Chapter 6 #2
“There, there, Your Royal Highness,” Myth said soothingly once his laughter wasn’t as loud. “I am terribly sorry no one delivered this devastating news to you sooner.”
“You are wicked.” Arvel took his wine flute back. “I’m never believing that placid expression of yours again.”
“There, there, Your Royal Highness,” Myth repeated. She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “You are a very majestic specimen. It’s a wonder anyone can gaze upon your splendor and not be blinded.”
“Harridan!”
“Your tone tells me that word is not a compliment, Your Royal Highness. This is why you cannot match the splendor of My Princess—”
“Gwendafyn, yes, yes.” Arvel laughed. “Thank you, Myth—although I told you to call me Arvel.”
“I assume it wouldn’t be proper in such a formal setting.”
“Nonsense! Besides I am—as you said yourself—a lesser.” He grinned at Myth, giving her his brightest smile again.
Myth, curious, looked around to see if her theory about his smile fluttering the hearts of eligible ladies was correct. Disappointingly, there were no young ladies around, but she did spy a rather distinguished elf gliding in their direction.
“I believe we’re about to have some company,” Myth murmured.
“Understood. Time to look presentable and play nice.” Arvel stood straight and dimmed his smile to something more in the polite range. “Seer Ringali, a pleasure to see you again. I hope your travels were uneventful?”
Seer Ringali—the mentor of Lady Tari and the godfather of her firstborn—was tall, even for an elf, and carried a fan painted with blue flowers…as if the pretty design could detract from the razor-sharp edge that lined the top folds of the fan.
(As an Evening Star he—like Lady Tari and Princess Gwendafyn—was an exception to the general rule that most Lesser Elves couldn’t handle bloodshed or even fighting.)
Once the robed warrior was just a few steps away, Myth bowed to him. “Crown Prince Arvel extends his greetings to the esteemed Seer Ringali, and expresses his pleasure in seeing you again and hopes your travels were uneventful.”
Seer Ringali slightly bowed his head at Arvel. “Greetings, Crown Prince Arvel. My travels were quite enjoyable. Pleasantly, my miscreant student and her ever-loyal dog-man met me an hour outside of Haven when I arrived and rode back with me.”
Myth paused for a moment—Seer Ringali’s somewhat insulting words weren’t surprising. He had a sarcastic edge that matched his ability to fight, and he was known to be gruff with those he loved most—like Lady Tari and Sir Arion.
But she wasn’t exactly sure what the protocol would be for translating his seemingly harsh verbiage. Was she supposed to speak word for word? Or should she give a more loose and vague translation so as to not stir up any sensibilities?
It seems I might have focused too much on learning customs and failed to study anything that detailed guidelines for social translating…
Unbidden, Myth glanced at Translator Rollo, who was standing with Her King Celrin and His Majesty King Petyrr.
At the moment, the two kings were communicating using hand gestures, and Rollo was watching the servants bringing in the food. When he happened to glance in her direction, he smiled at her, but then went right back to watching the food.
Feeling a little desperate, Myth glanced at the translator who stood dutifully behind Queen Luciee, looking bored.
He was a handsome elf who had spoken to a few of Myth’s introductory classes.
He fidgeted with the plait of his hair as he looked around the room.
His eyes didn’t even settle on Myth; he kept scanning.
Even though I was assured I could ask for help, it is as I assumed. I’m on my own in this. I can’t count on anyone else to save me.
The sharp stab of responsibility pricked Myth in the lower spine.
She smiled despite her worry, and murmured to Arvel. “Seer Ringali says his travels were enjoyable, and spoke affectionately of Lady Tari and Sir Arion meeting him outside of Haven.”
“Still calling Arion Tari’s dog-man, is he?” Arvel guessed.
“Mmm,” Myth noncommittedly said.
Arvel chuckled, then smiled at Seer Ringali. “How long can we keep you here in Haven this time?”
Myth dutifully made the translation.
“I intend to stay with Tari and her brood for six weeks since I missed the birth of her third child,” Seer Ringali said in Elvish.
“Wonderful,” Arvel said once Myth made the translation. “I hope you will join us for whatever social events you would like to in the coming weeks.”
“Perhaps.” Seer Ringali shrugged. “The events have become more palatable since the palace started serving elven wine.”
After Myth had translated this, Arvel gave her a meaningful look, which she interpreted as triumph in believing that all elves were heavy drinkers.
Before she could respond, Arvel turned back to the Evening Star. “I hope we are granted the honor of seeing you perform while you are here?”
“Perhaps.” Seer Ringali flicked his fan open and closed. “I shall spend much of my time training Tari’s oldest two brats. But there are a few other Evening Stars present. We might be able to arrange a performance.”
Myth made the translation, though her eyes strayed for a moment when she noticed Princess Gwendafyn gliding in their direction.
The beautiful princess smiled when she reached them, and she held out her arms to embrace Arvel. “Hello, my brother,” she said in Calnoric.
(Princess Gwendafyn’s Calnoric was, maybe, her one flaw. For while she was understandable, she had a very pronounced accent. However! The princess had also only recently picked up the language over the last few years, which was a real feat. So even her Calnoric was to be praised and celebrated.)
“I prefer the term bond partner,” Arvel teased. “Particularly whenever Benjimir is prowling nearby.”
Gwendafyn shook her head. “You brothers.” She turned her attention to Seer Ringali and spoke in Elvish. “Good evening, Seer Ringali. It is a pleasure to see you in Haven again.”
]Seer Ringali bowed. “My Princess Gwendafyn. I see you’ve gotten a new toy?” He pointed to the sword strapped to her waist with his fan.
Gwendafyn laughed. “Yes. Ben bought me a variety of colored sword scabbards to match my clothes. It makes my swords look more like accessories, so some forget their presence…until I have need of them.”
“Very practical,” Seer Ringali said with sincerity. “Anything to tip your foe off-guard is to be commended.”
“It is quite a bit of fun.”
“I, myself, prefer to openly carry weapons, so I needn’t ever put them away.” Seer Ringali snapped his fan for emphasis, and the sharp metal edges glittered in the daylight that leaked in from the windows.
Myth had translated the conversation in a hushed tone for Arvel’s benefit. And while she managed to appear relatively calm at standing so close to her hero, she was fairly certain her fingers were shaking.
Arvel smirked, and at the natural lull in the conversation, he spoke. “If you’ll excuse my interruption, Fyn, I’d like to introduce you to my translator—Mythlan.”
Myth felt her face burn with a blush as Princess Gwendafyn—and Seer Ringali—turned to face her.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mythlan,” Gwendafyn said in Elvish—presumably for Seer Ringali’s benefit.
“It is my honor to speak to you, My Princess Gwendafyn.” Myth bowed deeply.
“Mythlan.” Seer Ringali flicked his fan, and the resulting breeze tickled his dark hair. “Daughter of Wylorym the enchanter?”