Chapter Five #2
“I’m merely stretching my legs,” I explained, walking off.
Two followed, two stayed outside the door to my room.
So be it. I was to have an escort, it seemed.
I glanced back at the two keeping a respectful distance.
Still within reach if they had need to strike.
I carried no weapon. My cutlass was in my room.
Perhaps that was foolish of me. Hyla would certainly say so, but one pirate with a blade would do little good against a platoon of royal guards.
The gallery beckoned me, so I entered, leaving the door open so the guards could see me.
Her portrait called to me the loudest, so I went to stand before Lady Stillcloud.
She was still just as beautiful as she had been a few hours ago.
There was a demure expression on her face as she sat in a chair before a window, her hands primly in her lap, but under that modest look there was a spine of pure elven hardwood.
You could see it in the tilt of her head, the brilliance of her blue eyes, the set of her slim shoulders.
I leaned closer, the fog of my chilling dream fading.
Tipping my head up, I studied the shape of her nose, the delicate bow shape of her lips.
Golden hair puddled on the floor around her.
Tiny bare toes peeked out from under a gown of burgundy.
Seeing those toes made me smile softly. The lady possessed the spirit to pose for a portrait without slippers.
“They say she possessed great whimsy,” a male voice said from the doorway.
I glanced from the portrait of a woman who might possibly be my mother to find the king of Melowynn standing in the portal.
The first thing I noted was that his hair was like spun flaxen just as his mother’s had been.
He took a tentative step into the gallery, lifting a hand just slightly to quell the guards from entering.
“She posed for that when she was just sixteen seasons. Before she was wed to my father.”
“Your Majesty,” I mumbled, bowing deeply, my sight dropping from bright blue eyes that were at once wary and curious. Deeply curious.
“Please, that is not necessary,” he said, walking forward, a creamy white set of trousers worn with a silky shirt, kid boots, and a sash of umber around his lean waist. I straightened and thumbed back some hair from my face.
He noted that but said nothing. “I am sorry I was not available to welcome you to Avolire. I had plans to do so, but an emergency audience with several noble houses could not be delayed.”
“It’s fine, Your Majesty. I had some food, drank some of your fine wine, and took a nap,” I tossed out glibly as he extended his hand to me. A slim hand with only a gold signet ring. A few hoops in his ears were all the adornment he wore. No crown or diadem.
“We do have some fine wine. I hope Widow Poppy sent up some of her honey cakes. They’re the best in Melowynn.
” I stared at that royal hand for several long seconds before clasping it.
His skin was soft. Mine calloused. His fingers thin.
Mine thicker. His grip was stronger than I would have imagined.
“I wish I had…” He paused, his lips flattening.
“I wish I had been able to find the words to put down to vellum for this meeting, but I could not. It is not every day one meets his brother.”
“That has not been verified yet, Your Majesty.”
He held my hand a moment longer and then released it. “Please, call me Aelir. And no, it has not been verified by the blood ritual, but any elf with eyes that function can see our mother in both of us.”
“Aye, there are…” I looked from him to Lady Stillcloud and then back to the king. “There are striking similarities.”
He smiled, a soft smile, one born of years of tutelage in how to be a proper noble. Polite, refined, carefully worn not to show too much emotion. Aelir turned to speak to a lone guard, this one in bronze armor, standing an arm’s span from the monarch.
“Pasil, would you send word to the kitchen that we would like some honey cakes, mulled wine, and two armchairs sent to the family gallery so we can speak comfortably?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the incredibly handsome guardian said, his eyes never leaving me as he took a few steps in reverse to speak to the armed men who had followed me.
Whispers were whispered. Two chairs arrived in the blink of an eye and were placed where we stood, under the portrait of Lady Stillcloud.
As all of this was taking place, I turned to look upon Aelir’s father, his face a rather plain one, regal, yes, but not as strikingly beautiful as the woman he had wed.
I wondered if he knew of the birth of a bastard?
Then I stilled that line of thinking. Nothing had been sorted yet. Perhaps this whole thing was a ruse.
Hoping to blow away the confusion that fogged my mind, I padded over to a window to open it, allowing a rush of salty air to blow in. Instantly, I felt my unease lift.
“Please, Captain, have a seat.”
“After you, Your Majesty.”
He smiled softly and sat. “I would have you use my name. We may be related after all.” He sat timidly as if he expected to place his thin arse on an adder. Proper, always proper, his back stiff, his hands resting on the upholstered armrests, his chin lifted into the fresh air.
“I’m sure even your spouses use the proper terms when required,” I replied, dropping down into my seat, my legs spread wide, my elbows on my knees.
“Only when in court, otherwise I am Aelir to them, or at times, when I’ve vexed him deeply, V’alor will call me a beautiful thorn in his buttocks.”
I chuckled, allowing my hair to slip forward. The king said nothing about it or my whiskers. Perhaps Le’ral was just an uptight, striking prig. Time would tell.
“I’ve heard a great deal about your consorts and the queen, who is most lovely and gracious. I don’t say that only because of her leniency in not separating my head from my torso upon my arrival.”
“V’alor is my mainstay,” Aelir confessed, falling silent as two servants hurried in to set up a table, throw a cloth over it, light some candles that the wind insisted on blowing out so the king finally told them to cease, and then serve our afternoon morsels.
When they had bowed out of the room, leaving Pasil, the ever vigilant, in the far corner, Aelir passed me a dish stacked high with sticky golden cake squares.
“The queen is my rudder. Lady Merrilyn, my true north. All are dear to me, all required to pilot a ship to its port.”
I sat back, a cup of warm wine thick with cinnamon and Sandrayan spices in one hand, a stout mug of mulled wine in the other. The hearty aroma of dark wine and brisk citrus was pleasing.
“Those terms I understand well,” I said, taking a sip of the warm wine. It was delicious. I licked my lips and gave him a nod. “Superb. Truly. Whatever spices your cook has tossed into the pot make it sing.”
“Widow Poppy is a blessing of Ihdos. She has been with the Stillcloud family since I was a tiny boy frogging about with bugs in my pockets.”
I couldn’t imagine this regal male ever having a snotty nose or a stick bug in a jar. That seemed far too removed from what he was now.
“If I may be bold, how is it that you ever got the church to agree to marry you to three other people, one a human? I’ve lived under the hateful glare of religion for my entire life, so when the news reached us in the north that you had taken three to your bed, it was a topic of great discussion and speculation. ”
He nibbled on the honey cake as his blue eyes danced with mirth.
“Where there is a will, there is a way.” So there was a bit of a scamp under that regal demeanor.
Good to know. Perhaps if the witches blessed us to be kin, we could have some fun together.
Play some pins, cheat at cards, chase each other about the grounds with wooden swords as boys are wont to do.
As we should have done had not a bigoted elf torn us apart with—
“Do you not like the wine? It does leave a lingering sizzle. Widow Poppy can get heavy-handed with the spices that are now flowing freely into Celear from the Black Sands.”
“No, no, the spice is fine. I grew up eating Bhaston fare so heat doesn’t bother me.” I placed my cake back on its dish and licked the sweet from my fingers before replying. “I was thinking of your grandfather.”
“Ah.” The playfulness left his eyes. “He has recently passed and now sits in the glory of Ihdos.”
“Mm, so I understand.” I sipped as I tried to nudge emotion aside to deal only in the known facts.
Daydreaming of what it might have been like had I not been a mongrel served no purpose.
“If what you have told me is true, and I suspect there is much more to be told once the blood testing is completed, your grandfather was a prick of the highest caliber.”
A gust of wind blew in. Aelir lifted his chin into it, allowing his eyes to linger on the oil of his mother as he spoke.
“Umeris was many things. A prick is just one of them. I am…” He glanced at me.
“I am still trying to process what he confessed to me on his last breath. I do not think it is mere ramblings of a calcified mind nor a ploy. My grandfather was a bigot. I freely admit that. I have warred against his closed-mindedness for tenfold seasons. It is why I feel his admission has merit because of that simple fact. He would not admit to anyone that his blood flowed in the veins of a half-human half-elf unless he was truly seeking to purge himself of wrongs done as Ihdos calls us to do when we move to his side.”
I gave him a nod and took a sip of my wine. “You knew him best.” I had nothing more to say on that topic. There was no sense in speaking ill of the shitter when the testing could show me to be a handsome pirate who looked a good deal like a king. “So you believe me to be your half-brother.”