Episode 19 It’s All Gibberish
It’s All Gibberish
Once again, Cerian eyes the locomotive with disdain. He’ll have to get used to it eventually, but today is not that day.
Arisanna stands near her parents and brother, saying her final goodbyes. Her one bag has been packed and loaded, and her horse is being led into a car near the back of the train.
Elowyn laughs at something Viala says, and Tharios pulls their sister into a hug. When Elowyn turns toward Cerian, part of his heart crumbles, though he’ll never show it.
All their lives, they’ve shared this destiny—to heartbind with the human prince and princess.
It drew them closer, even closer than they already were.
Few elves are so near in age to their siblings.
To be separated by a mere two years is unheard of.
They may as well be twins by the elf way of reckoning age and time.
Elowyn. His constant companion as she pretended to keep him out of trouble.
“There’s a princess in Nunia who’s depending on you not to die,” Elowyn would call out to him whenever she caught him doing something dangerous.
Cerian glances at Arisanna again. His human princess. She seems surprisingly stoic. Perhaps it’s a veneer hiding her sadness. It’s difficult to imagine she isn’t at all affected by this looming separation from her family.
His heart unexpectedly aches for her. Is that the heartbinding? He rarely grows close to people outside his family. His destiny in life set him apart. Made him different.
To grow to care for a stranger so quickly is a foreign feeling—it’s unsettling.
He looks back toward Elowyn. She may have pretended to keep him out of trouble, but their worst scrapes were usually borne from her ideas.
Elowyn smiles up at him. “Remember, there’s a human princess—”
“Depending on me not to die.” The corner of Cerian’s mouth ticks up. “I won’t forget.”
With a glance at the others, Elowyn leans toward him. “There is a place where you can die and yet live. Unfortunately, I am prevented from elaborating.”
He frowns. What does that mean?
She lifts her brows at him, and understanding dawns.
“The heartlanding?”
“You know I can’t say more. I’m surprised the magic let me say that much.”
“Did you go back last night?” Cerian asks.
Elowyn nods. “Didn’t you?”
With another glance at Arisanna, Cerian shakes his head.
“Perhaps the magic thought you were bonding fine without help. Did you really sleep under the stars together?”
Cerian’s mind takes an unintended turn at her use of the word “bonding,” but he shoves the thought aside. “Yes. There’s an observation deck in the astronomy tower. It was...nice.”
“I’m glad.” Elowyn wraps her arms around him. “Don’t fight it, Cer. Let yourself have a love story like Lorial and Nestraya.”
A love story?
Before he can ponder her words, the train whistles.
“It’s time,” Father says. He offers Elowyn one more hug, and Cerian nods to his new brother where Prince Rominy stands behind Elowyn now. He’d better be good to her.
From the look in Prince Rominy’s eyes, he’s thinking the same thing about Cerian and Arisanna.
Arisanna breathes out slowly as she approaches the train. She’s never been one for crying, and she won’t start now. This is her part to play, and she goes willingly.
She just didn’t think it would be this hard to say goodbye.
Tharios and his wife are already on the train, and after giving Elowyn one last hug, King Lorial follows.
Queen Nestraya holds Elowyn’s face in her hands as their foreheads touch, and she whispers something in Elvish. Arisanna tries not to eavesdrop.
Cerian waits near the door of the train for her. At least, he’s probably waiting for her. Unless he’s just putting off boarding for as long as possible. He seems to dislike trains.
How ironic that their heartlanding started as a train.
“Are you ready?” Queen Nestraya asks softly when she lets Elowyn go, and Arisanna nods.
It’s time.
Cerian doesn’t offer his hand or anything remotely romantic as he waits for her to climb into the train car. But he follows her, and when she takes a seat by herself, he sits with her.
Hopefully, this is a sign he means to befriend her rather than ignore her and leave her to fend for herself in a new kingdom while playacting at being married.
Of course, they’re not just married. They’re heartbound, too.
The train whistles again, and the wheels churn as they lurch forward.
Arisanna waves at Rominy and Elowyn out the window as the train platform grows smaller and smaller.
Soon, even the castle is difficult to see.
The streets of Levina speed by, and before long, the city of her childhood fades from view as well.
Rolling plains of farmland surround them as they chug toward Feressa, and Arisanna leans her head against the seat back and closes her eyes.
“Are you all right?” Cerian asks.
Arisanna glances his way. He actually looks concerned.
Not that she thought he was an unfeeling monster. He’s been hard to pin down, though. Maybe they will grow to care for each other with time.
“I’m fine. I’ve known this day was coming all my life.”
He opens his mouth to speak but apparently thinks better of it and closes it again.
“What were you going to say?” she asks softly. “You can talk to me, you know.”
His brows wrinkle as he meets her eyes. Emeralds. Beautiful emeralds. Will their children have green eyes like his?
Where did that come from? They might not even have children. He’s not the crown prince—he doesn’t need an heir.
“I’m not good at meeting new people,” he says quietly, interrupting her thoughts. “Or talking to people I don’t know.”
There’s a vulnerability in his eyes that catches her off guard. How hard was it for him to reveal that to her?
“We’ll just have to get to know each other better until we’re no longer strangers. What were you going to say earlier?”
He turns to look out the window before he answers. “I was going to say that just because it’s expected doesn’t make it easy.”
“Oh.”
He would understand better than anyone, wouldn’t he?
Then he finds her eyes again. “You make all of this easier for me than I thought it would be.”
He’s being sincere, isn’t he? Perhaps beneath that harshness he exudes, there’s a hidden softness.
She’ll have the rest of her life to find out.
After their brief conversation, Cerian and Arisanna fall into an easy silence. He tries not to let embarrassment at his words to her plague him. What possessed him to open up like that? The heartbinding?
The rest of his family gives Arisanna space. Hopefully, she perceives it as the kindness intended rather than as a lack of caring.
Their train rolls into Feressa just after lunchtime, and Father suggests they partake of a meal at a local establishment. It’s all so foreign to Cerian—the way the proprietor leads them to a table and brings them something called a menu.
The dining establishments in Lostariel are much different. More relaxed. No one waits on you—you collect your own food.
“We have those, too,” Arisanna says after he describes it to her. Somehow, he ended up at a private table with her, apart from the rest of his kin. “We call them buffets. They’re all the rage in Levina.”
“Buffet. I am unfamiliar with that word.” He looks over the folded menu in his hand and frowns. His written Nunian is much weaker than his spoken Nunian. Normally, he would ask Father for help, but Father’s at another table across the room.
“What’s wrong?” Arisanna asks.
“Nothing.”
The glyphs themselves differ from Elvish runes. Letters to make sounds rather than symbols to convey ideas. It’s probably easier to learn than written Elvish, but he’s always resisted. It seemed unnecessary.
Perhaps he should have paid more attention to his tutors.
“What do you recommend?” he asks.
“Well, you liked the venison at our wedding. There’s steak on the menu, but it’s beef. It’s similar, though. Perhaps a little greasier. You don’t farm meat in Lostariel, do you?”
He shakes his head. “We eat wild game when it’s available.”
“Well, I recommend the steak. Unless you’d prefer chicken. Do you have wild chickens?”
“No.”
“Hmm. I imagine it’s similar to other fowl.”
He stares at the jumbled letters again, and she reaches across the table to point to a set of words that could mean anything.
“So how do I procure this meal?” he asks.
“The waiter will come and take our orders. Just tell him what you want, and he’ll bring it to our table.”
Cerian tries not to let his horror show. Tell the waiter?
Perhaps he’s not hungry after all.
“I think I’ll have the chicken pot pie.” Arisanna folds her menu and sets it down in front of her.
“Chicken pie?”
“It’s a chicken and vegetable slurry encased in a pastry.”
Cerian’s initial urge is to make a face, but he refrains. Elves rarely mix their food like that. Their wedding feast was a frustrating ordeal for him—in more ways than one.
“So, if I want steak, I have to tell this waiter?”
“Yes. And whatever sides you want. The options are listed right there.”
Sides? It’s all gibberish to him. “Like potatoes?”
When Arisanna doesn’t respond, he looks up to find her studying him, and her expression softens as she switches to Elvish. “You can’t read Nunian, can you?”