Chapter 7
M yth’s smile froze. “Yes, Seer Ringali.”
Seer Ringali hid the lower half of his face behind his fan and peered at her from over its edge. “Hmmm,” he said.
Myth squared her shoulders and relayed to Arvel as quickly as she could the short conversation.
Arvel glanced curiously at Seer Ringali, but it was to Gwendafyn that he addressed his next comment. “Mythis supposed to help you in social events, too, if Benjimir isn’t around. If you need help, she is your translator.”
Myth rocked a little—shocked by the announcement.
They didn’t tell me I’d be helping Princess Gwendafyn at all. Is Arvel just being nice because he sees how I esteem her?
Myth slapped on a professional smile, although she still had to keep her hands clenched. “I hope I can be of service to you, My Princess,” she said first in Calnoric and then in Elvish.
“Oh, wonderful.” Gwendafyn smiled at Myth with full power.
“I was concerned when Father told me Rollo was being reassigned to King Petyrr and him. It eases my mind to know you’ll be available to help.
If I attend an event while Ben is out patrolling the countryside or checking in with his soldiers, I always come with Arvel, so I hope it won’t be too much extra work. ”
“Never, My Princess.” Myth eagerly shook her head. “It would be my honor to translate for you.” It was only through her determination not to fail at translating that she noticed when Seer Ringali wordlessly drifted away.
“Goodbye, Seer Ringali!” Gwendafyn called after him, then she returned all of her attention to Myth and switched to Calnoric. “I look forward to working with you. You must be a genius—I don’t know that I’ve ever met such a young translator.”
“I am actually a trade translator, and only an apprentice,” Myth said.
“Nah, you’re just being humble.” Arvel grinned at Gwendafyn. “She is absolutely a genius.”
“No, no.” Myth violently shook her head. “I am not skilled at—”
Gwendafyn interrupted with a delightful laugh. “Arvel is right—the Translators’ Circle would never allow a dissatisfactory translator to serve the crown prince. You need not show such humility around us, Mythlan.”
Myth’s face was so hot, she was sure it had to be beet red. “But, that is to say…”
“She’s perfect for the position,” Arvel added with a smile that was too mischievous for Myth’s liking. “Since she is actually a trade translator, she’s been a great help to me while I organize the trade orders. And…” He gave Myth a significant look.
Myth froze.
Ohh, don’t you dare. Don’t you dare tell her how much I adore her!
Myth tried to communicate a warning of hellfire using only her eyes.
Arvel, of course, ignored her.“She’s told me before how she greatly admires you.”
I’m going to dump his cookie stash in his study and tell him ants have infiltrated.
“That’s too kind of you, Mythlan! Really, I am not at all special—I’m just bloodthirsty for an elf.” Princess Gwendafyn winked.
Myth wanted to shout at hearing the princess degrade herself, but since that would certainly be considered socially inappropriate—even though such an act hadn’t been mentioned in any of the books Myth had spent the past few days studying—she settled for giving Arvel a death glare.
It was his fault anyway. “I must beg to disagree,” Myth politely said.
“You are admirable in every way, and while it would give me joy to recite your many wonderful qualities and traits, I doubt you would like to spend that long listening to them.”
Gwendafyn took Myth’s tense hands and squeezed them. “Thank you. It makes me happy to know that I have found favor with wonderful people like you.”
“What’s this, now?” Prince Benjimir—Commanding General of Calnor’s armed forces—appeared just behind Gwendafyn’s shoulder.
He slid an arm around his wife’s waist and kissed her cheek.
“I thought I’d find Arvel flirting with you again, but instead you’re exchanging worshipful gazes with another elf?
Why must I always have contestants for your love? ”
“I stopped flirting with Fyn when you nearly emptied my study of my books,” Arvel snorted.
Gwendafyn smiled brightly at her husband, but she still didn’t release Myth’s hands. “Ben, this is Mythlan—she’s Arvel’s new translator, and she’s offered to help us at any social events as well.”
Us? Now Prince Benjimir is included in the list as well?? Myth kept her smile as set as iron so her eyes didn’t pop out of her skull. I don’t recall the Translators’ Circle saying anything about any of this when they foisted me off on Arvel!
Prince Benjimir tipped his head so his cheek pressed into the top of Gwendafyn’s hair.
They were a splendid pair—one for the storybooks, as Benjimir was tall, broad shouldered, and had bright gold hair with stately blue eyes like every storybook prince. Princess Gwendafyn was a stark but lovely contrast with her dark hair and purple eyes.
“Mythlan.” Prince Benjimir gave her a quick visual inspection. “Well met. Thank you for your generous offer, and for looking after Gwendafyn.”
“Your Highness.” Myth bowed awkwardly, her hands still stretched in front of her because Gwendafyn hadn’t released them.
Benjimir smiled, which significantly lightened the noble and almost molded expression of his face. Thankfully, he turned his attention to his brother. “I heard about Mother’s little request. I’m sorry for it.”
Arvel shrugged. “She felt the need to bare her teeth at me—what can I do? I don’t have the seniority to fully refuse her; Father would have to be involved for that.”
Benjimir growled. “He should have been involved. He’s normally good with that sort of thing. I question why he has suddenly turned doddering fool when it comes to Mother.”
“He probably has a plan,” Arvel said blandly. “He always plays casual or acts like he doesn’t know what’s going on whenever he’s about to pull off one of his best laid plans.”
Benjimir frowned. “Really?”
“ Always . Since forever.”
“Myth.” Gwendafyn gently squeezed Myth’s fingers. “I must thank you in advance for your help. I’m afraid to say I’m aware my Calnoric still isn’t where it should be, so I’m grateful you’ll be with Arvel.”
“Again, it is my honor, My Princess.” Myth tried to bow again, but it was still a little awkward.
“Thank you. Calnoric continues to be a weak spot for me.” Gwendafyn heaved a sigh. “I wish it came to me as easily as fighting and magic.”
“Your ability to wield High Elf magic is once in a millennium, My Princess.”
“Thank you, but Seer Ringali is discovering others who can wield it, too.”
“Perhaps, but none of them with the same power and efficiency as you,” Myth firmly said. “I am more convinced of that than ever since reading more about it.”
Gwendafyn’s eyes went from laughter and beauty to sharp and deadly-elegant. “Reading about it? But there aren’t many records of High Elf magic written by Lesser Elves.”
Myth tried not to look starry eyed at the shift in Gwendafyn, which hinted at the ancient magic she used. “No, there aren’t,” she agreed. “I was referring to books written by High Elves.”
“ High Elves? ”Gwendafyn stared at Myth, her tone loud and passionate.
“Yes…there are a few volumes in the Library of Haven?” Myth meekly supplied.
“But how can you read them?” Gwendafyn asked.
“While we technically shared the Elvish language with them, I’ve been told by various enchanters that our language has morphed over the years, changing it nearly beyond recognition.
It’s feasible to pick out symbols and some words among the runes the High Elves used, but a pure translation is beyond most.”
Myth thoughtfully pressed her lips together. “It can be rather difficult.”
“ Difficult ?” Gwendafyn repeated.
“It takes me quite a bit of time, and it’s rather slow going,” Myth quickly said.
She didn’t want to appear prideful to Princess Gwendafyn of all people.
“But I enjoy the challenge, and my closest friend is a human wizard with a particular interest in the magic of Nodusigm—the bonding ceremony. She asked for my help in researching it, and since our history says the bond was originally based on a High Elf spell, I thought I might find something of use…if I can ever read the full manuscripts.”
“That’s fascinating.” Princess Gwendafyn finally let go of Myth’s hands—all so she could tap her chin as she studied Myth. “Is your friend your age?”
“Approximately.”
“It is to your credit that you are both so obviously bright and intelligent.”
“Fyn.” Benjimir stepped away from Gwendafyn, only to take up her hand. “I’m sorry to pull you away, but we must be ready to greet the guests.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Myth, for this delightful conversation. I hope we can renew it later during the luncheon.” Gwendafyn bestowed a smile upon Myth before the legendary pair swept off, as beautiful as a painting.
Myth sighed and tried not to melt into a puddle. “She is so good.”
Arvel folded his arms across his chest and slightly nudged her. “What did you think of Benjimir?”
“He is also quite splendid as well.”
Arvel leaned back so he could study her with narrowed eyes. “What? He’s not a lesser like me?”
“He is married to My Princess Gwendafyn; thus, I am fully prepared to embrace him as a legend as well.”
“But you gave me that look when I pointed out that I’m Fyn’s bond partner!” Arvel squawked.
Myth, unable to help herself, gave him another pitying look. “It’s all right. One day I’m sure your position of…” she purposely paused and looked extra pitying, “crown prince…will bring you glory just as your brother and My Princess Gwendafyn have found.”
“Considering you can look as polite as the best of the elves and have that face that hides what you’re thinking, you have a poisonous tongue, Myth,” Arvel complained. “Besides, you said I was your employer; haven’t you heard of employee loyalty?”
“I shall endeavor to display all signs of employee loyalty once you personally hand me my wages.”