“Keep your head still, my lady!” Lucinda the maid, an older woman with stark black hair and an attitude to match, pulled Claire’s hair tight. She was armed with a comb in one hand and pins in the other.
The small backroom bustled with women. A battlefield of the finer sex. Dresses and shoes were the casualties of war. Claire sat at a tiny vanity area after waiting almost an hour for her turn. Ever since she’d arrived at the palace it had been a whirlwind, having been rushed away to a room deep in the palace, separated from the two elves. Racks of dresses lined pale pink walls, and shoes and accessories were spread out in every available space. She would have liked to look more, never having seen such fine things close up before, but the maids hurried her from one area to the next.
Claire sighed, the most she could in the tight corseted dress. She’d always admired the slender waists of the wealthy ladies, tugged tight into tiny corsets. Although slim already, it didn’t stop the maids from stripping and stuffing her into one. Fashion wasn’t always about comfort or the ability to breathe easily, it seemed, but she had to admit: it was the best she’d ever looked.
With nowhere else to look at the moment, Claire stared into the mirror in front of her while the woman worked on her hair. Her face always had a more delicate look, innocent some called it, young others. The light sprinkle of freckles from her youth had all but faded away. Pretty, but plain, she’d always considered herself. But not tonight. Tonight she looked truly like a woman. Rouge on her cheeks, black around her eyes; she hardly looked like herself. The coppers and the bronzes in her dress brought out the darker tones in her hazel eyes, which she’d always thought were— at least when they were at their greenest— her best feature. She’d always wondered who she had gotten them from, her mother or her father? Perhaps she would never know.
The dress was simple but it was still the finest thing she’d ever worn. Rich brown velvet made up the bodice and swept down into a full skirt. The middle parted to reveal a gold silk skirt underneath. The back was gathered up into a small train, with tufts of material held in place with tiny gold pins, a nifty trick to adjust for her shorter stature. Her shoulders felt cool and naked, the straps of the gown draping off her shoulders, down around her arms, meant more for style and decoration than practical use.
The maid finished with her hair and handed her a hand mirror so she could examine the elaborate up-do full of soft curls and pins before she quickly ushered her out of the seat. Her dreams of a grand entrance were dashed the instant the door to the room slammed closed behind her.
Polished stone floors gleamed under the illumination of oil lamp chandeliers down the center of the ceiling, their flames encased in round glass globes. Paintings and tapestries decorated beige walls. Layers of petticoat swished from underneath her skirt as she walked a little unsteadily, the click of her heels echoing through the strangely barren hall. The faint sound of music drifted down the hallway as an orchestra wove an elegant lighthearted tune together.
The corridor opened up to a large foyer. Two staircases on either side led to a lower level, where couples mingled under the biggest chandelier she had ever seen. Millions of tiny crystals glowed brilliantly and bounced the light passing through them in all directions. Claire walked over to the railing and gazed down at the people below, dressed in their finest eveningwear.
Butterflies started to flutter in her stomach. Would she really be able to pull this off?
“This way, my lady.”
Wrenched from her daze, she spun around to find an older man that stood to one side of a crimson curtain dressed in a fine suit of black and white. He bowed to her and pulled open the drape to reveal the ballroom beyond. She stood motionless for a moment. The scene past the curtain was like a fairytale. She quickly curtsied to the man and walked through the entrance, where she emerged atop a grand staircase.
Music from the orchestra filled the grand ballroom and couples twirled on a marble dance floor in the middle of it all. The night sky was visible through a glass dome that made up nearly the whole ceiling and below it hung the new biggest chandelier she had ever seen. The massive light cast a brilliant glow throughout the entire room, putting the previous chandelier to shame. Flowers decorated every space imaginable, their sweet fragrance drifting on the air. Glass made up the wall to the right of the stairs, with doors out to an open terrace.
Claire’s mouth gaped open as she tried to take it all in. Never before in all her life had she seen such opulence and grandeur. She gripped the white marble banister and started to descend the stairs with her skirts held up. She gazed up at the ceiling and the spectacular chandelier in awe. She could get used to this lifestyle. If luck was on her side, she would meet a rich, handsome noble… But even before she could finish the fantasy, she knew that it would never happen, and it was shattered.
Just then, her foot slipped on a step and she lost her balance, snapping her back to reality as she started to fall forward. Her hand fumbled for the rail, but it was too late. But before she could go tumbling down the stairs like a fool, she collided into something solid. A pair of hands gripped her shoulders tight, cutting her fall short and saving her from potential doom and, even worse, embarrassment.
Claire’s face burned red as she peered up to discover the identity of her savior.
Farron stared down at her, eyes unblinking. Finally he said, “Watch your step, Claire.” His voice somewhat soft. His hands still gripped her shoulders tight.
Why was he looking at her like that? Did she really look that strange? She knew she wasn’t used to dressing up, especially like this, but at least she thought she looked good. Better than usual at least. Slowly, she regained her footing, straightening up and patting down her dress to make sure everything was still in place.
He shook his head and lowered his hands. “I mean, my lady.” A slight grin took over his mouth as he bowed on the stairs below her.
She looked at him, finally standing even with the tall elf. “You clean up nice.”
He looked down for a moment in an almost shy way. Nice was an understatement. He was striking, dressed in a tailored silver jacket and black slacks tucked into knee high black boots. The collar of the white shirt underneath hung loose, unbuttoned to reveal a hint of gold glittering around his neck. He looked surprisingly, dare she say it? Dashing.
“You look lovely as well, my lady.” He took her left hand into his and started to unclasp her mother’s bracelet. “But I’m afraid this doesn’t go with the dress.”
She had forgotten that it was there, although the mark on her right hand stood out more. The maids must have missed it in the chaos of dresses and hair. Farron tucked the bracelet into his jacket. She found it odd that he noticed such an insignificant detail, but brushed the thought aside. Perhaps he knew high society fashions better than she thought. Overlooking such a detail could ruin their whole cover, and she felt bad for not noticing it.
“And remember not to gawk so much.”
“Sorry.” Her cheeks flushed again. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” She glanced past him to the dancers.
“You haven’t, but Miss DuBonte has.” He offered his arm.
She took it and descended the stairs more carefully this time. “Where’s Aeron?” she asked, scanning the room.
“It seems he’s finally found his audience.” Farron nodded to the left.
A group of women surrounded the blonde elf, dressed in a similar fashion as Farron but with a deep blue jacket instead. A large smile decorated his face as he no doubt regaled the women with his elaborate stories.
“And where are your admirers?” she asked.
“I think they’re scared of me.”
Her amusement faded when she glanced around. A few women stared at her, their eyes piercing her like knives. “I think I should be the one afraid.” She sighed and averted her gaze up to the marble columns that held up the glorious ceiling. Golden vines wound up their length in an intricate manner.
“They say flower peta
ls used to rain down from the ceiling.”
“Really?” She looked up at the glass ceiling and tried to imagine the air filled with floating petals.
“This palace was built by the elves, you know.”
Claire looked up at Farron. “How do you know that?”
“Everyone knows that.” He glanced sideways at her.
Well, she sure didn’t. “Are you here to look after me again?”
“Someone has to keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t kill yourself on the stairs.” He smirked at the last part.
“It’s these heels.” She walked carefully as she held on to his arm. “I’m not really used to them.” Heels were not a luxury she could afford, and not practical for the extensive hours of standing in the tavern. She had worn them a couple times before, borrowing a pair from a friend for local gatherings and dances, but they still felt awkward and took a little while for her to get used to walking in again.
“Have you ever been to a ball like this before?” she inquired. He seemed surprisingly at ease, although he didn’t seem to be the type easily rattled. The way he looked, how he held himself as he walked, she had a feeling this wasn’t his first time dressing up.
“Yes,” he said softly, and she was surprised how easily the answer came. “A few, long ago.”
Claire gaped up at him silently, not able to help herself. Just where in the world had he come from anyway that he was able to attend such extravagant affairs?
He led her to a long table covered in white in front of the glass wall. Various snacks and drinks sat neatly on tiered silver trays in between colorful flower arrangements. Servants bustled behind the buffet as they restocked and refreshed at a dizzying pace. Farron grabbed a tall stemmed glass filled with a clear liquid and handed it to her before taking one for himself. She brought the flute up to her nose to smell it before taking a tiny taste. Sweet and light, just how she liked it.
Farron sipped at the drink as his eyes swept the room.
“See that man over there?”
She followed his gaze across the dance floor. A young man, not much older than herself, stood surrounded by ladies and gentlemen dressed in their finest. Golden cane in one hand, he had a sort of regal posture, confident, but at the same time relaxed. Everyone around him laughed, while his face held only a glimmer of amusement.
“I do,” she said, examining the man. He looked important, but she wasn’t exactly sure why the elf was pointing him out.
“That is the king. Philip of House Harston.”
Claire could feel her jaw drop open for the second, or maybe the third, time that night. She had heard of him, Prince Philip, even saw his father’s likeness stamped on gold and silver coins, a proud, regal profile. But never in her life had she thought that she would see him in the flesh. The royal family was simply a tale told by travelers and traders alike, never something tangible in her world until now.
“Well, almost. The next in line. His father, Harold, is not long for this world, I hear. His great grandfather helped lead the attack that took Lendon during the war.”
“But he’s so young,” she said, still in awe. So much power and responsibility at such an age. She didn’t think she could handle it.
“Responsibility does not wait for age. Nor does wisdom. Do not let his youth fool you, though. I suspect he has his own agenda already in place.”
She looked up at the elf. He had that faraway look in his eyes again. He was a world away, but she didn’t dare to ask him where. She was beginning to think there was a dark side to the elf that she just didn’t need to know about. But that didn’t stop her from being curious about it either.
“But I wonder, just who the General truly serves,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.
Her heart fluttered slightly at just the mention of that man. What was wrong with her? She looked up at Farron, confused. “What do you mean?”
He glanced down at her. “He says he’s the king’s man, but which one exactly?”
She thought on that for a few moments. Did it matter who he served? The prince or the king, father or son. The prince will be the king shortly anyway.
She let her eyes wander back to the dancers, their movements blurring in a wash of colors.
“It’s like a dream,” she sighed, off in her own little world this time. “It’s all a girl like me could ever do. I just wish…” that Mother could be here, she finished silently. She would have died to see her daughter all dressed up like a lady. Her gaze sunk down with her heart to focus on the floor.
Farron’s hand popped into view. “Perhaps we should make the best of it then.”
She narrowed her eyes at the elf. “You know how to dance?”
“Never said I didn’t.” He set his glass down on the table and a servant whisked it away.
Claire watched the dancers with a growing sense of dread. The music was in full swing and she didn’t know this dance. Aeron’s lessons the day before surely hadn’t prepared her for this.
“The great Claire DuBonte isn’t afraid of a little dance, is she?” His hand hovered before her, challenging her to take it.
She glared up at him. “Of course not.” She gulped down the rest of her drink and slammed the glass down on the table before she grabbed his hand.
He led her through the crowd to the edge of the dance floor, then turned, pulled her close to him and put his hand on her waist. He held her other hand out, cupping her palm in his.
“Just follow my lead.”
He stepped toward her and she stumbled as she hurried to step back. She steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder and looked down at her feet so she could watch the movements.
“Don’t look down,” he chided. “It’s the same as that fool taught you.” He stepped slowly forward and she stepped back. He stepped to the side, softly counting aloud and she followed the beat of the numbers. “See, not so hard.”
Claire could feel the stiffness in her shoulders start to ease and the dance seemed to flow more naturally. She stared straight at his chest as she concentrated on the steps, and the slight glimmer of gold tucked into his shirt caught her eye again.
Curiosity getting the better of her, she reached over with her free hand and pulled the gold chain out from his shirt. A pendant swung on the end. Gold wire wrapped elegantly around a large, teardrop shaped, sapphire— almost the color of his eyes, and very feminine.
Farron turned suddenly and the movement caught her off guard again. She dropped the pendant as she gripped his shoulder to steady herself. He’d done that on purpose. Perhaps it was something from his past he wanted to hide. She’d never seen it on him before and it was definitely from a woman. Claire smiled as they resumed their dance. The more he tried to keep his past hidden, the more she wanted to know.
“So who is she?” She looked up at him.
“Who’s who?”
She knew already she wouldn’t get any answers, but she’d try anyway. “The woman who gave you that.” She looked down at the pendant.
“I found it.”
“You’re lying.”
She studied his face, but his usual mask of amused arrogance was firmly in place. He wasn’t going to give his secrets up willingly.
“Fine,” she said, “I’ll just make up my own theory.”
He turned again, pulling her along swiftly this time.
“A woman gave you that necklace as an everlasting symbol of the love you shared. She then died, leaving you with only that to remember her by. So you fled to the forest in grief and to this very day you mourn her loss, your heart belonging only to her.”
Farron’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that so?”
“It makes perfect sense. And it’s tragically romantic.” She sighed, looking into the distance, and just so happened to spot General Errolle from the day before standing across the room. He toasted with a small group of people gathered around him, and he looked very dashing. She could feel heat rise to her cheeks. Farron turned sharply, snapping her atten
tion back to him. “Besides, that would explain why you turn away all those women.”
“I think your imagination is very bright, my lady.” He smiled but his eyes held a hint of sadness. A crack in his mask. He spun her around then, causing her skirts to swirl about her. He caught her by the hand at arm’s length before he pulled her back in close. He paused with a serious look on his face. “Or maybe I’m the heartbreaker.” A grin crossed his lips before he swept her along with him again.
“I like my story better.” She returned his smile with a bright one of her own.
“Fine, but that stays between you and me. If that fool finds out, he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”
“And what do I get in return?” she asked.
“Assistance with stairs, of course.”
Her smile faded as his grew broader.
“The other night,” he said after a few moments of silence. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Those men… You shouldn’t have had to see that.”
Claire looked up at him, a little surprised at the sudden serious tone in his voice. “It’s not anything I haven’t seen before. Do you forget where I come from?” She gave him a reassuring look. Tavern brawls were a rather common experience in The Blazing Stallion. Though, she’d never actually been a part of one before.
He seemed to relax a little.
“Besides, I was more afraid of what those men would do to us if they had their way. I was just shocked at how efficiently you two disposed of them. The forest must have trained you pretty well.”
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but stopped. His smile returning, he said, “Yeah.”
The music wound down and she decided it was time for a break. They wandered back to the banquet table. She picked up another flute of the sweet tasting drink and browsed along the length of the buffet to taste whatever caught her eye. She picked up a small cake, round and bite-sized, covered in a purple jam-like glaze, and took a bite. Her eyes closed as she savored the delicate sweetness. She popped the rest of it in her mouth and moved on to the next treat. Before she knew it, she had finished her drink and had another in her hand, this time a light orange one. Sweet, tangy, and very tasty.
Farron remained at the other end of the table by the salty foods and tried each piece with a thoughtful look. Claire grabbed the nearest sweet, marched back to the elf and shoved the cake at him. It was time for vengeance.
“Try it.”
He looked down at it and shrugged his shoulders before popping the whole thing in his mouth. She waited patiently for the disgusted reaction that never came.
Instead, he just nodded and said, “Not bad.”
She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. She thought for sure he’d hate it.
“I hope I’m not interrupting something.”
Claire’s stomach fluttered at the familiar voice. She spun around to find the General with one of those long stemmed glasses held delicately in hand. Heat rose to her cheeks again. She didn’t know what to say. It was strange that she reacted like this; she didn’t know anything about the man.
Except that he looked remarkable in his uniform. Burgundy tailored jacket, black shining boots, and beige-colored slacks and shirt completed his ensemble. His long brown hair was pulled loosely back. On a less confident man it would have looked sloppy, but he managed to pull it off with grace.
General Errolle took her hand in his. “Good evening, Miss DuBonte.” He bowed, brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it lightly.
Her cheeks burned madly. She curtsied in returned and lowered her head to hide her face. “G-good evening, General.”
“Please, call me Bren.” He nodded to the elf behind her. “I hope you are enjoying this evening.”
“Yes, very much so.” She had a hard time looking directly at him, so she decided to keep her gaze to the ground in a demure fashion. “Thank you for inviting us.”
“I trust you are having fun as well.” He looked past her at Farron again. “I know your friend is.” He took a sip from the tall glass. “Although, I feel I must inform him that he is dancing with a married woman.”
Claire glanced behind the General to the dance floor. It seemed that Aeron had found a dance partner in a giggling young blonde woman. But for some reason, she didn’t think that finding out the woman was married would have stopped him.
“Would it be too bold if I asked my lady for a dance?” Bren offered his arm.
Claire’s attention turned back to the General, her throat tight. “O-of course not, General.” She set her drink down on the table, after she took one last sip for courage. She took his arm hesitantly as he handed his glass to a passing waiter.
“I promise to take good care of her,” he said to Farron and turned on his heel to lead her out to the dance floor.
He stopped in the middle, bowed to her, and she curtsied back. He took her hand in his and slid his other arm around her waist to pull her in close. His dance was slower than the elf’s, his steps more refined as the other dancers spun around them in a blur.
The General was almost as tall as the elves, so she had no choice but to stare at his chest and the fine cloth of his jacket. The shirt underneath was buttoned high with ruffles of white lace cascading from around his neck.
“His majesty seems quite thrilled to have an audience with the elves,” he said.
Claire looked up at him finally and gazed into his gray eyes. She didn’t know what to say, or what she was supposed to say. So, she remained silent, not wanting to look like a fool who spewed nonsense. She had to remember the role she had to play as well, which added another layer of nervousness.
“Of course, they formally introduced themselves and told all about your situation.” He smiled down at her and her cheeks flushed again. “It was quite the spectacle. I thought His Majesty would die of shock when he saw them descending the stairs.”
She needed to get a hold of herself. With a deep breath, she summoned her new persona to the surface, holding her head high. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
“So tell me about yourself, Miss Claire.”
“What would you like to know?”
“We’ll start with your hometown.”
“Banton,” she began sharply, “a small village far to the north. My father is a trader who specializes in fine exotic cloths and other supplies.” She was grateful that the elves sat down with her the night before to work out all the details of their little charade.
“And how did a lady like you become interested in fighting? It’s an awful long way to travel for a tournament.”
“News travels far. My father deals with traders from all over and they would bring stories of the tournament with them, all the way from Rodem.” She beamed up at him. “I guess I just thought it would be interesting. And, I figured it would be a good excuse to get out and see the world.”
“Not ready to be shackled down yet?”
“Never.” Partly true— Claire missed her hometown, but she had always felt an urge to get out and see the world and live a life full of adventure. Unfortunately, the driving force was too high a price to pay. “So, after months of begging father, here we are.” She motioned with a hand to the room in a carefree motion. She began to feel a little light headed. Perhaps she had drunk more than she thought.
Bren gave her a delighted look. “I must say, you are very peculiar. And what of your exotic companions? It’s not every day you come across an elf.”
“Maybe not here, but in the north they are quite common. Perhaps you have scared them away.” She narrowed her eyes at him playfully. “Father used to trade with the elves and insisted on hiring them. He wouldn’t have let me go otherwise.” She carefully studied the General’s face, hoping that he bought her story.
Bren quickened his pace and pulled her even closer as they danced. “Speaking of which, your beautiful companion doesn’t seem too thrilled with me,” he said in a lowered voice.
Claire glanced past the General’s shoulder to where she?
??d left Farron. He leaned against a stone column with a drink in one hand as he scanned the room with a frown on his face. Not too thrilled indeed. She knew he was keeping an eye on her, no doubt making sure she kept up her end of their disguise.
“Overprotective is all.” She looked back up to Bren. “He is still on duty.”
“I see.” He glanced down at the mark on her hand clasped in his and brought it closer for inspection. “This is a rather unusual decoration.”
“Do my customs surprise you?”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise then looked down at the mark again as his thumb traced along the intricate design across her skin. His touch sent shivers down her spine.
Claire shook her head and suddenly found it harder to remember her story. Had they gone over that part? “It’s an ancient tradition in Banton for young brides to get such a tattoo. It’s a symbol of blossoming love. And also a shackle, as you’ve called it.”
“So you’re betrothed then?” His surprise grew.
“Not quite.” With each question, she dug the hole she was in even deeper. She felt more lightheaded, the lies getting mixed up and confused. She couldn’t clearly remember what they had discussed the night before. Was she supposed to be married? She was now, she supposed. “This is sort of my last hurrah before the marriage.”
“I see,” he said with a touch of disappointment in his voice. “A break, perhaps?”
“That would be wonderful.” He had read her mind and led her like a gentleman to the opposite wall where a group of white linen-covered tables sat. A waiter came with a silver tray of the sweet drink she’d grown so fond of.
Bren took two flutes and handed one to her. “To your last hurrah.” He lifted his drink to her.
Hesitantly, she mirrored his gesture and they clinked their glasses together. She turned away from him as she gulped down the wine, cursing herself for telling him she was married. Maybe she had read too much into the slight disappointment he showed when she told him of her betrothal. She shook her head and glanced back at the General. There was no way he’d be interested in her, lady or tavern maid. It would never work out anyhow. She couldn’t keep this act up for too much longer. She sighed and downed the last of her drink. The sweet liquid slid down her throat much easier than it had before.
“What are we toasting to?” Aeron strolled up, drink already in hand with a big smile plastered across his face.
Relief mingled with a different sort of anxiety at his arrival.
“To her betrothal, of course,” Bren replied.
Aeron’s face was taut as he tried to decipher the news. She glared back at him, urging him to play along.
“Oh, but of course.” Aeron recovered, turning the shock into gleeful surprise. He grabbed another flute from a passing waiter, handed it to her and held his own up in front of him. “Here is to missed opportunities and the lucky sap of a groom.”
They each took a sip from their glass. Claire quickly downed the rest of hers, wishing desperately for a distraction from the topic.
In a surprising answer to her wish, an older man approached Bren and whispered into his ear. He nodded to the man and bowed to Claire and Aeron. “If you’ll excuse me, it seems I’m being summoned.” He took Claire’s hand in his. “I hope to see you again, Miss Claire.” He kissed the back of her hand before he took his leave.
Claire let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She wasn’t so sure she should see the General again. She became a bumbling fool around him. It took her a moment to look at Aeron, afraid of what his reaction would be. The elf looked down at her with obvious amusement.
She put her hands on her hips and waited for him to start his relentless teasing. “What?”
“Oh, nothing.” He sipped his drink casually. “I just wanted to ask Miss Claire for a dance. Or should that be Missus?”
She ignored the last part. “I thought you’d never ask.” She took his arm after they set their drinks down on one of the tables and he led her out to the dance floor. The room started to spin a little as the alcohol caught up to her. “I’m surprised you were able to break away from the swarms of women.” She changed the topic to his favorite subject: him.
Aeron’s smile broadened as he took her hand in his and placed the other on her waist. “It seems like the tables have finally turned, my lady. Refined ladies find it hard to resist my charms, I am afraid.” He swept her along, his waltz more free flowing than the other two. “Is there any other wonderful news that you would like to share with me?”
He looked down at her. His usual pleasant look was in place but his eyes grew serious. He wanted to know how much she told the General. She shook her head, but that was a mistake. It only made the room spin even more. “No. I was only trying to explain the customs of my village, and then suddenly I was betrothed.”
He sighed. “I guess that means my chances are ruined.”
She was relieved that he didn’t seem too mad at her. “I’m sure you still have your pick here.”
“That is true, my lady.”
A few dances and drinks later, Claire collapsed onto a chair by one of the tables, giggling uncontrollably. Drunkenness had finally caught up to her. Aeron caught her as she started to lean to one side and almost fell out of the chair, which only made her laugh even more. The elf had taught her a different, faster variation of the waltzing dance that made the room spin in a mish mash of colors. The second she sat down, the throbbing in her feet began. She had so much fun dancing her mind ignored the blisters forming on her feet. The alcohol may have helped as well.
Claire stopped giggling for a second as she reached out to a glass set atop the table. Half empty and abandoned, she didn’t know whose it was, but didn’t care either.
Aeron snatched the drink from her hands just as she was about to take a sip. “I think you have had enough of this, my lady.” He set the glass down on the table out of her reach. “Let us say we call it a night.” He stood next to the chair, keeping a hand on her shoulder.
“But we’re having so much fun,” she pouted like a child. She didn’t want to leave the ball. Not yet. She had dreamed of this very thing her whole life— who knew if she would ever have the chance again?
“I am afraid my lady cannot even stand on her own right now.” He glanced around the room, no doubt looking for their companion.
“Am I embarrassing you?” She brushed his hand off her shoulder.
Aeron leaned in close with his hand on the back of the chair. “A lady always knows her limit. I think we should leave now before you blow our whole cover.” His eyes narrowed and the smile vanished, his words harsh and sharp.
A lump rose in her throat, the kind that was inevitably followed by tears. She swallowed hard and tried her best to keep a strong face. He’d been happy just a moment before. The fact that he could change his emotions so fast frightened her a little. She remembered Farron’s words from the other night. She was beginning to see the side of Aeron that may have raised him to a position of power.
“Now, stay put while I find our other guardian.” The smile returned in full force as he straightened up.
The incident sobered her up a little. Fear can do that to a person, even a drunken one. She watched as he disappeared into the elegant crowd. A sense of shame overwhelmed her, sinking to the pit of her stomach. Maybe he was right to get upset with her. The charade was not a game, nor was it as fun as she’d thought it would be. It was downright exhausting pretending to be someone she wasn’t, especially from a different social class she hardly knew anything about. If anyone were to find out who they really were, the repercussions could be great, deadly even. She shuddered at the thought.
She covered her face with her hand as she fought the sting in her eyes, while the other balled itself into the soft material of her skirt. She took a deep breath. Then another. And another, until the lump in her throat subsided. Glancing to either side, she gripped the edge of the table and hoisted herself up onto blistered, unsteady feet. She w
asn’t sure where their inn was, but she didn’t feel like staying to suffer the wrath of Aeron either. With her head held high, she walked through the crowd to the set of stairs she’d entered on. She’d descended a curious, excited girl with her dream come to life. Now she climbed as a woman in defeat. The realities of her life were just too different from the shining one behind her.
Each step was a mountain to her aching feet. A hiss of air escaped between clenched teeth each time she stepped down. Her right hand gripped the stone banister and held on for dear life while the other held the voluminous skirts up and out of the way. Tripping down the stairs wouldn’t be the best way to end such a beautiful night. The corset had become unbearably tight and she felt like she was going to suffocate. How did these women survive? Perhaps they were used to the torture. When Claire finally reached the top of the stairs, a triumphant victory in her book, she glanced back at the ballroom to take in the scene one last time, then limped through the entranceway, steadying herself with a hand against the wall.
The older gentleman from before pulled the thick red curtain back and bowed silently as she came through. She curtsied back, her knees shaking from the effort. A hiccup burst through her lips, surprising both her and the older man. Her cheeks flushed as she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Embarrassed, she turned and walked to the railing across from them, and leaned on it with both hands. The room spun around her, images blurring if she moved her head too fast. She gripped the railing and placed one foot in front of the other toward the next set of stairs. This time going down. She crossed her fingers and hoped that she wouldn’t have a twisted ankle in the morning.
She’d managed to make it halfway down when a voice rang out from behind her. “It’s rude to leave without telling anyone, you know.”
Claire glanced back over her shoulder. Farron stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed as he looked down at her in disapproval.
“Add it to my list of faults.” She turned back to her task and gathered her skirts in her hand. She already had one disappointed elf, might as well add the other while she was at it.
The night was spiraling down faster than a depressed drunk on a binge. The comfort of a warm bed called out to her. Even more, she wished for solitude. And for the spinning to stop. She closed her eyes as she waited for the world around her to stop whirling and the nausea in her stomach to ease.
An arm snaked across her shoulders before her feet were suddenly swept out from under her. She gasped in surprise as Farron swiftly picked her up off the stairs in one smooth motion.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was shrill as the world spun wildly around her. The nausea in her stomach returned in full force and she clamped her eyes closed again.
“Assisting you with stairs. It was part of our agreement, if you remember. In exchange for your silence.”
She couldn’t see it, but she knew the grin was there. She gripped his shoulder, her fingers digging into the soft material of his jacket. “I think I’m going to be sick. Please put me down.” He started to descend the stairs. Each step felt like a free fall down the side of a cliff.
“You are a lightweight for a bar maid, surprisingly.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder and kept her eyes tightly shut. She didn’t have the will or the energy to argue with him at the moment. He carried her through the palace in silence, his footsteps clicking loudly through the halls. The music from the ball faded away into the distance and left only faint traces of the melody to float through the corridors to tease the ear before it was gone. Her grip on his jacket relaxed as she reveled in it. The throbbing in her head eased to a steady ache.
“I think he hates me,” she blurted out in a weak voice.
“And whom are we speaking of?”
“Aeron.”
“You act like that is a bad thing.”
She remained quiet, wishing to hear more comforting words.
After a few steps, Farron took a deep breath. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s just scared.” He paused before he continued in a soft voice, “We’re not exactly in friendly territory. Even you would have to know what would happen if we were found out.”
Claire didn’t say anything. What could she say? His words had been somewhat comforting, but proved all the more reason for Aeron’s anxiety.
It felt like they had reached another set of stairs, and the elf descended them carefully at a slow pace to help reduce the impact. Cool air nipped at her. The sensation wonderful and wholly welcome as her body burned from the alcohol and caused a thin layer of sweat to break out across her skin. She could hear the carriages and the noise from the city in the distance: hooves on stone, the occasional shout, music from a distant tavern. The ambiance of human life.
“Excuse me, sir!” shouted a heavily accented male voice at the top of the stairs.
Farron stopped and she could feel him turn to look. Claire finally gathered the courage to open her eyes and peered over Farron’s shoulder to the man standing atop the stairs. They stood outside under the main entrance they had arrived through earlier that day. The great curved archway, carved from a single block of white stone, had shone blindingly white in the afternoon sun. Now it was cast in an orange flickering glow by rows of torches that lined the stairs.
“Do not worry, we are only borrowing them,” Farron told the man. “You still have our belongings, remember?” He turned and started to descend the stairs again. “You will get them in the morning.”
A carriage pulled up to the bottom of the stairs. Simple and white with only one long seat behind the driver, it still seemed too fancy for her. She’d only ever ridden in a friend’s carriage, never in one for her own use.
“Please put me down now. This is getting rather embarrassing,” she whispered to the elf. He set her down carefully; her hand gripped his sleeve as she steadied herself in the heels. She started to climb up into the carriage, but stopped halfway and turned back to Farron, “Shouldn’t we wait for Aeron?”
He just smirked and helped her into the carriage.
She plopped down on the plush bench seat and scooted to the other end. The soft red velvet felt similar to her dress. She leaned her head back against the rail and closed her eyes.
“Come on, my lady.” Farron shook her by the shoulder lightly.
Claire opened her eyes in a daze. She didn’t remember dozing off. The carriage stopped in front of their inn and she could hear the muffled noise of the crowd and music from inside the tavern. She looked down at her dress. They were sure to be noticed in their fancy attire. Her shoulders slumped; she didn’t want to face yet another embarrassing event this evening.
Farron stood outside the carriage and held the miniature door open. He started to pull on her hands in an effort to get her up. “I’m sure this fine gentleman would like to go home sometime this evening.”
Claire looked up at the driver. The middle-aged man simply tipped his hat to her and turned back around in his seat. She sighed and stepped out of the carriage. Farron closed the door behind her and the carriage took off down the street, the horse’s hooves echoing off the cobblestone before they turned around the corner.
She stood unmoving in front of the bustling inn. “Do you think they have a back door?”
“Not embarrassed, are we?”
She raised her chin at him. “Of course not.”
Farron opened the door to the tavern, blasting them with the loud boisterous noise from inside, so different from the music she had heard earlier in the evening.
“After you.” He bowed and motioned with his hand.
“Thank you, kind sir.” She gave a brief curtsy before she strode into the room. Curious eyes turned to look at her one by one.
Keeping her stride, she walked quickly to the stairs with her head held high and proud. She gripped the railing to the stairs and looked up. They seemed to be twice as tall as she remembered. She took a deep breath and managed to climb the first step. Her feet cried out in pain. One step down, a
mountain more to go.
“Would you like my assistance?” Farron leaned casually against the railing on the other side, down on the level floor.
“I can do it myself.” She glanced out into the tavern. A handful of people watched them. She climbed another step and winced. See, she could do it. It would just take her awhile.
“This is painful to watch.” He stepped on the bottom step.
Claire whirled around. “No one told you to watch!”
He smiled up at her before he charged up the stairs toward her, grabbed her legs and threw her over his shoulder.
Claire shrieked in surprise. “What are you doing? Put me down this instant!” Scattered claps and whistles rose from the crowd in the tavern. Heat rose to the surface of her entire body. This was exactly the kind of embarrassing thing she wanted to avoid.
He bounded up the steps and through the hall, all while she pleaded with him, balling her fists up to beat on his back. Neither seemed to break his stride. He stood in front of her door and dug a key out of his jacket. It sure was comforting to know he had a spare to her room. He kicked the door open and threw her onto the tiny bed, the metal frame squealing under the stress.
Farron stood at the foot of the bed and dusted his hands off. “My job here is done.”
“You’re evil!” Claire shouted as she turned away from him to face the wall. “I’ve never felt so humiliated!” She covered her head with a pillow and buried her face in the scratchy sheets.
“And you’re stubborn,” he countered. “In all fairness, it would have taken you all night.”
“Please just go away.” Her head seemed to spin even more lying down. All she wanted to do was to go to sleep and forget this night ever happened. Well, the latter part of it anyway.
The door clicked closed, and then it was silent. After a moment, she lifted her head from beneath the pillow and looked around the room, now elf free. The bedside oil lamp had been lit. The inn staff must have done that. She turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. A twinge of regret stung her in the chest. Farron had been nothing but nice to her this evening, in his own way. She would have to apologize to him in the morning. Her heavy eyelids slowly slid closed and she dozed off.
A sudden light tap on the door lassoed her consciousness back to the surface. What now?
“May I come in?”
Just the elf. Her shoulders relaxed a little. She wondered for a brief second when they went tense. “Yes.” She rolled over to face the door, grabbed the other pillow and hugged it close to her chest.
Farron entered with a cup in his hand and set it down on the table by the bed. Claire peered up at him, the lower half of her face buried in the pillow. He seemed to avoid her gaze. Was he mad at her? He’d every right to be.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was muffled by the pillow. “I know you were just trying to help.”
A slight smile tugged at his mouth and he turned to leave. “No need. I do tend to get a little impatient.”
A surge of sadness swept over her. For some reason the sight of his back to her dug up a feeling of loneliness deep in her chest. There was no one left for her to go home to. No one she could share her feelings with or tell the excitements of her day to. She felt utterly alone at that moment and for some reason, his quiet presence had become soothing to her. When he wasn’t being arrogant, that is.
“Stay,” she muttered, tears teetering on the edge. Farron glanced back over his shoulder with a look of surprise. “Just for a little bit.”
He closed the door to the room and sat at the foot of the bed, wisely not saying a word. The bed squeaked ever so slightly as he leaned back on his hands. His gaze drifted down to his boots stretched out before him.
“Did you have fun tonight?” she finally asked to break the silence.
“Yes, and yourself?”
“I found it exhausting.”
“I thought you would have liked playing the part.” He turned to face her, curling a leg up on the bed.
“I did. But you know what I found out?”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“Being a lady is actually quite painful.”
Farron chuckled, then slipped one of her shoes off and threw it behind him where it landed on the wooden floorboards with a loud thud. Claire winced as he grabbed her stockinged foot. He began to feel around, prodding with his fingers, as he checked for bumps or sprains like a doctor.
“I think you’re going to have to get used to it,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“It looks like we’ll have to keep this farce going for a little while longer.”
Her foot jerked out of his grasp. “Ouch! Watch it!” He’d found a sweet spot. “Will you just spit it out already?” She didn’t feel like playing these games tonight.
He removed the other shoe and threw it behind him to join the other on the floor. “The General will be joining us on our journey.”
Claire sat up straight, her eyes wide. “What did you just say?”
“I received an offer while you were dancing with that fool. The General wants us to take him to Rodem.”
“What? Why? And you said yes?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “The money was good.”
“Doesn’t that seem a little suspicious to you?”
“Of course it does.”
“Does Aeron know?”
“He will.”
Claire laid back on the bed, her hands covered her face. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”
“You wouldn’t be the only one.”
“Then why did you agree?”
Farron sighed. “It’s not like I had much of a choice. I’m sure he would have come one way or another. At least this way we can keep a close eye on him.”
“Keep your enemies closer?”
“Exactly.”
“And why are you just telling me this now?” She rubbed her eyes. The headache was starting all over again.
“I figured you’d find out soon enough.” He paused. “We leave in the morning.”
“Tomorrow?” She sat up again and met the elf’s gaze. “But what about my mother? You heard what that man said. There are others in this town.” She pointed toward the tiny window and could feel the heat rise up to her skin.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to put that on hold for the time being.”
Claire bristled with rage. She yanked her foot out of his grasp and sat up on her knees in front of him. “We had a deal. How do you expect me to just abandon my search?” She crossed her arms. “I refuse. The only reason I signed up for this little adventure was so I can find my mother.” She glared at the elf, her brow furrowed furiously. “And I’m not going anywhere until I do.”
“We can’t let you do that.” His eyes pierced hers. A hint of anger burned deep in the icy blue depths, yet his voice and manner remained calm and in control.
“We’ll see about that.” She stared back.
“And so what are you going to do? Stay here in this town all by yourself, following a lead you got from some crazy man in the streets? With no money or a place to stay on top of that? We don’t know anything yet and we’ve already got that damn General sniffing around our heels.” His voice began to rise. It was the first time she’d seen him genuinely upset. “You’re our responsibility, whether you like it or not. We already stuck our necks out and risked coming here for you. I think it’s time you grew up and stepped out into the real world. Sometimes things don’t always go the way they’re planned.”
Claire stared at him, her fists clenched at her sides. He’d found the chink in her armor. It was the second time in one night she was being chastised by an elf. That had to be a new record. She struggled to hold back the tears in her eyes and dug her nails into her palms. Tears wouldn’t help; they rarely ever did.
“Could you please leave?” She looked away from him and closed her eyes. The corset began to suffocate her again as the lump returned to her throat.
T
he room fell silent, the only noises from the tavern below. The sound that had made her feel more at ease the past couple of nights only made her feel worse now.
The metal frame creaked and she could feel the extra weight lift off the bed as the elf stood. She waited quietly, listening for the soft click the door made when closing.
“I didn’t mean—” Farron began, but stopped.
Claire stared out the window on the other side of the room. She refused to look at the elf.
“Look, I have an old acquaintance in Sanre Du Lore. She may be able to help you in your search. We can stop on the way to Rodem.”
She kept her eyes on the window. He’d made a valiant effort but the damage had already been done. Deep down, she knew he was right. The stubborn girl inside of her just didn’t want to admit it. She heard the soft click of the door, then collapsed back on the bed and let the tears fall freely from her eyes. Tears seemed to be her constant companion and her new worst enemy. She had to become stronger than this. Her eyes couldn’t take much more.
Sleep came quick. The corset remained laced around her, tight and uncomfortable, but she was too tired to care at the moment. Besides, she wasn’t so sure she could get it off without any assistance. That would be her next big challenge, and for the first time in a while she was relieved that the problem seemed so small.