.” I nodded at her to avail herself of the food that remained. “Please, sit down. Oh shit.” She dropped the carrot, rose into the air, and then greeted me as one of my elite guards normally would. “My lord Aelir.” Fist to chest, head bowed in respect.

“Please, Tezen, that is not necessary. In actuality, you are above me in station as you have royal bloodlines, whereas I am merely a nobleman. My first name is acceptable, given our status.”

She glanced up with a frown. “Gah, bloodlines. What griffon shit. Our blood is no better nor worse than Kenton’s or this lad fanning us. But that aside, if your lover were to see me not greetyou as is proper for a guard, or hear me calling you Aelir, I’d be back on latrine duty faster than you can spit.”

My lover. There were no secrets in this castle. Not that I wished for secrecy, but V’alor was surely exasperated to know that even the swineherd knew we shared a bed.

“I have to say those were some impressive combat skills,” Kenton said as he waved a hand at a bee who had just discovered the gingerbread crumbs. “How does a person of your stature drop a full-grown elf to the dirt?”

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