Episode 77 What About My Apples?
What About My Apples?
Queen Yalisa talks a lot.
But that means Cerian doesn’t have to, so he tries not to grow too irritated by his mother-in-law’s incessant chatter as Arisanna responds for both of them as well as she can.
“And your mother looked well when I saw her briefly earlier,” the queen says to Cerian. “I would like to speak with her again. To better express...”
The queen lets out a slow breath and looks at the ceiling, her words trailing off, and Cerian frowns. Is she crying?
“It’s all right, Mother,” Arisanna says softly.
“I worry she may have thought us ungrateful after our last encounter. It was all just such a shock, and I want her to know what her sacrifice means to us. To your father and me and all of Nunia. I feared losing you to this alliance, but you’re here, and I see now that I haven’t lost anything.”
“Of course you haven’t lost me, Mother. And Cerian and I will be living in Darlei after we return from our trip to Celesta. We’ll be able to visit whenever we want, right, Cerian?”
The thought fills him with dread, but he merely nods.
“Darlei? You plan to live in Darlei? Oh, Arisanna, that makes me so happy. And I will have to come visit when, heaven willing, your own babies start coming. I wasn’t sure about those pointed ears at first, but now I believe they will be just darling on little.
..what do you call them, Cerian? Elflings?
Will they inherit your magic, do you think?
I confess I don’t understand elven magic well at all, and. ..”
Her voice fades in Cerian’s head as the room grows suddenly warm.
Elflings?
Whistling wind.
Now would be a good time to run.
“Mother, you may be getting a little ahead of yourself,” Arisanna says with a slight laugh that sounds forced to his ears.
And she’s not looking at him. What does that mean?
Have they ever even talked about this?
“I’m sure it will happen for you.” The queen pats her arm. “Don’t you worry.”
Arisanna still isn’t looking at him.
He shoots to his feet. “Food.” It’s the first thing that popped into his head. “I should...we haven’t...I haven’t—”
“Stars above,” Arisanna says. “I was going to get you something after...” She glances at her mother and clears her throat. “And your plant magic...”
She doesn’t finish that thought either.
His magic stores are doing well enough despite how restless his magic has been today.
The rest of him could use food, though.
He strides to the door before stopping.
What is he doing? The thought of seeking food on his own leaves him feeling sick inside. All the people he would have to talk to. And if someone hands him one of those menus? In Nunian?
Slowly, he turns back to Arisanna, and the faintest of smiles ghosts her face.
“Mother, why don’t you lie down until Father arrives so you’ll be rested when it’s time to see Rominy? You must not have slept well after receiving that telegram, and I need to help Cerian find something to eat.”
The queen looks at Cerian. “When you showed up with that scowl on your face, I had my doubts, but you must not be all glares and grumps with how my daughter clearly feels about you. And you’re right, Arisanna. I barely slept a wink. A nap sounds perfect, so off with you both.”
To Cerian’s shock, she shoos them from their own room, and as Arisanna leads them away from her mother’s guards in the corridor, he turns startled eyes toward her.
“So...that’s my mother.” A light huff escapes her as she tucks her hair behind her ear and gazes hesitantly up at him.
He opens his mouth, but words are too much to ask for.
“I’m sorry,” Arisanna says. “I know she can be a bit much. She means well. Thank you for entertaining her while I was in the water closet.”
He nods.
“Are you all right?” Arisanna asks.
“I don’t know.” He pushes the words out. “That...that was...”
“Indeed.” She takes a deep breath before putting on a smile. “Let’s find you some food, all right? What do you think you could eat?”
“Not glop,” he mutters, and she laughs.
“That goes without saying. Come on. We’ll see what the hotel kitchen can come up with.”
Arisanna stands hesitantly outside the hotel kitchen with Cerian behind her. His walls have gone back up even more than they were around her mother. He’s clearly fighting his own battles.
It’s all right. She’ll manage without his help. At least she’s been in a kitchen now, thanks to him.
After pasting on a smile, she knocks on the doorframe, and a man glances up from a pot of what looks like more stew.
Hopefully, Cerian isn’t too squeamish, though after his ordeal earlier, she has doubts about the strength of his stomach.
“Oh, I have a visitor. Make that two visitors.” The chef offers a surprised smile to them. “Royal visitors. This is a first for me. And here I am with a dirty apron.”
“Please don’t worry about your apron,” Arisanna says to the pleasant man. He looks like he’s in his forties. “I know you’re busy with work to do.”
“Indeed, Your Highness, but I’m happy to spare a moment for the couple whose existence ended the border raids I remember during my younger days.”
Stars above. Hopefully, he’s not prejudiced against elves like the man who threw that rock at Elowyn.
“My father always said King Lorial was a good man. My father was there when your father almost died trying to stop the fighting, Your Highness,” the chef says to Cerian.
Cerian looks up, but all he manages is a nod.
At least the man seems not to hold anything against Cerian’s family.
They’re her family now, too.
“Was there something you needed, Your Highnesses, or are you just here to chat over milk and cookies?” he winks, and a laugh escapes Arisanna before she can stop it.
“As delightful as that sounds, I hate to take up too much of your time. I was wondering...hoping, maybe...” She glances at Cerian, but he’s staring at his boots.
Right.
“My husband struggles with human food,” she eventually says. “I was wondering—”
“Say no more. I understand. I wasn’t sure what elves ate, so I’ve just been serving up the usual, but I’m happy to adjust my menu if you could give me some direction, Your Highness. I’d hate for word to spread in Lostariel that the hotel in Feressa serves glop.”
For a moment, Arisanna just stares at the man.
“Your Highness?” he says. “Is there something on my face?”
She shakes her head. “Forgive me. I was lost in thought.”
“Ah. Happens to the best of us.” He nods, waiting for her to speak again.
“Separate,” Cerian murmurs behind her. “We keep our food separate.”
Her eyes swing toward him, and he looks terrified, but he’s talking, and warmth fills her heart at the fact that he’s trying.
“Yes,” she says as she turns back to the hotel chef. “Elves don’t mix their food the way humans do.”
The man eyes the pot of stew. “Well, this won’t do, then.”
Arisanna cringes inside, but the man smiles. “We have so many extra guests that I needed to make more to feed everyone, anyway. Perhaps chicken with a side of potatoes, Your Highness?”
The relief in Cerian’s eyes is obvious, and he nods. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for letting me know before I get a reputation.” He winks again, and Arisanna can’t help but smile. “In the meantime,” the man continues, “I’m overflowing with apples. I don’t suppose you want to take some off my hands? You’d be doing me a favor.”
“I suppose...if you have more than you can use...” Cerian says softly.
“Have at it, Your Highness. I’d better get started on those potatoes. It was a pleasure to meet you both.”
Arisanna mouths a thank-you to the man. With a smile and nod, he goes back to his work, and Cerian tentatively gathers an armful of apples from the overflowing barrel.
Who knew cooks could be so kind? Perhaps she should learn from Cerian and spend more time in kitchens.
“There you two are.” Grandmera stands in the doorway behind them, and her eyes twinkle when she takes in Cerian’s haul, but she says nothing about the apples he’s clearly hoarding.
“Grandmera,” Cerian says. “Is Elowyn all right?”
“She’s holding steady. But I wish to get some air and see more of Feressa, and I have decided I would like company.” She speaks in careful Nunian, and Arisanna smiles at her effort not to alienate the kind cook by speaking in his presence in a language he doesn’t understand.
“A walk?” Cerian says, his brows drawing together. “Outdoors?”
“That is where one usually walks, Cerian.”
He looks down at his armful of fruit. “What about my apples?”
“What, indeed?”
Arisanna struggles not to smile at their conversation.
Behind her, the cook sets a pail on the table. “Bring it back to refill when you’re done with those, Your Highness.”
“Thank you,” Arisanna says as Cerian stows his stash.
Then her elven prince looks up at the man. “I am grateful.”
“You’re doing me a favor, remember, Your Highness? Have a nice walk.”
Grandmera nods to the man with that stately elegance she exudes so well. “Bring your apples and come, Cerian.”
With a graceful turn, Grandmera strides from the kitchen, and Arisanna follows as Cerian grabs his pail of apples and hurries after her.