Chapter 5 #2
It would toe the line of what was allowed by the trade translators because it still involved translating from Calnoric into Elvish.
But she’d been granted the powers of a certified social translator with her new position, so she could make a case that since Arvel read the numbers to her it could be considered part of her social translator duties and was thus permissible.
Arvel tapped his cookie on the rim of his teacup. “That would be brilliant. Thank you.”
“There is no need to keep thanking me, Your Royal—that is, Arvel.”
Arvel gave her an approving smile that seemed entirely too perky considering the late hour.
But maybe that was just jealousy talking—she was the elf and was supposed to be untouched by fatigue.
But she felt like she had rubbed pebbles in her eyes while Arvel still looked as fresh and happy as he had when she had initially returned from the library.
“But it’s a good work around,” Arvel argued. “And I think it’s the only way we’ll finish in time.”
Myth took another bite of her cookie. “Perhaps.”
I’ll need to be extra diligent. Of course my seniors will be horrified if I make a mistake, but any error would reflect poorly on Arvel as well.
With that unhappy thought lingering, she leaned back in her chair, attempting to relax in their amiable silence.
Arvel had opened one of the magnificent windows in the back of his office, and Myth could hear the crickets chirping outside in the gardens.
She stood and stretched her arms above her head, feeling her muscles pull tight. Taking her cookie with her, she walked to the back of Arvel’s office so she could breathe in more of the cool air and peer outside.
Fog had settled over the gardens, cloaking them from sight.
Because Arvel’s office jutted out of the palace, she could see up and down the wall of the building. Most of the rooms were darkened; only a few hallways that emptied out into open-air corridors were dimly lit this late at night.
Arvel’s chair scraped as he stood up and joined her at the windows.
He leaned against one of the window panes as he glanced up at the evening sky, which was obscured by clouds.
“I keep thanking you because there’s no way I could have fixed this without you,” he abruptly spoke, breaking the silence.
“All the translators had finished for the day. I could have declared it a royal emergency, but that would be a lie. It’s no emergency of any sort, just Mother and the Fultons throwing their weight around. ”
Myth frowned. “What do you mean? Surely it was a mistake on their end.” She glanced back at the exhaustive list of changes sitting on Arvel’s desk.
She didn’t know if her tongue was loosened by the snack or the late hour, but she dourly added, “A massive , embarrassing recording error that I hope makes them hang their heads in shame for being such cakes about it.”
Arvel chuckled. “I think that’s the first negative thing I’ve heard you say about the situation.
Well done! Sadly, no. It’s not an error.
It’s a punishment. From Mother—although I suppose her family supports it as well.
She had no way of knowing you’d be capable of helping, so she probably just wanted me to fail to teach me a lesson. ”
Myth’s frown deepened. “Why would she punish you?”
Arvel shrugged. “She keeps throwing eligible young ladies at me—the kind she would want me to marry—and I persist in evading them.”
Myth slowly blinked as she tried to comprehend what Arvel was telling her.
“I apologize. My informal Calnoric must be off. Do you really mean to say your Mother and her family have purposely produced extra work for you with the intention that you should fail because you don’t like the young ladies they suggest as marriage candidates ? ”
“Yep.”
Later, Myth blamed Arvel’s charming personality for what came next. (He was too open , too cunningly pleasant so that he’d lowered her guard to a point she hadn’t recognized, or she would have kept a better rein on her tongue.)
“Is Her Majesty, Queen Luciee of Calnor, an animal that intends to eat her own young?”
Arvel broke into such heaving gusts of laughter he folded in half and grabbed his sides.
Myth ignored the prince’s laughter—she wasn’t done. “And are the Fultons daft ? Did it not occur to Queen Luciee nor her family that you are the crown prince ? Once you get enough power you can make their lives a misery!”
Several minutes passed before Arvel could speak.
“They’re hoping to get me under control before then.
” He was still grinning, but he finally tamed his good humor.
“That’s why they care so much about who I marry.
Mother wants me to wed someone who will secure her power since Gwendafyn hasn’t just rocked the boat, she’s turned the whole thing upside down.
Whether Mother accomplishes that by pushing a girl who is especially biddable or beholden to her, or a girl whose family is in a political alliance with the Fultons, I don’t think she cares. ”
Myth shook her head. “I restate my previous sentiment, Arvel. There is no need to keep on apologizing. You are not culpable for the childish, harsh, asinine —”
Arvel burst into gusts of laughter again, but Myth ignored it and kept going.
“—and wicked things your mother inflicts on you. What a festering vulture! No, vultures have their place in the world. She’s a blood-sucking leech!”
Arvel’s shoulders shook in his laughter, and he gasped for air. “I’m sorry, it’s just…”
Myth patiently waited as he broke into another burst.
It wasn’t until he laughed so hard he nearly choked that the crown prince’s laughter subsided enough to tell her. “It’s just that you’re this elegant, beautiful elf. And you just blurted out some of the harshest truths I’ve ever heard anyone speak about Mother. Ever! ”
He was more relaxed, now. His grin was almost lopsided, and his posture was more languid than rigid. “I never imagined an elf would have it in them to so bluntly shred someone with words.”
Myth cleared her throat and settled her hands on her black belt. “Perhaps. It is likely that you merely have been exposed to elves who don’t know the more blunt—as you called them—words. We elves do argue and occasionally shout at each other, despite what you may believe.”
“Am I to believe that means there is a ‘Words to Express Your Disgust’ course in the Translators’ Circle?”
“Not at all,” Myth said. “My closest friend is a wizard. I have had a very…liberal education of words with her around.”
“I see. Thank you, Myth.”
Myth narrowed her eyes. “ Arvel . What have I been saying for the past few minutes?”
“No, no. This time I really do owe you my thanks.” His smile dimmed into something that was almost rueful.
“No one has been so refreshingly honest in their assessment of Mother before. Everyone dances around it without outright calling out her hard-hearted behavior.” He paused.
“It was…freeing to hear you speak words similar to my own feelings.”
In that moment, Myth’s heart squeezed for the crown prince.
How terrible it would be—to be treated this way by your own mother.
Father hasn’t been much of a parent, but he’s only distant and perhaps negligent. I cannot fathom what could drive a person to so pervasively act against their child’s interest—and to punish them in this sort of way.
Myth pressed her lips together and was once again thankful for her decision to become a trade translator. If I had to translate for that foul woman, I’d quit. No career is worth working with such wickedness.
“Has no one truly empathized with you about Queen Luciee’s…behavior?” Myth asked.
“My brothers do, so do my sisters-in-law.” Arvel pushed the window open a little farther and stuck his head outside.
“But I’ve been the lucky recipient of all her attention these days because of my title.
That and Benjimir is beyond her power now—Gwendafyn just about flipped a table the last time Mother dared insult him in front of her.
And my two younger brothers are both out of the country right now. It isn’t always this bad.”
Myth’s heart ached again for the Calnorian prince, but she didn’t know what to do or say. If he were an elf, she’d hug him or hold his hand or some such thing—elves were a much more affectionate culture than humans.
But the only affectionate gesture she knew of that originated in Calnor was a smack on the back. That didn’t seem entirely appropriate at the moment, and Myth wasn’t certain if that was a male-limited expression of affection, or if it was common among females.
I need to study more…
Arvel saved her from having to decide.
He abruptly straightened up. “We ought to finish our tea while it’s hot—and I should get back to adding up the numbers. As long as I wax on about my troubles I’m just keeping you here extra long.”
He walked back to his desk, but Myth stayed by the windows a few moments longer. “Troubles as painful as this need to be verbalized, or they’ll fester within you. You need someone to confirm that this is wrong—Queen Luciee is wrong .” She hesitated, then added, “This is not a trivial matter.”
The pull of Arvel’s waistcoat on his back and the tightness in the muscles of his forearms showed off the tenseness in his shoulders, but when he turned around, his blue eyes were bright.
“I’m glad you’re my translator, Myth. And I’m glad I finally got to meet you.
You’re astounding, do you know that? It makes me glad—no—thrilled that I thought to ask Father for you as my temporary translator. ”
His declaration made something warm in the pit of Myth’s stomach. I didn’t know he personally requested me. That surely must be a first.
She glanced out at the foggy gardens one last time before she made her way back to her desk and sat down. “Nonsense. That’s the late hour talking.” She eagerly took a sip of her tea—which had cooled considerably but was still delightfully warm.