Chapter 10 #2
Myth exploded into motion, taking a huge leap down the garden path that she, frankly, wouldn’t have had the strength for at any other moment in her life.
“Since you seem to need a breather, I’ll meet you at your study!
” She hustled down the path, her coat flapping behind her, and Arvel’s laughter chasing after her.
Odiousprince . She checked behind her to make sure he wasn’t hot on her trail. He can’t seriously be attempting the human courtship Blaise mentioned, can he? But I’m just a translator—I’m not even the right social class!
Because of the unexpected exercise—not at all due to the blushing heat Arvel evoked in her with the caressing touch of his fingers—by the time she reached the garden exits, Myth was huffing and sweating terribly.
One thing is for certain. I’ll have to be on my guard!
I may be realistic and logical, but I don’t stand a chance against that smile of his.
She pulled off her jacket and shook it out, glanced back at the gardens, then shook her head and stepped into the cool shadows of the palace.
And I cannot allow myself to become a fool because of Arvel.
I have a job to do, and goals I intend to meet. I will become a trade translator!
* * *
A weekpassed, and blessedly(?) the Prince of Seduction hadn’t made a reappearance.
Arvel had been chirpier and inclined to spoil Myth with whatever tea and food she wanted, but besides an attempt to force her to eat dinner with him in his study one night, his actions could only be construed as something found in close friends.
But Myth wasn’t deceived. Arvel was clever. It was possible he was biding his time so she’d lower her guard again. Naturally, that meant she had to be in a state of constant vigilance . Which, it turned out, was exhausting after an extended period of time.
Myth sipped her tea and was highly gratified that, at this night’s social, translators were allowed to partake in refreshments as well. She didn’t know if she’d be able to make sense of anything if not for her near-constant guzzling of tea.
She peered around the room, and was satisfied to see that Arvel was still involved in a conversation with Sir Arion, and had no need of her services at the moment.
She settled back into place and took another sip of her tea, paying some attention to the conversation of the three apprentice social translators she stood with.
“My master had me try to translate a few lines for Seer Ringali tonight. That was frightening enough to turn my hair white,” one of the apprentices—a Calnorian man who appeared to be in his mid-twenties—gloomily said.
“As long as he didn’t rap your knuckles with his fan, you did well enough,” the second apprentice—a male elf—said.
“Maybe so, but I’d rather avoid translating for him in the future.”
Myth smiled a little at the grim statement—she’d met the trio at prior social engagements.
They were the only apprentice social translators in Haven at the moment—they had told her a few were out traveling with visiting elves in Calnor and visiting humans in Lessa—but that meant they’d become familiar during the frequent meetings.
“What do you think, Mythlan?” asked the last apprentice, another man of Calnor. He looked younger, but that might have been the effect of the good-natured smile he wore most of the time. “Have we won you over to the side of us social translators?”
Myth placed her empty teacup on a sideboard set up for the express purpose of dirty dishes. “No.”
“You didn’t even hesitate!” the smiling apprentice said. “Won’t you even consider it?”
“No,” Myth repeated.
“It would be a real coup if our department won the Mythlan over, but it’s too much to hope for,” the elf apprentice said.
Myth was slightly puzzled why he called her the Mythlan, but before she could ask, the quieter of the human apprentices submitted his own question. “What do you think of social translating?”
Myth tilted her head as she thought.“Before I took this position, I don’t think I understood just how many social events nobles and royalty attended.”
“That’s the truth,” the smiling apprentice said. “I signed up before the time of Lady Tari and Sir Arion. Back when I was a student, there weren’t nearly as many socials.”
“It’s a product of the increased interaction between the two peoples,” the male elf said. “More of elven nobility have begun visiting in the past few years, and it seems to me that the nobles of Calnor feel that when the elves visit, they must be properly entertained.”
“Perhaps,” Myth agreed.
“Mythlan, if you are available tomorrow, could you help me go over an essay I’ve had to write in Calnoric?” the elf translator asked.
Myth slightly dipped her head. “Of course. I can meet you in the mess hall of the Translators’ Circle directly after dinner.”
He bowed. “Thank you. I appreciate your aid in the matter.”
“Hey, why don’t you ask us?” The younger, smiling apprentice translator elbowed him. “Calnoric is our native tongue!”
“That doesn’t mean you actually write it correctly.”
“What?”
“No, no. He has a point.”
Myth smiled at the good-natured argument, but her eyes drifted to Arvel, checking in on her employer.
She straightened up when she realized the crown prince had finished his conversation with Sir Arion, and instead was watching her with a fond smile.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Myth murmured to her fellow apprentices.
“Good evening, Mythlan.”
“Bye, Mythlan!”
Myth raised her hand in farewell and slipped through the crowd.
She paused to incline her head whenever an elf—usually clothed in colorful robes or a long, sweeping dress—noticed her.
When a human noble saw her—most of the younger set of this group wore shades of purple that were reminiscent of Princess Gwendafyn’s beautiful eyes—she offered them a smile and pleasant greeting.
Eventually, she made it over to where Arvel stood just shy of the hall door.
“I think it’s about time to make our exit,” he said. “We’ve been here long enough, haven’t we?”
“No one else has started leaving yet,” Myth pointed out.
“You responded wrong, Myth,” Arvel said. “You’re supposed to tell me ‘yes, this party is a dreadful bore, let’s go’.”
Myth shrugged. “It has good tea.”
“I thought I supplied you with all the tea you’d ever need in your life in my study. But it seems I was wrong.”
“One can never have enough tea. So, are we going, or no?”
“Yes, let’s—”
“Nephew!”
The muscles around Arvel’s mouth tightened before he put on a polite smile. “Good evening, Uncle Julyan.”
Myth stepped behind Arvel’s shoulder under the guise of taking up the traditional position of a translator. It also happened to let her turn around and see the newcomer, whose name she recognized as the head of the Fulton family.
“Lord Julyan of the Fultons?” Myth confirmed in a whisper as the man strode toward them.
“Yes, my mother’s older brother,” Arvel murmured back.
“Uncle Julyan” was tall and lean—almost to a gangly extent.
His jacket was made of crimson colored elven silk, his boots were polished to a shine, and every part about him looked respectable…
except for his smile. He greatly resembled Queen Luciee with eyes that seemed to glow with hunger for power—the power of siblinghood, it seemed.
The muscles of his face seemed frozen—as if he didn’t change expressions very often.
“I’m glad I caught you before you could shirk your duty like a naughty boy.” Lord Julyan laughed—which wasn’t quite musical enough to pass as genuine. “I was hoping to speak to you tonight—since you’ve denied my requests to meet with you.”
“You’re under investigation, Uncle, and I’m working on it with the Department of Investigation. For the sake of justice, it’s against the law to meet privately with you—unless you meant to make it official and meet with Father, too, for mediation?” Arvel politely asked.
“I thought since you are my nephew, you’d be willing to talk it out friendly like, but Ican see you’ve inherited your father’s flair for drama.
No matter!” Uncle Julyan’s teeth poked past his lips as he smiled, but it looked more like a growling bear.
“I’ll still take this opportunityto ask that you drop your investigation against the Fultons. ”
“No,” Arvel said. “We’ve found enough proof of inconsistenciesin your reported trade records. I’m afraid it’s out of my hands, now.”
Lord Julyan shrugged. “My staff was careless and inept. It’s my fault for hiring such people. But I’ve had them replaced, and I promise there will be no such mishaps in the future. Given it was only a few clerical errors, the investigation is entirely unnecessary.”
“If it’s not necessary, then it doesn’t really matter if I continue with it, does it?
” Arvel’s pleasant smile felt like a bear trap at the moment.
“If it is, as you said, only a few errors, it means the investigation won’t uncover anything additional, and you’ll be cleared from all suspicions, which will also have the added benefitof clearing your reputation! ”
Lord Julyan’s smile had stayed so unmovablein his cheeks, Myth was starting to wonder if they were made of wax.
“You are so thoughtful, Arvel—to be thinking of our family like that. But I believe in the high quality of our reputation; we could stand to take a hit. Rather, I fear that the investigation will be such a colossalwaste of the kingdom’s resources.
I’d rather spare the king’s coffers than clear my reputation. ”
Myth did her best to blend in with the wall as she stared unseeingly at the crowd of party attenders. He reminds me of pond slime, slick and oozing everywhere. What a fiend.