Episode 20 Cheers to Fizzy Drinks and Fallen Walls
Cheers to Fizzy Drinks and Fallen Walls
Arisanna moves her chair closer to Cerian and whispers in Elvish as she points to the Nunian words on the menu.
His brow wrinkles, and he nods. “So I tell the man I want steak with a side of roasted potatoes and carrots?”
“Yes. And there are beverage options, too.” She turns to the back of the menu. “Coffee or tea or lemonade. Ooh, they have fizzy drinks here!”
“Fizzy drinks?”
“Yes. It’s water with air bubbles and sweet flavorings. They have ginger beer and fizzy lemonade.”
Cerian sends a puzzled look her way. “How do they get air bubbles in the water?”
“I honestly don’t know,” she says. “But it’s delightful.”
Soon the waiter appears, and Arisanna orders her chicken pot pie first. When the waiter turns to Cerian, Cerian stares at the menu, and Arisanna frowns as she watches him. He can’t read it. What is he looking at?
Then his words from the train return to her. I’m not good at meeting new people. Or talking to people I don’t know.
Her chest tightens as she looks at him. Then she lifts her eyes to the waiter. “May we also have an order of steak with a side of roasted potatoes and carrots?”
“Of course, Your Highness. Is there anything else?”
She’s about to tell him that will be all when Cerian finally speaks up. “Two fizzy lemonades. Please.”
Their eyes meet, and for a moment, they simply gaze at each other. How hard was that for him?
The waiter takes his leave, and once they’re more or less alone, Arisanna leans a little closer. “Thank you for the lemonades. I forgot I wanted one.”
Cerian nods as he looks down at the table. “I am the grateful one.”
“Perhaps I can teach you how to read Nunian. Someday.”
He exhales slowly. “Since we’ll be traveling to Nunia a lot, I suppose it would be good to learn.”
We.
The way he says it warms her heart. He really does mean to keep his promises, doesn’t he? Maybe she misread him the day they met. Perhaps he doesn’t mean to appear rude and aloof.
Might her future with this elf be happy? Perhaps not passionate or romantic, but happy and content?
She sucks in her cheeks to hide her smile at the thought.
Cerian eyes the glass of clear yellowish liquid as bubbles cling to the chilled sides, occasionally floating to the surface and popping. “Are you sure this is safe to drink?”
“Rominy has consumed enough ginger beers to float away, and he seems fine.” Arisanna shrugs and lifts her glass toward Cerian. “Cheers.”
“Cheers?”
“We’re supposed to clink our glasses together.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” She holds her glass aloft, waiting for him to reciprocate, and he carefully lifts his own bubbling beverage to meet hers in a soft tink.
“Now what?”
“Now we drink.” As she presses the glass to her lips and takes a sip, her eyes slide shut. “Mmm. That’s good.”
Hesitantly, he does the same. The air bubbles tickle his nose, but he ignores the strange sensation and takes a tiny drink.
It’s sweet and tangy. And it bites.
“What do you think?” Arisanna takes another sip before lowering her cup back to the table.
“It’s...different.”
“Different good or different bad?”
He studies the bubbles again before setting down the glass. “I haven’t decided.”
They quietly eat their lunch, and Cerian occasionally tests the fizzy drink as he works on his steak.
“I think you like it,” Arisanna says with the same hint of teasing his siblings often use around him.
That draws out his smile before he can help himself. “Perhaps.”
Soon, their food is consumed, and their fizzy lemonades are downed, and Father appears at their table. “You seem to have managed well on your own. Are you ready to depart?”
Cerian glances at Arisanna, and she nods.
Together with the rest of his kin, they leave the restaurant and walk north toward the stables. Just as they did two days ago, the humans of Feressa stop and stare at the elves, but no one is hostile or aggressive. Mostly, they seem curious.
How quickly they forget the battles fought mere decades ago between their peoples. But this is why he’s here—why he’s heartbound with a human. To maintain the peace between Lostariel and Nunia. Hopefully, for longer than any of these people will exist.
Grooms lead their saddled horses into the street, including Arisanna’s beautiful chestnut mare.
The red tones of the horse’s glossy coat draw out the reddish tint in Arisanna’s hair as she mounts.
The brown riding gown she wears doesn’t do her justice.
A vision of her in a deep crimson elven split skirt and hooded cloak dances unbidden before his eyes until Tharios elbows him in the ribs.
“Are you planning to gawk at her all afternoon?”
Cerian shoves his brother away and swings onto Lightshorn’s back as Tharios grins and mounts his own horse.
It’s not like Tharios has room to talk. They all watched him act like a newly bound fool when he fell in love with Viala three years ago. Cerian found it vomit-inducing at the time.
Not that he’s falling in love with Arisanna. She’s nice to look at. That’s all. And kind. And she doesn’t seem to mind his moods.
Truly, he’s lucky. This entire situation could be so much worse, but Arisanna makes it bearable. Which is far better than he feared when he crossed into Nunia two days ago.
He nudges Lightshorn toward Arisanna as Father leads their caravan out of town.
“Your horse is beautiful,” Cerian says. “I can see why you wanted to bring her.”
“Yes. She’s a lot sweeter than she looks, too, despite what they say about chestnut mares, aren’t you, girl?”
Cerian frowns. “What do they say?”
“Oh, you know. ‘Chestnut mare, beware.’ They’re supposedly moody. But not Dahlia. She’s a sweetheart.” Arisanna leans forward to pat the horse’s neck. “Yes, you’re a sweetheart, aren’t you?”
The mare whinnies affectionately as they cross the meadows toward the border. A light breeze dances around them, and Cerian imagines it playing with strands of Arisanna’s hair. She’s wearing it up today, though. Under a hat.
What would it look like with flowers holding it back the way she wore it in their heartlanding?
A warm wind suddenly billows his hair in all directions, and he glares at Tharios as the wind settles again.
Air wielders.
Cerian would lob a fireball his brother’s way if it wouldn’t frighten any humans who might be watching. Including, perhaps, Arisanna.
Tharios had better watch out, though. One of these days, Cerian’s going to singe his brother’s eyebrows.
As they approach the border between Nunia and Lostariel, Arisanna’s stomach knots.
According to the treaty, at least as far as she understands it, King Lorial is supposed to drop the barrier permanently now that both sides have honored their agreement.
Hopefully, her marriage to Cerian will be enough to maintain the peace.
And Rominy’s marriage to Elowyn, of course. Poor Rominy. At least Arisanna had her whole life to prepare for the role she is to play.
When the barrier comes into view, a small gasp escapes Arisanna’s lips.
She’s never been close enough to the border to witness it.
The glimmering light extends at least thirty feet in the air for miles in either direction.
Judging by this wall of magic, King Lorial is as powerful a magic wielder as Arisanna’s been told.
“What kind of magic is this?” she whispers to Cerian.
“Air magic, mostly. A bit of fire magic as well. Tharios can manipulate it enough to pass through, but he’s not a fire wielder, so he can’t dismantle it completely. Only my father can.”
“Are there no other air and fire wielders in Lostariel?”
“Air wielders are rare, and not all elves have dual affinities. Viala could perhaps manage it.”
Right. The fae are wielders of all kinds of magic. Arisanna had never met one before Viala, though. There’s very little knowledge about the Lothlesi among humans. The mountain fae tend to keep to themselves.
As they watch, King Lorial dismounts and approaches the barrier on foot. This moment seems auspicious enough to deserve some sort of ceremony, but none was planned. Arisanna’s father didn’t even come to witness the dismantling of the barrier.
Arisanna tightens her hands around her reins as Cerian’s father lifts his arms toward the glimmering wall.
Beginning at his palms, patches form in the light, growing larger as the magic fades in ever-growing waves.
Soon, the Wildthorne Woods of Lostariel are visible in their beauty and foreboding presence.
The barrier continues to disintegrate as King Lorial’s magic extends in either direction, pulling down the wall that’s stood since before Arisanna was born.
“It’s strange to think about the barrier falling,” Cerian whispers, and Arisanna nods.
It takes a few minutes, but eventually, King Lorial steps away from where the barrier once stood, staggering as Tharios and Cerian dismount and rush to his side.
“I’m well. Just lightheaded,” King Lorial says. “The burden of maintaining the barrier has been a constant weight on my magic. I’ll soon adjust again.”
Queen Nestraya approaches her husband, and he lowers his forehead to meet hers. Is that an elven sign of affection? The queen did it with Elowyn as well.
Soon, they step apart, and King Lorial addresses the rest of their party. “May a joining of our two peoples through the heartbinding open doors between our kingdoms to replace the wall and animosity that once ruled our relationship with our neighbors.”
“May it be so,” the elves around Arisanna echo.
As the king and queen take to their horses again, Cerian returns to Arisanna’s side and mounts his dappled gray gelding. Together, they press their horses forward into the Wildthorne Woods as Arisanna’s stomach tightens in nervous anticipation.
Cerian turns his face toward her and gazes at her with his emerald eyes. “Welcome to Lostariel.”
Her new home.