Chapter 12
M yth paused at the beautiful sound and turned in the direction it had come from.
Lady Tari and Princess Gwendafyn stood in the doorway together. Sius—Lady Tari’s giant snow cat—struggled to poke his furry head between them.
Lady Tari was dressed in loose elven robes and carried a sleeping baby, whereas Princess Gwendafyn wore a light set of leather armor, and had two swords strapped to her hips.
“My Princess Gwendafyn, Lady Tari!” Myth rocked to her feet and slowly bowed to each of them.
“Hello!” Lady Tari rocked her child, her smile bright and refreshing despite the late hour.
“Hello, Translator Mythlan.” Princess Gwendafyn’s silky bangs fanned across her forehead before she tucked them back.
“She’s right, Arvel. You need to let her get back to her room and sleep.
This has been a traumatic night. Making her stay up so you feel better about endangering her by not accepting guards earlier isn’t a very kind thing. ”
Myth blinked in confusion. What is she saying? That couldn’t possibly be why he’s being so insistenton this. Given all the implications tonight brings I can’t believe the endangerment to me was his biggest regret.
“Fyn,” Arvel groaned.
“My Princess Gwendafyn has a proper point.” Lady Tari smiled down at her snow cat when it rubbed its head against her legs. “Which is why we have come.”
Myth frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“I called for Tari so she can take Translator Mythlan to a temporary room in the palace tonight.” Sir Arion strode across the room, heading for the door, but Tari beat him to it and flitted gracefully across the remaining distance, leaning against her husband and kissing his temple.
“I’d rather drop the news of tonight’s events upon the Translators’ Circle tomorrow so I can immediately use it for negotiations, as it will make them more likely to gratefully take guards than gloomily accept them. ”
“I ran into Fyn on my way here, and I thought you might like the extra company. We’ll wait together while the palace staff pick out a room for you and get it cleaned.” Lady Tari smiled at Myth, her eyes glowing.
Myth carefully pondered the suggested plan.
Waiting until tomorrow would lessen the burden placed on the Translators’ Circle.
I don’t want to bother them, and if I arrive with guards this late at night it won’t cause anything but an uproar.
Yes, Sir Arion is right. It would be best not to disturb them tonight and to sleep in a borrowed room.
Arvel can’t complain that it’s not safe, then, either.
“Could you have them find a room in the Calnorian royal wing?” Arvel asked, surprising her.
Myth made a scoffing noise. “That is entirely unnecessary.”
“I want you near me,” Arvel said.
Myth gave him a flat look. “There is no need. You aren’t going to experience a sudden, fierce need for a translation in the middle of the night.”
“I don’t care,” Arvel said. “I want you in the royal wing.”
Prince Benjimir studied his brother as if he had suddenly sprouted wings. “Funny,” he said. “I recall you being a pretty cheeky but easy-going brat. And yet now you make all these demands? Is the title going to your head, little brother?”
Arvel ignored him and focused on Sir Arion. “Can you send word to the palace staff?”
“I’m not blind, Your Highness,” Sir Arion said plainly. “I made that request when I sent off the order.”
What does he mean by that?
“I hate to say it, but is it proper to house her there?” Prince Benjimir asked.
Princess Gwendafyn, Lady Tari, and Myth all swung their gazes to the prince.
“What do you mean?” Princess Gwendafyn asked.
Myth bowed slightly. “He is referring to the unnecessary grace sleeping in the royal wing would bestow upon a translator. I agree with His Highness.”
Prince Benjimir looked slightly uncomfortable as he ruffled his gold hair in a mannerism Myth had witnessed in Arvel before. “No, I was more referring to your reputation. People talk, especially the gossiping shrews…”
Lady Tari frowned and peered up at Arion, who was caressing his baby’s cheek with a finger. “He’s referring to a trivial human convention, isn’t he?”
“Must be,” Gwendafyn muttered. “We elves wouldn’t worry over a silly thing like reputation. Do nobles think royal titles are contagious diseases?”
“No, I’ve read about reputations.” Myth shook her head. “It has to do with a person’s sterling character. If I get a poor reputation, I may be doubted in a court of law, correct? We can’t have that—my work may be doubted in the investigation against the Fultons.”
Sir Arion glared at Prince Benjimir. “As you can see,” he said grimly, “it doesn’t occur to our elven peers to be concerned about anything improper, because they haven’t the mind of a deviant.”
“Yes, I should have known,” Prince Benjimir said. “I guess it doesn’t matter, then? None of the elves will care.”
“The Fultons will care,” Arvel darkly said. “But that’s fine. I have plans for them, anyway.”
Now it was Prince Benjimir’s and Sir Arion’s turn to stare at Arvel as if he’d grown another head.
Lady Tari adjusted her baby, tucking a blanket around his feet. “If the matter is settled, then, we’ll be taking our leave. Sius, come!”
The large snow cat prowled after his mistress, his long tail twitching behind him.
“After you, Mythlan.” Princess Gwendafyn smiled at Myth and stood aside, beckoning for her to go first.
Myth moved to join her, but paused when Arvel caught her hand.
“Sleep well, Myth,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Myth nodded. “You as well. I’m…I’m glad you weren’t hurt worse. Be careful.”
The concern that wrinkled Arvel’s forehead disappeared, and he smiled. “If you wish it, I will.”
Across the room, Sir Arion looked like he wanted to strangle the crown prince, and rested his hands on his sword belt so he wouldn’t be tempted.
Myth squeezed Arvel’s hand, then hurried after Princess Gwendafyn and Lady Tari. Exhaustion was starting to close in on her, making her eyelids heavy and her eyes feel gritty.
When Lady Tari bumped her arm against Myth’s, Myth jumped in surprise. Lady Tari caught her eye and winked. “Don’t worry. You’ll be able to sleep soon.”
Myth ducked her head.“I apologize for my selfishness.”
“It’s not selfish at all,” Lady Tari said. “I have some experience with garden attacks, so I can personally attest that they are tiring experiences.”
“Speaking of which, you did well, Mythlan.” Princess Gwendafyn was taller than both Myth and Lady Tari, so she had to look down slightly to smile at them.
“I heard how you kept your head and shouted the number of armed assailants all while switching between Calnoric and Elvish. It made you that much easier to find, and is to be commended.”
“You are too kind,” Myth said. “I merely did what I was able to at the time, which was disappointingly little since I lack any kind of combat abilities.”
“I disagree,” Lady Tari said. “Fyn is quite right—you acted very admirably tonight. You should be proud of yourself.”
Myth pressed her lips together, sensing this was an argument she wasn’t going to win.
“It’s heartwarming to see how Arvel cares for you,” Princess Gwendafyn continued. “I’m glad for him. He’s excited that being the crown prince means he’ll have the chance to institute change, but I know the title has made him lonelier.”
“Yes,” Lady Tari agreed. “I am glad he has found you.”
The way they say it, it makes us sound like a pair of star-fated lovers.
“I don’t know that I understand what you mean,” Myth politely said.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Lady Tari raised both of her eyebrows at her. “Arvel acts half in love with you.”
“Quite so,” Princess Gwendafyn agreed.
Myth didn’t know if shock from the attack was finally setting in or if the exhaustion from staying up so late was getting to her, but she had a hard time keeping up with the legendary duo.
“I must beg your pardon, Lady Tari and Princess Gwendafyn, but you might be reading a little too deeply into our companionship.”
Lady Tari slightly tugged on Myth’s arm, towing her down a different hallway when they reached an intersection. “Oh?”
“We’re friends,” Myth acknowledged. “And I may overstep myself in saying I believe he enjoys my presence. But it is not as deep as you seem to think it.”
“Are you certain he thinks that?” Princess Gwendafyn asked.
“He’s my employer,” Myth said.
“You say that as if it is some sort of defense,” Lady Tari said.
“My advice is that if something does happen, you’ll be much better off if you fight off your embarrassment and gut instinct to hide it, and just tell Arvel,” Princess Gwendafyn said.
Even though Princess Gwendafyn was her hero, Myth could only shake her head. “Nothing is going to happen.”
Lady Tari and Princess Gwendafyn exchanged looks.
“If you say so,” Lady Tari said. “But enough of this. We’re almost to the royal wing—and your room for tonight. I hope you find it comfortable…”
* * *
“Your performance this morning was rather impressive.” Benjimir studied Arvel’s bookshelves—probably trying to find a tome he could filch, the over-grown rat. “I’ve said it before, but it’s a shame you didn’t take up fighting as a hobby.”
Arvel rolled his shoulders back—even though it was just an hour past dawn, Benjimir had already subjected him to a grueling practice session, one he’d feel all day long.
“It doesn’t interest me much. And I only learned daggers because you told me I had to learn a weapon when we were children, and that was the only kind that was light enough that I could use it and carry a bag of books at the same time. ”
Benjimir shrugged. “That intellectual bend of yours is what makes you the better crown prince. But I still regret your incomprehension of your own fighting potential. Wouldn’t you say, Arion?”
Sir Arion was standing by the door, studying a paper. When Benjimir addressed him he looked up, not bothering to veil his impatience. “What.”