Page 97 of A Crown of Lies

There was a feminine chuckle on Mercia’s right. She turned her head and paused at the sight of the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Or elf, she supposed. Whatever. The elf was tall and willowy with delicate features that oddly reminded her of Katyr. She had the same pretty blue eyes and curly hair, though hers was dark and fell in long curls around her shoulders. Her smile was radiant and dimpled, her lips full and pink. She wore a traditional elvish dress in navy blue with glittering silver flowers. Pearl earrings dangled from her pointed ears.

“Pardon,” she said in the common tongue. “I couldn’t help but overhear. It’s true. Some would say nothing ever does get done. Indeed, the elvish bureaucracy is sometimes its own self-sustaining bit of magic.” She extended a white gloved hand, smiling widely. “Saya Wolfheart-Runecleaver.”

Niro’s wife, Mercia registered, her face flushing slightly with embarrassment as she tried to stumble through a greeting in Elvish. “I’m sorry. My Elvish really is terrible. I’m Mercia Trevisa.”

“It’s quite all right,” Saya said, still smiling. “I enjoy the opportunity to practice your tongue with you.” Saya leaned forward. “And you must be Aryn Velana.”

Aryn bowed. “I am, and pleased to finally meet you, Lady Wolfheart.”

“Oh, please,” Saya said, waving a hand. “You must call me Saya. We’ll all be working very closely with each other, after all.”

“Of course,” Aryn agreed, though Mercia could sense his unease.

“Would you object to me stealing your woman for a moment?” Saya asked of Aryn. “I’ve heard Niro’s speech six hundred times by now, and I’m desperate to rest my feet.”

Aryn’s brow furrowed. Then he nodded once and kissed Mercia on the cheek. “Be safe.”

“She’ll be safe with me, Aryn,” Saya promised, and looped her arm around Mercia’s. “Come. Let the males have their rallies and speeches. I havechocolate.”

“Chocolate,” Mercia mouthed to Aryn excitedly as Saya led her away, mostly just to see him smile.

He did and waved her off, though she could feel his eyes on her until they slid around the corner and out of view.

Saya pulled her further and further from the stage where Niro and Isheda were busy making their speeches, moving quickly. Mercia had no idea how she could walk so fast in the restrictive dress, but perhaps Saya was more used to it than she was. Saya threw a smile over her shoulder at Mercia as they ducked under a barricade, weaving into a side street.

“Where are we going?” Mercia asked, heart racing. “I thought you wanted to sit.”

“My secret chocolate shop. It’s just a little further. Come, come, Mercia! Keep up!” Saya laughed and tugged the hem of her dress up to move faster.

Mercia couldn’t help but follow along. Even if she hadn’t been holding Saya’s hand, she was so hopelessly lost that she’d never find her way back to the rally now.

They came around the corner to a nearly abandoned street where several fabric awnings stretched onto the sidewalk. Saya pulled her under a bright pink awning and through an open door into a cramped little café. There were only two tables and a long counter with several seats.

A single elf stood behind the counter, a bright blue square hat resting on his head. He stood up straight as they entered and bowed. “Welcome,” he said in Elvish. “Can I help you?”

Saya removed her gloves and went straight to the counter, where she rattled off a long and complicated order, but the clerk seemed unfazed. He nodded and quickly started opening several containers, assembling what she’d asked for.

“Did you know,” said Saya, leaning on the counter with her elbows, “chocolate is a sacred food? They say Irdis wooed Sarakai with chocolate.”

Mercia slid into the seat next to her. “Who are they?”

“The patron gods of the Runecleavers,” she said, waving a hand to the ceiling. “Some say the mountain peaks beyond are Sarakai’s bosom, and that D’thallanar sprang from her womb when she died.”

Mercia laughed. “Forgive me. That’s just… such a strange origin story.”

Saya smiled back. “It must be. I hear your people have only eight gods. But it must be so sad to believe they’ve abandoned you. Then again, it must be morbid to you, the idea that elves live in the rotten corpses of their gods.”

“All religion has a fascination with the morbid,” Mercia said with a shrug. “I don’t concern myself with it. One doesn’t need religion to have faith and morals.”

“Well put.” Saya tilted her head, giving Mercia an intense but pleasant look. She smiled, showing her dimples, pink coloring her cheeks. “Sorry to have dragged you all the way out here. It’s just that I’ve already had enough of this campaign. It was difficult enough when Niro was elevated under Taratheil. All the traveling, the speeches… I was smiling and waving in my sleep. You have to pace yourself with these things.”

Mercia shrugged. “It’s all right. I wasn’t doing anything other than standing there, anyway.”

“But that’s what’s expected of us, isn’t it?” Saya sighed and rubbed her finger on the surface of the countertop between them. “To stand behind our husbands, support them in gracious silence, and smile.”

“Oh, Aryn and I aren’t… We’re not married.”

“Really?” Saya cocked her head to one side. “I’m sorry. I just assumed…”

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