by D. L. Carter
The Adventures of Norfarland the Bastard ~ Book 1
She'd never been this angry in her entire life . . . or so conflicted. Leaving Eioth alone in the dining room was one of the more difficult things Halidan had ever done. She wanted to go to him, to offer him comfort and sympathy. To wrap her arms around his neck and sink into his mouth. To run her hand freely over his body finding those places of stimulation that he discovered in her. To hear his breath catch and shudder.
Being with him this evening had been glorious. Beyond pleasure. Never in her life had she been so grateful for sensitive skin. She wanted to fold herself into his arms and never leave.
She wanted to worship him as the source of pleasure in her world.
She wanted to slap him across the skull! Ignorant man. Did he not know that how a Household was managed gave evidence of the occupants within?
It was a horribly difficult situation. Halidan's limited experience in the management of Households came from observing Matriarch Netha. She could not imagine any other person tolerating Tribel's insubordination for a moment, yet alone the years that Eioth endured.
Of course, Halidan’s strong opinions on how she, herself, should be treated dictated that Tribel’s power should be removed. Being scolded by Eioth was beyond her experience. She'd thought she had a good understanding of his personality. Yet today, watching him go from calm to shouting in an instant was shocking. And for no other reason than the fact she was describing something he knew well. Tribel could not remain in his position.
The High Lord was trying to be honorable. Looking at the events of the day impartially, Halidan admitted Eioth was sorely tried. If Tribel had set out to do everything possible to irritate the High Lord, then he should be pleased for he had succeeded. And yet all Eioth did in return was shout. No blows had been dealt and the day ended with Tribel still in his place of authority, all the players on his stage fed, sheltered and safe.
Perhaps that was Eioth's way of dealing with an old family servant. Perhaps there had been a time when Tribel was a popular servant, highly regarded by the young Eioth. Perhaps his personality had changed with age. It happened sometimes. If the old Elf wanted to die in the role he'd occupied all the years of his life, that might be a kindness.
Since Tribel lived in the grip of insanity, who was to say that this was wrong?
But, since it caused disruption, disrespect, and discord, who could say it was right?
* * *
Eioth stalked through the hallways of his ancestral home and cursed the very day Tribel was born. He'd looked up the date so his cursing could be accurate.
The old Elf's timing was terrible. Halidan had been in his arms. For the first time, Eioth had her arms about his neck, the woman's shirt open down to the waist and she'd been, if not willing, then weakening. Then Tribel came, destroying the moment and leaving Eioth twisted around his own guts. There was no justice in the world.
There had, many years ago, been a moment of happiness and peace in Eioth's life, a brief, shining moment where everything good had seemed possible, achievable. Three High Lords came to him while he was preparing for his Mastership challenge, bade his tutor to depart and announced that Renthi, High Lord of North West Demesne had died in a duel. A battle with a political enemy, if Eioth remembered correctly, something to do with a failed plot for succeeding to the High King's throne. Since Eioth’s bonds to all four Elements were Master level, and he possessed a strong mind and a thorough education, the Synod's representatives came to confirm him in his rank. Eioth would succeed Renthi as High Lord of the North West.
Where Halidan sincerely grieved the death of her beloved father, Eioth, in his heart, celebrated the death of his torturer. Then Tribel entered the room, bowed, and made that announcement: “Minthel wine and fruit are served on the Summer Balcony.” And with those words, he had stepped into Renthi's shoes to continue the torment.
Sixty-four years later and he was still serving that damned wine and Eioth was still refusing to drink it. Sixty-four years! Out in the Empire, Eioth was respected as a High Lord, judge, friend, and Adept Magician of all Four Elements, but in his own House he was still the little boy. The despised only child of the dead High Lord. All because Tribel would not go.
Halidan was right. He should have dealt with the problem of Tribel years ago. He'd tried. He'd even, in his dreams, considering having Tribel kidnapped, taken over the sea, and abandoned at the bottom of a mine. Except he was certain that years would pass and there would be Tribel, walking back with his list of rituals and rules to take over, again. What was to be done?
It was a problem he hadn't considered when he'd brought Halidan home. When Tribel discovered Halidan was sharing Eioth's bed . . . soon, oh, Elements, if you are kind, let it be soon . . . who knew what the old Elf would do. The taint of having a mortal living under the roof was nothing compared, in that fools mind, to the damage that might occur when a mortal occupied the High Lord's bed. If it came to a choice between Halidan and old Tribel, then there was no choice to be made at all; Halidan would remain. If he could just get Tribel to leave!
Judging by her responses this evening her consent could only be days away. Eioth paused to press his fingers to the painted door of Halidan's room. No doubt by now she was asleep, her body soft and warm under the sheets. With hope, her dreams were unsettled and passionate. He considered entering to ensure that they were, but paused. An invasion of her sanctuary might not be welcomed. Not yet.
Satisfied she was safe for the moment, Eioth traveled the length of the corridor to the locked door of his sleeping chamber. Unlike Halidan's well-decorated room, Eioth's was a small, bare stone box no more than three strides long and three strides across. It contained one narrow bed, one chair and two storage chests. Eioth exchanged his elaborately decorated clothing for a robe of thin bronze cotton, then went through a narrower door into his Ritual chamber.
He placed the copy of the Essay on a reading shelf and settled a book brace holding it open at the list of ingredients for the Ritual baths. He had a good idea which ingredients he had already, but he wanted to be sure, wanted to be ready. When Halidan consented, his studies in the discipline of Sex Magic would begin. That was after all, why she'd originally attracted him. There was only the matter of choosing which Ritual would be first. With luck the need would be for a Ritual with one of the more arousing postures.
* * *
Halidan was not asleep. She was not even in bed. Freshly risen from her bath and wrapped only in a towel, she pulled the curtains away from a window and stood facing her image in the glass. Outside full night had fallen and the moon and stars outlined her body. She knew she was well made. Her body was healthy and strong. For most of her life, health and height were her only concerns.
Healthy enough to do her work and tall enough so as not to feel too inferior when dealing with Elves; that was her criteria when she was the teacher of small children. Now she had to consider her new life, her future. She had to examine herself as the potential lover of a man. Immediately, the image of High Lord Eioth formed in her mind, smiling and patient as he explained some complicated matter to her. In any daydream she had as a child, she never imagined such a man would be interested in her.
To be honest she'd always thought, if she did . . . her lips firmed for a moment. . .marry, it would be to another mortal employee of some House she served. Now marriage was not an option. She drew a deep breath and opened the towel leaving her naked body reflected in the night darkened glass. Her future, should she choose to embrace it, would be as the publicly acknowledged mortal lover of a High Court Elf . . . of a Synod High Lord. Little though she might think herself worthy of both the good and the ill of such a role, it was the one offered to her.
Gathering her courage she stared at her own body, taking in the soft swells of her breasts, the curve of her waist and hips, the small triangle of white curls at the apex of her thighs. Head tilted to one side she considered them. Her breasts she knew had found favor with the Hi
gh Lord. She colored as she remembered his hot mouth licking and sucking each inch of them. At that moment in his arms, she'd understood the heat and hunger Norfarland's author labored to describe.
Her body literally ached to have him touch her further; her core wet, hungry for something she did not yet know. Every part of her wanted more. If this was lust, it hurt. Would satisfying it be a new kind of pain or the joy she read about?
She pulled the towel closed. Very well, it was true. She was old enough, mature enough to experience desire. The matter remaining to be decided was, did she choose Eioth or did she take herself away? There was one month’s money tucked away in her purse. Her knowledge of the geography of the Empire was adequate for her to calculate that the village of Swift Breezes was only four days travel from the center of the Empire. There were more businesses there owned by mortals. She could find employment at such an establishment with someone who would not care about the mortality superstition or that she had been dismissed from her previous employment because her father had died.
She could choose a mortal lover. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine a younger version of her father, the only mortal man she'd known well, or a visibly half blood male like Cris, Nittel, or Morae. Someone like that would be unexceptional. Instead of a dark-eyed, dark-haired mortal man in her mind . . . persistent as the reality . . . Eioth's image formed, pale, pure, and perfect. She sighed and sank down to sit on the edge of her bed.
Eioth, High Lord of the North West. His form was beautiful, his temper even – except when he had to deal with Tribel, who shouldn't really count. He offered her an enjoyable job that involved traveling, exploring more than the narrow confines of a small House, and most of all, he offered her a home. A place of her own. It was entirely possible that over time affection could come between them. Her years with him could be filled with satisfaction, if not joy. She brushed irritably at the tears that leaked from her eyes. There was no good reason for such a display. Her time with Eioth would be good.
She had no fears of abandonment, no expectation of pain. If he would not cast out someone he hated as much as Tribel, then she could trust that he would not do that to her. He would treat her with respect and that would do very well. If in the passage of time, she began to experience emotions toward him she was certain he would not mock her for them. There was no reason to expect reciprocation . . . he was the High Lord after all.
Using a corner of her towel to dry her face, she continued to list the advantages. Matriarch Netha, though she didn't know it, had done her a favor. When she'd insisted that her daughters be taught the skills of a High Court Lady, she'd accidentally arranged for Halidan to gain them as well. Halidan was confident that she would be able to maintain her composure as one of Eioth's companions. She was certain if she asked he would grant her permission to buy a little place in Swift Breezes or somewhere similar for her retirement once he'd tired of her or her age began to show. Therefore, it was settled, at least in her own mind, that she would accept Lord Eioth's offer.
She pressed both hands to her chest against an ache that suddenly formed there. What was troubling her? The decision was made, why did she now hurt? Was this regret? If so, what was it about her very sensible decision that caused her pain?
Chapter Eleven
“Deep in the universe there is a reason for everything,” observed the priest. “Except, perhaps, you.”
“In the place where I am understood, you shall be there, also,” replied Norfarland.
The Adventures of Norfarland, the Bastard ~ Book 7
Tribel's campaign against Halidan continued the next morning. Eioth escorted Halidan down to the Summer Balcony, since he knew no food would be provided in any other place, only to find that not only was one place set, but only enough food for one person was provided.
“He learns quickly,” observed Halidan.
“Not so, or else he would have long since learned I am High Lord.” Eioth stared at the offerings for a moment, then waved Halidan to the one seat. “Eat Halidan, unless you also do not like these foods.”
“I do not mind them.” Halidan hesitated. “I take it they are not your favorites.”
“One can grow weary of even favored foods when one can come to tell the day of the month by what is served at any given meal. I have business in the town today and there are restaurants enough there for me to have my choice. I have no doubt that Tribel will avoid serving you, so it is best that you eat now and take anything you do not eat with you. You have my promise, if I am not back for mid meal, I will bring you something when I return.” Then he halted and frowned at the dishes. “Actually, it would be best if you did not eat. Occasionally, it amuses Tribel to taint my food and drink. Considering that he knows you ate my food last night, I would not put it past him to contaminate this. I shall take one of your guards with me and send him back with some pastry from town.”
Halidan frowned and pushed the nearest plate away. “Do not bother, High Lord. I will see if I can cope with Tribel's nonsense. Once you are gone, I shall make a trip down to the kitchen and speak to the servants.”
“I admire your strength.”
“I have a plan.”
There was a note to her voice that echoed back to the forecourt of Blue Waters Sanctuary. Eioth grinned and pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck. She drew away, initially, he was certain, only out of surprise. When he repeated the contact she tilted her head to allow him better, longer contact.
Good. Better.
“My Halidan,” he sighed. “My admiration.”
“Save your admiration, I have not succeeded yet.”
“I have faith in you, and now, if you will forgive me. I shall leave before Tribel's Ritual of Departure.” He paused, frowning. “You think less of me for this, I expect, but consider at least I have not yet committed murder.”
Halidan did not change expression. To show disapproval might start another fight and she needed to gather her strength to deal with Tribel’s intransigence.
There not being a Ritual of Departure in Halidan's Ritual book, she was certain it was one Tribel created just to aggravate the High Lord so when Eioth climbed over a low balustrade and jumped the short distance down to the garden, she watched, but made no comment.
Eioth was not gone five minutes before a servant, a young female this time, appeared, perhaps to check and see that the High Lord had begun his breakfast. The Elf recoiled when she saw Halidan calmly seated before what was provided for the High Lord and ran forward with both hands outstretched to snatch the plate from the table. Halidan made no move to prevent it. Instead she rose and spoke calmly to the servant.
“The High Lord has refused this and so do I. I should like to request . . .”
“You have to go,” cried the servant, “Tribel will be furious.”
“I am overcome with astonishment,” said Halidan. “Well, let us begin. Take me to Tribel. I'd like a dish of tea. Nothing begins a morning better.”
“Tribel has ordered you are to receive no food or drink.”
“The kitchen, if you please.”
The Elf gathered the plates and hurried from the room, Halidan in her wake. It may have been the servant’s intention to lose Halidan in the corridor, but she was fast on her feet and stayed close behind. The Elf ducked through a service door and led the way down a steep staircase. After a number of turns and doors that Halidan memorized as best she could, they arrived in the servants’ section of the House. The Elf led Halidan past what she thought was the servants’ dining hall – there was a table, but no chairs, not even benches – and through into the kitchen. Several servants were busy, preparing Halidan had no idea what. Since there was only Eioth and herself to serve she assumed that most of the food preparation was for the servants.
Everyone in the room looked up when Halidan and her guide appeared. That Elf could not contain herself.
“She ate the High Lord's breakfast!” she shouted.
There were gasps of astonishment from all dir
ections.
“I did not since the High Lord indicated he suspected it had been contaminated,” said Halidan. “But, I would like some food now.”
The servants exchanged stunned glances, but did not move. Unsurprised, Halidan headed for the cupboards. It did not take her long to find food and dishes.
No one moved to help her; then again, no one tried to stop her, either. The most they did was murmur to each other about how Tribel would not like it.
It was the oddest experience of her life. They seemed incapable of making a move that was not mapped out for them by Tribel. She'd met people less devoted to the Elements than this group to the will of Tribel.
When she’d gathered what she needed, Halidan looked around for a chair; again, there were none.
“Where are the chairs?” she asked the nearest worker who appeared to have decided that ignoring Halidan was probably the safest action and was reducing vegetables to thin mush with a knife.
“No chairs in the servants’ area,” said her guide.
Halidan was astonished. “Not even during meals?”
All the servants shook their heads. Before Halidan could ask further, Tribel himself arrived looking pale and fragile. Again Halidan's sympathy was stirred by his resemblance to her father on his last day, but just for a moment. When Tribel saw her, he went from shaken old Elf to raging fire-breather in a heartbeat.
“Out! Out! No mortals in the House!”
Halidan drew her book brace from her sash and struck the kitchen table. The wood shook, rattling teapot and dishes, and making a satisfyingly loud sound. Tribel froze in his tracks.
“Now, Tribel, you know better,” said Halidan in her most calm, reasonable tone. “High Lord Eioth gave you his commands in person. I am permitted in the House and I am to receive the customary service.”
Tribel's whole body shook and his hands clenched tight around the book he held.
“No. No. Never.”
