Chapter 9
“D on’t call him that!” Myth hissed through teeth clenched in a smile. She raised her gaze, and sure enough, Arvel and Prince Benjimir were winding their way through the party.
Arvel would smile and pause long enough to exchange quick greetings with any of the wizards or elven enchanters they encountered. Benjimir, however, rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and looked handsomely bored.
“Hello, Myth.” Arvel smiled warmly at her, then slightly inclined his head at Blaise. “And you must be Myth’s wizard friend—I’ve heard much of you.”
“I am Apprentice Wizard Blaise, Your Royal Highness.” Blaise curtsied with a surprising amount of manners that she usually only trotted out for whatever elven enchanter she was trying to corner. “I count myself lucky to be a friend of Myth’s.”
“This is my brother Benjimir, the Commanding General of Calnor’s armies and a prince,” Arvel motioned to his older brother.
“A pleasure.” Blaise curtsied again, but Myth didn’t miss the way her eyes trailed after one of the elven enchanters she had slowly been working on conversing with. “If you could excuse me, Your Highnesses?”
“Of course! The party is for you, after all. Enjoy it!” Arvel laughed a little and waved Blaise off.
Blaise ducked her head in thanks, but she leaned in close to Myth for a moment. “Remember what I said—tell me immediately .”
The cheeky apprentice wizard was gone before Myth could respond, her voice sing-song as she called out after her targeted enchanter in decent Elvish.
“Hmm.” Arvel curiously watched Blaise as she chattered away with the enchanter. “Seems you aren’t the only regular human trotting around the palace who is fluent in Elvish, Ben.”
“There are a great many humans capable of speaking Elvish in the palace, even if you exclude the translators,” Benjimir said with a voice of distaste unique to all older siblings.
Arvel rolled his eyes as he bridged the gap between him and Myth and moved to stand comfortably next to her. “Ignore him. He’s in a foul mood today because he had to send Fyn out to fight some bandits.”
“Quite the contrary.” Benjimir’s smile was a little frightening. “I am deeply pleased today because my little brother found the dirt needed to officially bring a charge against the bloated, self-important Fultons.” He studied Myth through narrowed eyes. “And he tells me it’s your doing.”
Myth bowed. “I regret to say, Your Highness, I played no role in finding the critical information or putting it all together. His Royal Highness is solely responsible for that feat.”
“Yes, but you were the one who talked me into charging them.” Arvel shifted just a tiny bit closer so when he nudged Myth’s elbow with his own, it felt natural.
“Speaking of which, it seems that even though I submitted the paperwork to Father just this morning, news of their disgrace has already broken. You can tell by Mother’s face. ”
Arvel nodded at the stately queen, who was standing in the area Arvel and Benjimir had just abandoned, her expression icy as she listened to a translator speak on behalf of an elven enchanter.
When she glanced in their direction her narrowed eyes looked poisonous, and she pressed her lips together with such force her skin turned white.
“She’s been trying to track Ben and me down all evening—so she can properly yell at us,” Arvel said.
“She can try to yell at us,” Benjimir carelessly said. “But for all her troubles it won’t gain her anything. Since you filed the charge, it can’t be reversed. Her family will face a trial.”
“Is that what will happen next?” Myth asked.
“Yes—in a while,” Arvel explained. “Since the Fultons are a family of nobility, the process is different. First the Crown has to announce an investigation, which we just completed. Next we’ll investigate their finances and dig through all their records—and not just their trade logs, but everything from their filed taxes to their personal accounts.
I’ll pass my findings to the Department of Investigation, who will build a case and bring it before Father. ”
“Since their crime is a financial one, the process is drawn out unnecessarily long,” Prince Benjimir wryly said. “If a noble dared to hurt someone and there was a decent amount of evidence, they’d be convicted immediately.”
“I’d rather have them committing financial crimes than attacking our citizens,” Arvel said grimly. “As it stands, I’ll be the main target of their ire, and I’d rather keep it that way than get innocents involved.”
“She’s on the move,” Prince Benjimir announced. He nodded to the queen, who was once again maneuvering through the crowds, her expression frozen in eloquence but her eyes fiery with anger. “We’d better move along as well.”
“Right-o! Come on—I think the refreshments will make an enticing excuse.” Arvel beckoned for Myth to walk shoulder to shoulder with him.
Prince Benjimir walked at her open side, and they whisked away before the queen was able to completely extricate herself from the crowd. “I must thank you for encouraging Arvel to act, Translator Mythlan.”
“I did nothing,” Myth said. “Except question why he has not formally charged them already.”
“You undersell yourself, Myth. This way—oop.” Arvel jolted to a stop when two particularly boisterous wizards backed up, unknowingly stepping out into Arvel’s path.
The crown prince waited with a smile for the sheepish wizards to rejoin their friends.
He didn’t notice the tall elven enchanter who passed them, but Myth did.
Her father, his pale blond hair still pulled back in its familiar plait, glanced in her direction. When he saw she was looking, he nodded to her, and continued on.
That solves one question of my childhood; no matter what I did he never would have taken much interest in me. I’m standing with the Calnorian crown prince and commanding general, and he didn’t even pause. The thought made Myth’s polite smile turn wry.
“Let’s move a little quicker, shall we?” Benjimir stepped in front of Arvel and Myth, clearing the way so they could pass through without interruptions.
Following Benjimir, they prowled past the refreshments—although they paused long enough for Arvel to grab a few cookies and stuff them in his waistcoat pocket—and ended up standing beside life-sized stone sculptures of Queen Alannah of Calnor and King Galas of Lessa—the pair who had signed the historic peace treaty between Calnor and Lessa.
“It seems we’re safe for the moment.” Arvel nodded to Queen Luciee, who had gotten corralled into speaking with King Petyrr and King Celrin.
While the kings looked varying levels of amused—King Petyrr’s belly jingled as he laughed whereas King Celrin’s amusement was quieter and crinkled his eyes—Queen Luciee more closely resembled an ice sculpture.
Her eyes skimmed over the crowd, but she must not have seen them behind the statue, because her gaze didn’t stop.
“So it would seem,” Myth said.
“I’ll leave you both to it, then,” Benjimir said.
“Given Mother’s cagey reactions, I think it might be prudent to ask Arion to increase Honor Guard patrols for the time being.
Our stupid relatives will betray their idiocy and try something, in which case I’d rather be prepared for it.
Good evening, Arvel, Translator Mythlan.
” Benjimir snapped off a quick nod, then left, his hands draped over his sword belt.
“That sounds…ominous,” Myth said.
“Pay Ben no mind. He likes to be pessimistic—it means he’s so prepared that when the worst happens, he’s in a position to fight back,” Arvel said.
“There is wisdom in being prepared.”
“Oh, certainly!” Arvel grinned. “I’m just glad he’s the one in charge of armies so it’s going to fall on him to do the preparing!”
Myth slowly nodded. “I can see the appeal in that. It frees you up, as well, so you can complete and prioritize other tasks only you are capable of.”
“Like investigating the Fultons,” Arvel said with great satisfaction. “Thank you, I knew you’d agree with me!”
Myth eyed the prince for any signs of his previous…disconcerting conduct.
But his face was as open and cheerful as ever as he watched the party.
Yes, I was right. It must have been due to overworking.
Satisfied, Myth clasped her hands together and put on her patient smile as an elven enchanter approached them.
When the enchanter made his greetings in Elvish, Myth was all too pleased to translate now that her life had returned to the steady, normal ground she was used to, and showed no signs of changing.
* * *
The following day, in the bright light of dawn, Myth delicately smelled one of the beautiful floral arrangements that scattered the pleasant, heavily windowed dining hall that the royal families of Calnor and Lessa used whenever breaking bread together.
This morning was one of their scheduled times in which both royal families met to break their fast—which, naturally, required the presence of translators. Arvel, however, was the only one present at the moment.
Myth glanced at the prince, who was yawning widely. “I need to get into the habit of going to sleep earlier.” He shook his head and sipped at the tea one of the maids had served him immediately after he entered the room. “Or these early morning breakfasts are going to be the end of me.”
“It’s after dawn,” Myth said. “It isn’t that early.”
Arvel squinted up at her. “I’m a little afraid to ask, but what, then, is an early hour for you?”
Myth thought for a moment. “I routinely tried to wake up an hour before dawn when I was a student. I still attempt to rise earlier than dawn, but it can be difficult if my work required a late night.”
“You’re a stronger person than I am.” Arvel glanced back at her and munched on a piece of bread. “Why don’t you sit down?” He patted the chair next to him in an invitation.
“You already asked me to sit down,” Myth reminded him. “And my answer remains the same: it wouldn’t be proper.”