Chapter Ten
In the last week, a political occurrence had stirred the kingdom of Sevrigel. Elvorium was bustling with delegates from cities across the continent and the council was livid. What the girl gathered from the other servants was vague and, as she could not ask for the details, she had nothing to make assumptions about. Hairem had done it, whatever it was. No sooner had it occurred than the king took to ignoring the consequences. He would not see the delegates and appeared in public only long enough to attend the council’s meetings.
“My Lord, Marsiol is here on behalf of the Northern Halls of Shil’von,” Hasiar was saying. “He requests a meeting with you within the coming week.” He was scratching away with his quill as he spoke, looking up just long enough to catch the king’s expression. He was a slender, young Sel’ven, with a dimpled jaw and a pleasant smile. But he rarely smiled. And today, certainly, he would not.
The girl raised the hand-painted jug carefully and added a little more spiced wine to Hairem’s glass. Wine always eased a stressful day. Or in this case, week.
The king muttered his thanks as his brow knit. “No. I told you no. No more of these ridiculous requests. I have announced what I intend to do and it will be so. There are no questions to be had—no use in attempting to change my mind. Please stop bringing me these useless delegations.” He heaved a sigh and lifted his glass. “And by the gods, what are you still writing? What is there to write?”
The girl watched as the glass was quickly emptied.
“…I am sorry, Your Majesty. I was just making a note next to those useless requests… so as not to make the mistake of bringing them to your attention again…”
Hairem set his glass down and rubbed his nose in what the girl took to be a shameful way. “Hasiar, my apologies. You are doing a fine job.” His hand flicked forward, beckoning him to continue. “What is next?”
Hasiar’s eyes scanned past the list of what, she could only imagine, were more delegates. If she was just a little bit taller she might have known for sure. But as it was, the page was tilted a little too high for her to discern the youthful scribe’s scrawlings. “Lord Elisum’s ship sunk off the coast in Lord Dajnal’s waters. Lord Dajnal refuses to allow anyone into his waters. Lord Elisum would like permission to retrieve his goods.”
The girl watched as the king’s brow knit with perplexity and she wondered what treasures had sunk to the bottom of the water. “Tell Lord Elisum that he may not retrieve his goods if Lord Dajnal refuses to allow him to do so. And if Lord Dajnal does allow it, Elisum is to pay tribute of half their worth to Lord Dajnal for violating the privacy of his land—waters.” He rubbed the ridge of his nose again. “I need a rest. Do you mind if we continue this later in the evening?”
Hasiar quickly rolled his parchment up and offered a swift bow, perhaps as relieved as Hairem on the matter. “Whatever you desire, Your Majesty. Forgive me.”
The girl wondered why Hasiar bothered to reply to a clearly rhetorical question. She watched the young male walk briskly from the room and raised the jug to fill the king’s glass once again.
“Oh no, I have had quite enough,” Hairem laughed, moving his glass and nearly causing the girl to spill across his lap. He stretched and stood with a grunt, seemingly unaware of his action. “Have you been outside yet this day, Alvena?” he asked as she set the jar aside. “There is something I have been meaning to do for the last few days, but simply have not had the time.”
Or did he mean opportunity? She was simply dying to know what the king had done that had suddenly made him such a demanding figure to speak with! She wiggled restlessly. What a curse it was sometimes to not be able to speak exactly what was on one’s mind!
“Is that a no?”
There she had gone and completely forgotten that he had asked her a question to begin with! She quickly shook her head. Or wait, maybe in shaking her head she said no to something else the king had asked. She frowned and then raised a finger with a weak smile.
Hairem chuckled. “You are always such an innocent thing. I wish I was in your place sometimes… but I certainly would not want to curse you with mine!”
The girl blushed. Queen? Oh the thought! She allowed herself to giggle.
Hairem’s brows rose swiftly in response. “What a pleasant sound! You should do that more often… though I suppose I would have to give you more reason to laugh then…” He smiled charmingly and the girl felt her smile broaden. She quickly tried to wipe it away, feeling rather foolish for being so taken by the king’s charm, but it was not as easily done as she would have thought.
“So you have not been outside today yet,” the king carried on, turning toward the doors of the courtyard. “Come. I have a favor to ask, if I may.”
The girl quickly took step behind him, wondering what she could possibly do for the king outside. ‘Hopefully it’s not to pull weeds. I hate pulling weeds…’ She gave a little hop to step alongside his long, regal strides.
“Let me tell you a secret,” he began with a little smile. “There may be a lady whom I have taken a liking to… Don’t look at me like that! I am telling you because I trust you not to tell a—wait, that sounds terribly unfair. I mean that I trust you. Certainly do not tell Lardol. Gods know I will never hear the end of it!”
The girl felt a little disappointed even as she grew excited by sharing in the king’s secret.
…Why should she be disappointed? But… she supposed that every female must have a little private fantasy of being Hairem’s queen one day.
“I would like to send her flowers, but I certainly do not know a lady’s taste. Would you like to assist in selecting the bouquet?”
The girl had hardly offered a nod before Hairem grinned broadly.
“Excellent! Come.”
“My Lord, I apologize,” came Lardol’s curt voice from the stairway. “Alvena, go help the females in the dining hall and leave His Majesty alone.”
Hairem looked up and waved a hand. “I asked her to accompany me, Lardol. If the females need assistance in the dining hall, you have my permission to take her place.”
Lardol flushed and instantly vanished from view. Alvena could not help but giggle again.
She liked to see the old elf flustered.
“I swear, if he does not give me a moment’s peace…” Hairem was muttering as he pushed the doors of the courtyard open.
Alvena stepped out and inhaled deeply as she was flooded with the scent of thousands of flowers. The center courtyard was awash in the vibrant colors of summer and the fresh fountains of water that flowed from Sel’ari’s open hands. She loved coming out to the privacy of the place and getting lost somewhere within its wilderness. What adventures she had! She had once found a nest of tawny mice and had rescued them from the ravaging of the garden’s cantankerous caretaker by putting them into a little sack and releasing them to the grand safety of the mysterious, old Rilden Estate on the south side of the city.
Her eyes lit up at the latest request. And now, to make a bouquet fit for a king!
“A bouquet of charm and interest, but not formality,” Hairem was saying as he walked toward the flower of the yellow maiden’s hair. “What are your thoughts?”
Alvena hopped lightly to the blue spinner’s thread, snapping a few of its thin, long, silky blooms into her left hand.
“Bold, aren’t we?” Hairem commented, handing her three of the maiden’s hairs. “Pink? Red? What? Green?”
Alvena nodded and crouched down to the little, round, green blooms of the galientris, plucking several of them as well.
Hairem then seemed to resign himself simply to watching, as though she was acting with a skill that he could no longer compete with. She liked that—catching glimpses of the king’s impressed smile and intrigued eyes. ‘What a florist she would make!’ she imagined for his thoughts.
When she finally presented the finished bouquet, the king nodded agreeably.
“My lady, you have a fine talent for this.” He raised the
flowers up and gave another nod of approval. “And look at you—accenting the smells.” He winked and handed it back. “Now I have another favor, if I may be so bold as to request one more.”
Alvena found herself nodding eagerly.
“Will you take this to Lord Nilanis’ daughter, Ilsevel? With this…” He reached into the pocket of his vest and handed her a small, folded piece of parchment.
Alvena accepted it and nodded again. Yes, My Lord, she wanted to say, but could only smile. She clutched the bouquet to her chest and waited attentively for his next movement.
Unfortunately, his time in the courtyard for such frivolity seemed to have expired. “You have my utmost gratitude,” Hairem spoke, opening the doors leading them back into the palace.
Alvena felt quite appalled to once again let him do such an action for her, but quickly scurried through nonetheless.
“And when you have finished, take the rest of the evening off. Enjoy yourself.”
Alvena quickly curtseyed her thanks and hurried off to the estate of the El’adorium. The king was so kind—Lardol would never let her take the night off. She raised the flowers to her nose as she passed out of the palace gates, inhaling deeply. She had done a fine job, hadn’t she?
“Alvena, where are you off to?” one of the guards called.
Alvena ignored him, picking up her pace. He knew damn well she could not answer him.
It was only a short walk to the bustling stone streets of the city and she found herself quickly enveloped into a crowd of elves as they passed by the countless shops lining themselves down Mehuim Way to the northern bridge. Nearing the city’s marketplace, she quickly forgot her irritation and broke away into the center of the streets where the crowd was thinnest. A flurry of scents bombarded her—juicy meats and sugary pastries, bitter herbs and sweet spices—but all the while the excellent aroma of her bouquet surpassed them all.
She pressed the flowers against her breasts, shielding them from the bustle of the city around her. With new delegates and their entourages in the city, Elvorium’s calm streets had become a churning mass of chaos. Keh, foreigners!
Her left hand tightened around the envelope. This lady Hairem was infatuated with… If she had had the ability to speak, would there have been a chance anyway? Sometimes she liked to think so, that maybe her charm and beauty would sweep the king off his feet like one of those enchanting siren maidens of lore. But… there was a higher probability of her marrying Lardol than anyone of noble birth. It was a cringe-worthy thought, but it still made her laugh and shake her head.
With a start, she collided solidly with another figure, nearly falling back onto the street.
The male caught her arm. “Look where you are walking,” he barked, releasing her with a reprimanding glare.
‘And where were you looking?’ she thought hotly, shooting the male a dirty look that held all the non-spoken reproach she could muster.
The male dusted a few beads of pollen stiffly from his shirt. “The least you could do is to apologize,” he snapped arrogantly. “I could have let you fall.”
She rolled her eyes. ‘I didn’t ask for you to catch me.’ Her gaze widened as she thought suddenly of her task. She looked down at her flowers in dismay. They looked like they had been crunched… between two people…
“Please, hold your tongue. You have said too much already,” the male spoke with an exasperated sigh. “Are those yours? Or are they for someone?”
Alvena pointed to herself and shook her head.
“It would be easier for the both of us if you used words instead of acting like some dumb human. Gods. Let me—” he began.
Alvena felt her fierce composure waver. ‘Dumb human…’
It must have become visible then even to the male, because his mouth closed suddenly and he regarded her with instant compassion. His emerald eyes flickered beneath dark, thin brows. “I did not mean—”
Alvena retreated and made to move swiftly around him. He was faster and she nearly collided with him again. ‘GO’ she mouthed angrily, pointing away from her. She stomped her foot fiercely.
“Let us not make a scene. Wait. Wait.” He sidestepped in front of her again.
Alvena scowled, regarding him coolly. She did not want his sympathy.
“Let me at least replace those flowers. They are truly not worthy of being given to anyone at this point. Let me just replace them.” He raised his hands slightly, unfolding them as though offering them to her. “Please?”
Alvena looked back down at the flowers. If it was not for Hairem, she would have shaken her head. But he had asked a favor of her… and giving these to the El’adorium’s daughter would be more of a punishment to Hairem than herself. She sighed and held the flowers out. She pointed at them and gave him a stern glare.
“Exactly like this?” the male replied. “But—”
She waved them pointedly at this face. ‘EXACTLY.’
He took the flowers, regarding them with mild contempt. “I am afraid I am new to Elvorium, so you will have to at least show me where to go.” He stepped aside.
Alvena glanced back at him a moment, then turned to the shops along the street. She had never been to a florist before—the palace had more flowers than she could imagine were in any one—or dozen—shops.
She tapped her bottom lip lightly in thought and then started down the street. She could hear the unpleasant male following her. He looked new, now that she thought about it—his clothes were cotton, yet somehow regal in appearance. He wore light armor and she could hear the soft jingle of chainmail beneath it. She would have named him for a mercenary except that the blade at his side was uncharacteristically adorned for anyone in their trade. Perhaps he was a Sel’ven from overseas—though rare it was to find a Sel’ven of any kind on Ryekarayn or from Ryekarayn. The True Bloods and their followers were not welcome back on Sevrigel after the Schism and kept primarily to themselves.
He asked her no questions as they walked. In fact, he made no attempt at any conversation—she was mute after all. She supposed that it was awkward for him. To him, as to everyone else, she was now a poor invalid in need of assistance. Gods, did she wish she could speak! Rebuke them for their pity. Curse them for their ignorance.
“Wait, lady,” the male called. “What about here?”
Alvena paused. She had walked straight past a florist in her thoughts. She retreated to him, allowing him to open the door for her to pass through. Unlike with Hairem, here she had earned it.
Inside, the white walls held large panes of glass. The dome above was likewise made of many panels of clear glass, allowing the sun to filter in on the rows of flowers below. The building smelled damp and fresh, accented by the scents of flowers and a variety of soils.
“Exactly like this,” she heard the male requesting from the counter to her left as she absorbed the sight around them. She turned to watch him set the flowers gingerly down on the counter and produce a small leather bag. “Two silver coins? Those are rather expensive flowers,” he muttered as he laid the coins out in front of the shopkeeper.
Alvena smiled satisfactorily. Yes, they were.
“New to Elvorium?” the florist asked, taking the ruined bouquet into one hand as she examined Alvena’s exquisite array. She looked up when he delayed his response.
“Yes,” came his short reply.
The florist nodded. “Your accent is foreign. Ryekarayn, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“What brings you to Sevrigel? Mercenary work?”
“No,” he again answered shortly. Alvena had expected that by now and was surprised that the florist was so slow to catch on.
The florist glanced up once in question. “I will have these finished shortly,” she spoke finally, turning to the rows of flowers behind her.
As the male leaned back on the counter, eyes flicking up to the panes of glass above him, Alvena paused. Her eyes widened. There was something familiar about this male. His face was slender and finely chiseled. Hi
s chin was narrow, his jawline well-defined and strong, despite his delicate elven features. He looked back toward her.
The statue in Eraydon’s Square. The one directly to the right of Eraydon: of the hero Ephraim. The hair was different—unnaturally short for a Sel’ven—mere inches at its straightest points. Ephraim’s was much longer—past his shoulders and regally braided. But that was not important. It was the face that captivated her. So stunningly similar were the male’s features, she felt a little breathless looking at him. The lion, the king of the Ryekarian Sel’vi almost nine thousand years ago.
The elf raised a brow. “What is it?”
She opened her mouth in excitement and raised her hands to gesture. Then stopped. Her face fell. Lardol was right. She could be a foolish girl. ‘This is not a great adventure. You’re delivering flowers. Grow out of your fantasies,’ she thought to herself in his rebuking tone. She sighed. ‘Oh, Alvena.’
The florist returned, the bouquet as perfect as the one before. She handed it to the male, taking the coin and depositing it behind the counter. “Are these for the lovely lady over there?” she smiled, nodding her head in Alvena’s direction.
The male laughed.
Alvena flushed.
He quickly choked back the sound. “No,” he replied. “I am helping the lady out, is all.”
The florist nodded. “Sel’ari bless you. Come by again.”
‘No wonder he doesn’t speak much,’ Alvena thought with a huff. ‘Every time he opens his mouth he reveals what a jerk he is. King Ephraim had certainly never been so uncivil. No king would be!’
They exited the shop into the street outside. The male closed the door with a quiet snap behind him.
Alvena turned and stiffly held out her hand.
The male handed her the flowers. “I… apologize for the delay,” he spoke forcefully and slightly below his breath, as though the words had gotten caught in his throat along the way. Or he had never apologized before.
Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power 1) Page 18