Red Rope of Fate (15 page)

Arion shrugged. “All traces of their bloodlines are gone. There is not an elf left on the Continent that has the ability to fight
as they did.”

Tari did not answer and instead
tipped her head back to listen, her tapered ears twitching.

Arion shifted into position after glancing at Tari’s face.

“Someone is coming,” Tari said, tilting her head to hear better. “It’s them,” she said before bolting across the corridor to stand next to Arion.

As the footsteps drew closer Tari slumped against the corridor railing. She thought of Arion
leaving and her eyes brimmed with tears. She sniffed and spoke earnestly in elvish. “Perhaps we could write. Although I do not know the written code of Calnoric… and I have been told learning the written language of elves is even more difficult. Oh, Arion. What are we going to do?” she said, her voice colored with anguish.

“Tari,” Arion said, halting Tari’s flow of words as the walkers rounded the corner, coming into sight. “We will find a way.”

Tari nodded, the tears in her eyes finally spilling from her eyes. “But I will miss you so,” she said, taking a step towards him.

The walkers stopped. Fantastic!

“I will miss you as well,” Arion said.

“What, what?” King Petyrr puffed. “Why on earth would you two miss each other?” he asked, not at
all embarrassed for listening to what was clearly a private conversation. At his side was Crown Prince Benjimir. Surprisingly, the Crown Prince was the only member of King Petyrr’s procession for the moment.

Tari elegantly straightened herself from her slumped posture, taking care to flick the tears from her eyes before smiling ‘bravely’ at King Petyrr. “Good afternoon Your Majesty,” she said in human. Arion murmured the same as he bowed and Tari sank into a curtsey.

King Petyrr jiggled his portly belly. “Why would you two miss each other, what is wrong Lady Tari?” he asked, approaching the pair and taking Tari’s hand, patting it like a fond grandfather.

Tari smiled at King Petyrr before redirecting her gaze as Arion spoke—as if she couldn’t bear to face the news.

“I have been reassigned, Your Majesty, to my previous post in Sacred Wood. They require my immediate presence.”

King Petyrr stopped patting Tari’s hand and puffed like a porcupine. “What?”

Arion bowed slightly. “I will be leaving Haven, and Tari, within the week.”

King Petyrr’s face grew dark as he dropped his cheerful, good natured façade. He growled under his
breath like a badger. “Stupid Honor Guard idiots, give me the army any day,” he said as he adjusted his grip on Tari until they had linked arms—following elvish custom. He abruptly turned, hauling Tari with him. “Benjimir,” King Petyrr called, scowling at his son. “Are you aware of this? Did that Guard Commander of yours ask you beforehand?”

Benjimir shifted. “No, I was never approached about transferring Captain Arion.”

Tari inhaled, making the gesture deep and somewhat shaky.

King Petyrr absent mindedly consoled Tari. “There, there, dear. Have no worries. It is Benjimir who is in charge of the Honor Guard. That
idiot commander of his will have to stuff it, or we’ll skewer him. Honestly, what dunce tries to separate our one translating bonded pair?” he said, his words eventually growing deeper and quicker as he groused rather than attempted to comfort Tari.

“Your Majesty,” Arion started. “I understand that we cannot be given preferential treatment—,”

King Petyrr swatted his free hand. “Nonsense. You two are more mythical than a pair of unicorns. What good are you to us if you’re separated?
Benjimir
! This is a result of your dull witted men. Fix it! Captain Arion will be serving at the palace, indefinitely,” he barked.

“Oh really, Your Majesty?” Tari said with a real smile.

“Absolutely. Anyone who wants to ship one of you two off will have to deal directly with me. And King Celrin—and he’s got a mean right hook. Now then, is there anything else I can do for you my dear?” King Petyrr asked, returning his attention to Tari with his usual cheer.

Tari shook her head, still smiling. “Oh no, Your Majesty. You’ve done so much. Thank you,” she said, curtseying when the king released her hand.

King Petyrr smiled indulgently. “You’re welcome,” he said before turning to Arion with a slight frown. “You’ve got quite a treasure for your bond partner. You should fight for her a bit more,” he advised before he smiled and reached out to smack Arion on the shoulder. “Carry on Captain Arion. You’re the luckiest man in Calnor, and you probably deserve it.
Benjimir
! Come, we’re going to correct the thinking of your wayward commander,” the king said before storming down the corridor.

Benjimir stared at Arion as he glided past them. “Father you have a meeting with your advisors. I shall address the commander, you must go to your meeting,” he said, trailing after his father.

Tari and Arion waited until they could hear them no more.

“King Celrin knows His Majesty well,” Arion said. “Everything went exactly as he said it would.”

“Getting King Petyrr to pin down his son—it is a brilliant tactic. I did not know Crown Prince Benjimir ran the Honor Guard,” Tari nodded.

“He does. The King runs
the army, the crown prince the Honor Guard. The latter is meant to prepare him for the former,” Arion said. “What I wonder at is the idea that King Celrin thought it a better plan to directly involve His Majesty rather than approach Crown Prince Benjimir alone.”

Tari was silent, even though Arion turned his eyes on her.
Not yet. I’m not ready to face the Crown Prince yet.

Tari gleefully swung the small wicker basket Evlawyn lent her as she craned her neck to take in as much of the marketplace as possible.

Arion stood at her side motioning for two of the Honor Guards to walk to the far end of the market. “Is it really that exciting?” he doubtfully asked.

“It is. It’s so noisy and bustling. Everybody wants to get someplace and it’s chaotic and colorful and
loud
!” Tari said, her attention momentarily drawn away by a fruit vender.

Arion furrowed his eyebrows. “What are
your
markets like?”

“Very peaceful and quiet. Everyone moves like it’s
a slow dance. When you’re purchasing things there are certain phrases you use. You approach the venders, the venders do not try to get your attention.”

“That sounds more enjoyable than this,” Arion said, gesturing
to the boisterous market.

“It’s very different. I
love our elvish markets, but it’s so fun to experience a human market,” Tari said, leaving Arion’s side to investigate a stall of wax paper parasols.

Arion
trailed after her, talking to Grygg—the leader of the patrol squad they were accompanying. “Two guards should patrol the gold and silver smith stalls. There is no need to linger there—they have their own hired guards—but have a different pair circle the bakery stalls. They’ve been popular targets for thieves lately,” Arion instructed.

“Yes, sir,” Grygg said before falling back.

“Everything is so exotic,” Tari said, moving from the parasol vender to a stall stuffed with silk scarves. “Our craftsmen never think to produce goods like this.”

Arion arched an eyebrow. “I imagine it is far beneath their dignity to produce such paltry items
.”

Tari shot Arion a look before smiling to the scarf vender—who gaped at her—and moving on.
“Mmm, you can smell the fruit and the baking bread!” Tari said in delight.

“And the refuse and stink of the unwashed,” Arion
said. “One moment,” he added before disappearing behind a stall.

Grygg magically appeared in his absence, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his face serious. (Tari could hardly believe this stoic guard was the same man who stood in her sitting room yesterday and sang to her—in falsetto—a drinking song. Tari’s speaking education had taken an interesting turn when the patrol leaders learned she wanted to know some of the less polite phrases to insult people with.)

Tari smiled at Grygg. The patrol leader gravely bowed to her before he surveyed the area, occasionally gesturing to his men.

Arion returned
after a few minutes, his cape swirling behind him. He nodded to Grygg, who saluted before melting into the background.

Arion lead the way out of the food stalls and back to the craftsmen.

“I think Evlawyn and I should come here for an afternoon. It’s very pleasant,” Tari said, barely avoiding crashing into Arion when he abruptly stopped.

“No,” Arion said.

“Pardon?”

“You will n
ot return to the market without me.”

Tari bristled
. “That’s unfair. It’s not dangerous here.”

“Tari, please,” Arion said, getting her attention. “You are correct. The marketplace is not normally dangerous—
if one ignores the danger of losing one’s pocket money. However, you were attacked in the
palace gardens
. Anyone seeking to hurt you would have an easy time of it if you were to come here without guards.”

Tari sighed, seeing the wisdom in his words. After all, when it came to Calnor humans her normal defenses were forbidden.
“Very well,” she agreed. Her attitude shifted when they entered a new row of venders. “How beautiful!” she said, admiring the work of the silver and gold smiths.

There was a stall with a craftsman who specialized in settings with opals
. Another worked only with sterling silver. Another crafted animals from precious stones—jade, amber and the like. The little animals had tiny jewel eyes, and were carved to the smallest detail.

Tari admired the stalls—causing awe wherever she lingered. Although many elves occupied Haven they did not often venture to the human markets as there was an elvish market on the opposite side of the city.

Arion followed Tari, observing the humans that swarmed around them. “I do not understand,” he finally said. “I have seen you wear more finely forged jewelry and hair ornaments at tea time then what is on display here. Why the awe?”

Tari thoughtfully glanced at the craftsman and replied in human. “Admiring jewelry isn’t just about what is more
pricey and costly. Look at this,” she said, gesturing to a tiny figurine of a mounted knight. “It’s beautiful, and it’s something we elves would never think of crafting. We are masters of our crafts, but that is probably because our styles do not change. We are not creatures of innovation. Our decorating style is the same now as it was a century ago. You humans are all about change and development. Everything is so new and fresh,” Tari said, moving to the next stall.

“Which may be why your craftsmen are still more skilled than ours,” Arion wryly said, walking past Tari. He stopped when he realized she hadn’t moved. “What?”

“What are these?” Tari asked in Calnoric, reaching out to touch the object in question.

The table was lined with beau
tiful flowers crafted of golden metal, hand painted and set on golden sticks. There were clusters of pearl pink cherry blossoms, sunrise red roses the size of a thumbnail, tulips in vivid purples and sunshine yellows, swan white chrysanthemums, tendrils of pale green ivy, and orchids ranging the tones of a sunset.

Ari
on blinked. “I believe they are hair ornaments. The stick is stabbed into the hair to anchor the flowers.”

“Why have I never seen them before?” Tari asked, her hand lingering on a
vibrant orange orchid.

“The ladies of nobility no doubt think of themselves as above such cheap styles,” Arion dryly said.

“But they are so beautiful!” Tari gasped, jerking her head up to cast Arion a look of outrage.

Arion smiled slightly. “I did not say they are correct in their thinking.” He took a step forward and nodded to the vender—an
elderly woman who was doing her best not to stare at Tari, and her young granddaughter who could not do anything
except
stare at Tari.

“Do you make these?” Tari asked the older woman, still speaking in Calnoric.