Chapter 6 Balls #2
Elyria pursed her lips, sure that she felt the gentle thrum of something emanating from the locket. But perhaps it was just the lingering taste of the mana buzzing from the other tokens in the room. She wondered if the humans couldn’t sense it, or if they simply got used to it after a while.
“I’ve had a melancholy few weeks,” Tenny continued, grasping the locket between two fingers and sliding it back and forth along its chain. “Been feeling a bit down. I think my father felt guilty.”
Elyria wondered what an upbeat Tenny was like, if this was her when she was feeling down. “Would a drink help?” she asked, gesturing to a nearby table.
“Blessed Aurelia, would it ever.” Tenny gave an eager nod, smiling warmly at Nox and Thraigg as they made room around the table for the two women to approach. “Please don’t think I’m the sort of person who makes a habit of drinking away my feelings though.”
Thraigg choked back a laugh. “Oh, we don’t know anybody like that, do we, Rev?” he said with a broad grin. Elyria fought the urge to elbow the dwarf in response.
Thankfully, Tenny didn’t seem to notice. “Truth be told, I could use the liquid courage.” She plucked a cup from the table and took a quick sip.
“Oh? Why’s that?” Elyria asked. “Every other hu—er, everyone else here seems to be having a marvelous time tonight.”
“Don’t they though?” The hint of disdain in Tenny’s voice as she continued surveying her fellow partygoers made the kernel of affection that Elyria already felt toward the girl grow brighter.
Despite her position—or who her father was—she didn’t seem to care much for the pretenses here, and Elyria appreciated that. Deeply.
“But not you.” Elyria didn’t phrase it as a question.
“I’m afraid that despite appearances to the contrary, I don’t have much of an appetite for these things, really.
Aurelia knows I’ve been to enough of them in my life.
” She made a face. “Don’t get me wrong. I can appreciate the grandeur and enjoy the opportunity to dress up nice as much as the next girl, but I’m really only here because I didn’t want to miss seeing—” She cleared her throat.
“I didn’t want to miss the grand welcome. ”
“There’s to be a grand welcome?”
“Of course! Whenever the king deigns to show up. Hopefully it won’t be much longer now. My father tells me His Majesty is very eager to see you both.”
Elyria’s brow furrowed. “Both?” She cast a quick glance at Kit and Dentarius, still engaged in polite conversation with some new set of nobles, then Nox and Thraigg, who had moved several paces away and were arguing animatedly with each other over what appeared to be a piece of cheese. “Don’t you mean all—”
A hand brushed across Elyria’s shoulder blades, and she whirled.
The two snarky women who had exchanged whispers about Nox were back, their cups noticeably emptier and their cheeks noticeably pinker than they had been minutes prior.
The blonder of the two still had her hand outstretched as if she meant to reach out and touch Elyria again.
“Can I help you?” Elyria said, forcing a tight smile even as she took a step back, her hip bumping the table behind her.
The blonde woman giggled. “They’re not just for show, are they?”
“Pardon me?”
“The wings, she means,” added her friend. “We were there when you put them on for that rather lovely display the other day.”
Blondie teetered on her feet, her lower lip sticking out in a dramatic pout. “Exactly. And I’m so disappointed to see you’ve taken them off.”
Elyria couldn’t contain her scoff. “Good thing they aren’t something we can either ‘put on’ or ‘take off’ then, isn’t it?”
“How do you do it?” Blondie’s eyes narrowed suddenly, all suspicion and accusation as she reached for Elyria again.
Elyria tensed, boxed in by the drunken women to her front and the table at her back, unable to put more distance between them. She was quite sure that if the girl touched her again, however, it would result in a decidedly undiplomatic outcome.
Thankfully, a light hand was in place around the woman’s wrist, guiding it away before an international incident became necessary.
“Honestly, Beatrice. Get a hold of yourself. Have you no manners?” Tenny flung Beatrice’s hand back at its shocked owner.
“If your father washn’t who he ish, Portennnnshuh . . .” Beatrice slurred as she flung a ferocious finger in Tenny’s face.
Tenny sniffed. “I would never disrespect my father with such uncouth behavior. Can yours say the same?”
“You tell her, Ten.” A male voice drifted into Elyria’s ears, lilting and good-natured, as a still-scoffing Beatrice was dragged away by her slightly more sober friend.
Elyria turned her head to see a man in a crisp embroidered doublet sauntering toward them.
She thought maybe there was something familiar about him, but she didn’t know why.
With a wicked scar carving up one side of his face from his chin to his cheekbone, she was rather sure she would’ve remembered if they’d met before.
Then again, with the twinkle in those blue, blue eyes, she could also understand how one might miss the scar entirely.
Wavy blond hair fell just above his shoulders, slightly damp at the ends. He was grinning—broadly and without a hint of reservation—as he sidled up to Tenny and wrapped both arms around her shoulders, scooping her up into a hug. “Miss me?” he said.
Elyria looked for the flush in Tenny’s cheeks when he released her, but there was nothing there but amusement—amusement, and perhaps just a hint of exasperation.
“I suppose I might have noticed your absence, Tris,” she said, bumping him with her hip before handing him a goblet of wine, “if for no other reason than just how peaceful it’s been around here over the past few weeks. Peaceful and quiet.”
“Bah. You missed me.” He took a long drag from his cup, still grinning, before those twinkling eyes settled on Elyria. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Pardon me?” Elyria said for the second time in as many minutes.
“You’re the Revenant.”
Elyria tensed. She’d known this would happen eventually.
Had been waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop for the past few days, waiting for someone who could no longer mask their ire for Arcanians, the fae, and all the Revenant had done, to confront her.
Was this man, someone Tenny was clearly friends with, finally going to be the one to do so?
Right here in the middle of the welcome celebration?
“I am,” Elyria said warily.
The man reached toward her, and the knot of shadows in her chest pulsed again, this time frantic with anticipation. But he didn’t move to grab her or strike her. No, instead he stretched one large arm around Elyria and drew her into a hug, just as he’d done with Tenny.
Elyria froze in place, unsure of what to do. “Um . . .” She raised her free hand to pat him awkwardly on the back. “Nice to meet you?”
“Honestly, Tristan, let the poor girl go.” Tenny batted him playfully on the arm until he released Elyria.
That grin of his only grew as he appraised her, his eyes raking down her gown before he let out an appreciative whistle.
“Didn’t get much of a look at you back in Castle Lumin, what with all the drama.
” He waved his hands in the air, linking his thumbs and wiggling his fingers—a crude imitation of a bird flapping its wings.
“And let me just say, I will be forever filled with regret over that fact. To think, I could have had this image in my mind all these long months.”
He winked, then tilted in Tenny’s direction as if looking for her agreement. She simply shook her head, offering Elyria a look of sympathy. And despite the momentary jolt at Tristan’s reminder of what Zephyr had done—and what she was—Elyria found herself fighting a grin.
“Tristan, is it?”
“It is, my lady. Sir Tristan Hale.”
“You are a knight of Kingshelm then, Sir Hale?” She cursed her traitorous heart for the way its rhythm picked up at the realization.
He was at Castle Lumin, which is why he looked familiar.
One of Cedric’s compatriots who had been there to greet him at the end.
She wanted to ask so many things—how well Tristan knew Cedric, if he knew where he was.
If he was due to return anytime soon. If she would get to see him before she left.
She cursed herself for the patheticness of it all, but could feel the questions building, threatening to throw themselves off her tongue.
Thankfully, the sour look on Tristan’s face saved her from making a desperate fool of herself.
“Something the matter?” Elyria asked.
“Oh, nothing. I am just suddenly acutely aware of the fact that I perhaps underestimated my friendship with dear Cedric if he didn’t mention me even once during the Crucible.” His bottom lip jutted out in a comical pout.
At that, Elyria laughed. “Of course, how rude of us. How dare we not walk each other through our lists of friends and family between trials? Where were our priorities?”
“At least you can admit it.” Another twinkle of those blue eyes. “I accept your apology.”
Elyria buried her answering smile in her goblet.
“Well, I may not have been a topic of conversation within the Sanctum,” he continued, “but I have, on the other hand, heard all about you.”
“Mmm, only the most flattering things, I’m sure.”
“They have been. To be fair, perhaps not all the ladies would enjoy being referred to as a ‘beautiful and terrifying onslaught,’ but something tells me that indeed is something you would find flattering.”
Elyria choked on her wine.
Tristan, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat.
“Our dear Lord Victor particularly seems to enjoy detailing your fighting prowess anytime he and I find ourselves in the training ring together. It’s all, ‘During the Crucible, the Revenant wielded her weapons like this,’ and ‘In the Sanctum, Elyria used her magic to do that.’ Incessant. ”