Chapter 4 Araphi
Araphi
Oh no.
Araphi has made a mistake. A terrible, unthinkable mistake.
How could she have believed this was a party party, with food, music, dancing, flirting…and a place for her, of all people?
She wants to crawl under the table and hide.
At Sage’s puzzlement, it becomes clear that Clara and the bard were talking about an adventuring party when she overheard them last night at the Dragon’s Bane.
Gods. Is Araphi really so preoccupied, or so desperate for distraction, that she missed such a crucial fact?
Or was it just the socialite in her coming out in full force, perceiving the world as she’s been trained to do?
Not that seeing Sage again is unwelcome. It is, in fact, the exact opposite of unwelcome.
If she is being honest, Araphi has thought about Sage far more often than any engaged woman should have.
She studies Sage now: her short, sharply cut blond hair, the careful casualness of her long limbs, the pale ghost of a scar above her left eyebrow, and the way she’s looking up at Araphi from across the table.
As though she’s thunderstruck that anyone might prefer a proper party over a rough trek through cold, beast-riddled woods.
As she waits for Araphi’s answer, Sage quirks a knowing half smile, which makes a dimple pop on her cheek.
Araphi feels her own breath hitch. How can such an irritating person be so attractive? It shouldn’t be allowed.
“I imagine your adventuring party”—Araphi emphasizes the word to show her understanding even as Sage’s half smile becomes a full smirk—“is hiking to the Northlands for some precious resource, which will be obtained through ridiculously dangerous means that only a crack team of skilled adventurers could manage. Perhaps it’s best I leave you to it, then, and return to my shopping.
” She’s determined to get out of this tavern with as much of her remaining dignity as possible.
“There’s a barge I can take back to Harrow tonight, if I hurry. ”
“The magical one that costs most people a month’s salary to ride?”
Araphi flinches at the mention of money.
She shouldn’t have brought up the barge.
From the state of Sage’s boots—sturdily made but dreadfully battered—and the fact that she’s working with an adventure party this late in the year…
Well, Araphi just shouldn’t have said it.
The enchanted barge, which traverses several hundred miles of the Willowthorn River between Ashaway and Kingfisher in a scant few hours, is used all the time by her family, whether for business or pleasure.
Her parents board it when they feel like having dinner in Kingfisher, but want to return home later that evening.
Araphi hasn’t ever given much thought to the fact that it’s a luxury well beyond the means of most people in Harrow.
She took it last night, arriving in Kingfisher in the early hours of the morning, where she promptly checked in to a lavish inn and fell asleep until lunchtime.
It took her the better part of the afternoon to prepare for this audition and work up the nerve to find the Pearl and the Grit.
Shame fills her and she clears her throat. This is all going so terribly wrong. She’s got to get out of here. But before she can say anything else, a tall, red-faced woman in a barmaid’s apron comes over to the table.
“Something to drink, love?” she asks Araphi.
“I was just going,” Araphi says, starting to stand.
Sage rests a hand lightly on Araphi’s arm, the contact making her stomach flip. “Have your tea. I’m not here to chase you away, I promise. And I won’t judge you for how you got here. Stay?”
Araphi’s spine straightens at the challenge in her words and the teasing look in Sage’s eyes. “Very well, I’ll stay. Just for tea.”
“We don’t have tea here,” the tavern server says flatly. “Ale, cider, and wine, and none of them fancy, but they do the job.”
Araphi wasn’t planning on drinking today, but if there isn’t to be a party after all, she might as well stay for one drink. “I’ll have a cider, then.”
“Excellent choice,” the barmaid says, and hurries away.
“Well,” Sage begins a few seconds later. It’s only then that Araphi realizes Sage’s hand is still on her arm, her fingers lightly resting above the bones of Araphi’s wrist.
She swallows. “Well, what?”
“Aren’t you going to audition?”
It takes Araphi a moment to understand Sage’s meaning. When she finally catches on, heat flushes her cheeks. “Oh no. I think your party will be just fine without me.”
Sage takes a sip of ale, withdrawing her touch. “You never know, Bard; we might need you. What are your applicable skills?”
It’s a fair question—one that Araphi desperately wants to answer correctly.
She can’t say flower arranging, or knowing the exact shade of gemstone to wear with what outfit, or which wines go best with fish, or really anything that Araphi Clauneck would know.
Instead, she tries to think about what Phi Runesong—the prize-winning bard who enthralled a whole tavern in the Rookery with a ballad, for gods’ sakes—would say to this question.
Her cider arrives and she takes a long sip, grateful for the chance to clear her throat and arrange her thoughts. “Well, I can talk to people.”
“That’s it? We’ve got a talker on the roster already.”
Araphi takes another sip of cider. “I can sing, of course, and play the lute. And I’m sure I can flirt just as well as you.”
Sage chokes on the ale she’s sipping. The dimple returns to her cheek, and Araphi has the clearest premonition that it will be her undoing.
“Show me,” Sage challenges.
“Show you how I flirt?”
Sage nods. “Consider it your audition.”
“With who?” Araphi looks around the room.
There are three women beside the bar in the middle of an argument about something or other.
Two large men at a nearby table are arm wrestling, and then there’s someone with a thick box beard and a hard look in their eyes walking toward the bar from the back of the tavern.
None of them appear ready to have the full weight of Araphi Clauneck’s charm flung at them.
Sage leans closer. “Flirt with me. I insist.”
Oh.
Ohhhhhhh.
Heat fills Araphi’s belly. Yes, she can do this. She knows she’s good at it, and she’s certainly happy to flirt with the sexy ranger sitting across from her.
“Well, in that case.” Araphi puts a hand on Sage’s thigh. “If we’re fake flirting, then I’m sure you won’t mind me telling you how much I like your sword.”
A spark of recognition lights Sage’s bright hazel eyes. “You remember my sword?”
Araphi lowers her gaze in one slow blink that she knows makes her eyelashes look miles long. She drops the tone of her voice, so it comes out husky and honey-smooth. “Certainly I do. I’ve spent far too many nights thinking of it since summer.”
Though Sage’s expression doesn’t change, she swallows visibly, which sends a thrill of pleasure through Araphi—because she’s obviously passing this test. Something much more dangerous coils inside her.
If she’s being honest, Araphi loves the effect she has on someone seemingly trying their hardest not to like her.
She can’t help herself, so she keeps going.
“And I’ve been wondering how a woman like you keeps warm on those long adventures.” She offers Sage her most dazzling smile.
“I manage,” Sage chokes out as Araphi’s nails rake a slow line from Sage’s knee and up her inner thigh.
A blush rises on Sage’s cheeks, and Araphi grins in triumph.
“Should I keep going?” she asks. “Just to prove my skills?”
“I’m not totally convinced,” Sage whispers, her voice a touch ragged.
Araphi can feel the muscles in Sage’s leg tighten under her hand. She shifts in her seat, so her lips are inches from Sage’s ear. “I’m very good at persuading people into my bed, trust me.”
“Not sure that counts as a skill.”
“Oh, believe me, it does. Though it’s been said my other strengths in that skill set are even more…”
Someone sits down beside Sage, their chair screeching against the flagstone floor. “I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Wrenching her face away from Sage’s, Araphi turns to see a man with smooth dark skin, nearly unwrinkled despite the gray in his neat beard, and a hard look in his eyes.
He glances at Araphi’s hand on Sage’s leg, and she quickly removes it.
Is this man with Sage? Has Araphi grievously misread a situation once again?
“I was just auditioning,” Araphi says, sitting up straighter in her chair.
“For what?”
Sage pulls herself together, her cheeks still pink, and clears her throat. “Remy, this is—”
“Phi Runesong,” Araphi chimes in before Sage can introduce her by her real name.
Sage meets her eyes for a moment and nods slightly. “Phi Runesong,” she echoes. “A bard who’s trying out for our party. Phi, this is Remy, the agent who’s contracted the party. He’ll be coming with us.”
Now Araphi understands. The man and Sage are work companions. Excellent, she can handle that. Not that she should be worried about it, since she won’t be doing more than fake flirting with Sage, and then wishing her well before she heads north.
Remy nods. “Well, Phi. We’ll be moving fast through rough terrain, and that isn’t the kind of mission that begs for a bard, you understand?”
“You haven’t heard her play,” Sage challenges the man, sounding annoyed on her behalf. Funny, since Sage has never heard her play either.
But Araphi seizes her chance before he can protest, hopping up to grab the lute from its resting spot by her chair. “Wait here, please, I’ll just be a moment.” She hurries to the bar, planting herself on an open stool. “Who’d like to hear a song?” she calls out.
No one replies.
She tries again, louder this time. Someone shouts at her to shut up, and a pint of ale goes whizzing past her head to shatter on the bar wall behind her.
This is all very usual stuff for a working bard, she imagines, and far lower stakes than a Clauneck dinner party.
Araphi brushes a frothy spot of ale off her dress and whispers a quick spell of bardic enchantment, hoping some particularly bored deity is listening in through the planes.
Then she calls out again, even louder this time: “Who’d like to hear a song? ”
This time, thanks to the spell perhaps, the tavern grows quiet, all eyes on her.
Now, what should she play?
This is definitely not a ballad crowd, nor one so musically inclined they might appreciate more technically complex songs.
So Araphi strums the first few notes of a popular tavern song, something bawdy and hilarious, and then she launches into it, fully aware that Sage’s eyes are trained on her.
Araphi meets her gaze for a moment, and the look the ranger gives her is one of unmistakable desire. It makes Araphi’s knees tremble.
But she is a prize-winning bard, so she just winks at Sage and keeps playing.
The notes tumble from her fingers in a breathless run, nearly tripping over themselves.
Araphi’s practiced fingers guide the entire tavern through the four verses of the song.
The joy of the music seeps into her as she plays, and her worries melt away.
Sure, she’s supposed to be dress shopping this week for a wedding she’s come to dread, and her attendants will soon be looking for her, and yes, she most certainly made a fool of herself with Sage.
But the song rolls through her, and everyone in the tavern is singing along.
By the time Araphi’s done, her chest heaves from the effort, and a grin splits her face.
The mood in the tavern is decidedly lighter after her performance.
People clap her on the back, and someone shoves a full mug of ale into her hand as she makes her way back to where Sage and Remy sit.
When she stops in front of the table, Sage is writing something down and doesn’t look up.
“Well?” Araphi asks. She can’t keep her voice from trembling slightly, both from the delicious adrenaline of singing in front of a crowd and from the realization that she’s no longer pretending to care what Sage thinks.
It isn’t even about the ranger—well, mostly it isn’t—so much as the opportunity in front of her.
Hasn’t she always dreamed of a life like this?
Getting by on her talents and passion, instead of by her family name?
Now that she’s here, now that there’s a chance, she isn’t so eager to close the door on that dream, after all.