Red Rope of Fate (3 page)

Tari cleared her throat and curtseyed. “If you will excuse my impertinence,
My Crown Princess Yvrea, it is not that Captain Arion and I find each other disagreeable. It is instead, it is merely,” Tari hesitated, as though admitting their mutual understanding out loud would somehow make it official. “We can speak to each other.”

T
he elves in the audience stood with gasps and smiles, speaking excitedly to each other. The translators went wild, hugging one another and joyously shouting. Prince Benjimir frowned as he spoke with his translator, and in the midst of the hubbub Captain Arion walked across the platform to stand at Tari’s side.

Tari looked at the tall captain as
Crown Princess Yvrea retreated. “What do you think?”

Arion wryly shook his head. “As I said, exceedingly more difficult.”

Tari sank into the cushions of the couch as Arion stood behind her in a stance of attention. They had been pulled from the Celebration Hall before order was restored and escorted to a small, stuffy office. Then, after hours of talking to translators, both elf and human, being pinched and prodded by enchanters and wizards, talked to, read to, questioned, and—oddly enough—sung to, Tari was left alone with her partner.

She exhaled and shut her eyes, reveling in the moment of leisure. “I can’t imagine they have any
additional tests to throw at us, unless they mean to test our physical abilities.”

“It is not likely,” Arion acknowledged.

Tari opened her eyes. “They’re probably trying to decide what to do with us. Maybe they have sent for more members of the Royal families?”

“They already have,” Arion said, still standing behind Tari’s couch.

“What?” Tari asked, twisting to face the captain. “How do you know?”

Arion gestured to the open window behind them. “The flag of
His Majesty King Petyrr and the banner of the elvish King Celrin fly above the Celebration Hall.”

Tari leaned back to get a glance of at the top of the vaulted Celebration Hall. She only caught a glimpse of the elvish banner,
a rising sun, before the door to the small office was thrown open

First t
hrough the door was King Petyrr. Three assistants, two guards, and a translator trailed after him. King Celrin glided through the door after this small procession. He studied the already crowded room and spoke softly to his assistant who stood directly behind him, dismissing him before he stepped inside the room with a lone translator.

There was some fumbling before King Petyrr barked, and two
of his assistants and guards fled the room.

Tari
stood and dipped into an elegant curtsey. Arion was a moment behind her, offering a stiff bow to his monarch. Tari froze momentarily in surprise when she realized she
knew
Arion’s bow was stiff, not because of his posture, but because of some inner feeling that told her so.

The two Kings stood side by side—a tra
nslator standing behind each monarch—and made a striking picture of differences. King Celrin was tall and slim, clothed in flowing robes. He had long hair that was plaited into a braid, and he studied Arion and Tari with the scrutiny scholars afford to ancient texts. King Petyrr, on the other hand, had a large smile with deep smile lines. He was short, portly, and red faced, but while King Celrin wore dignity like a cloak, King Petyrr’s brisk manner commanded respect.

King Petyrr spoke, his voice booming and
jovial.

Tari looked to Arion, as there was no translator present who seemed intent on
translating for them. The captain bowed again and did not translate, as Tari hoped he would. “It was certainly a surprise, Your Majesty,” he said.

King Petyrr spoke again, this time with a large gesture and
a peal of laughter.

Arion bowed his head. “If you say so, Your Majesty.”

Tari longed to ask Arion what the King said, but it seemed improper when
royalty
was addressing them.

The translator at King Celrin’s elbow translated for the ruling elf in whispers. The
elf king nodded before turning to Tari. “Tarinthali Ringali, Elvaren’s youngest child, correct?”

“
Yes, My King,” Tari said, inclining her head before whispering to Arion. “My King Celrin asked if I was the youngest child of my father, Elvaren.”

Arion shifted, and a frown twisted his lips for a moment before he nodded.

“Your sister was bound today as well, was she not? She did not experience this phenomenon.” King Celrin said, reflecting on his words more than informing Tari of the day’s events. “Your bonding, Tarinthali, has ignited a light of hope in our people. The enchanters and wizards are discussing your bond among themselves with the aid of the translators. It is to be hoped that they will be able to recreate such a bond, but we are not convinced it is something that
can
be repeated,” King Celrin said, looking to King Petyrr, who nodded after his being told the translation.

“My King Celrin has expressed the opinion that the wizards and enchanters hope to reproduce our
unusual bond, but My King Celrin and His Majesty King Petyrr doubt they will be successful,” Tari rushed to tell Arion before King Petyrr spoke again in his loud voice.

Arion listened for a moment
, his lips tightening, and translated when the human king paused to laugh and let King Celrin’s translator catch up.

“His Majesty King Petyrr
has expressed the desire that he and King Celrin wish for us to remain in Haven, although we have other commitments in our home cities,” Arion said, his voice flat.

Tari whirled to face King Celrin. “My King,” she started, hesitating. “If you will pardon my im
pertinence, I am an Evening Star. I am aware that because of my unusual bond with the honorable Captain Arion I should stay in Haven for a time, but as an Evening Star it is my duty to remain in Gloria,” she said, pleading to the king with her eyes.

Seer Ringali would be furious if she stayed at Haven for an extended period of time, and it was very likely this ‘stay’
would last at least a season. He was going to burst a blood vessel when she sent news of this.

Arion nodded
at Tari’s words. “If I may, Your Majesty, my squad cannot survive without my leadership for an extended period of time,” Arion said to his king.

King Celrin waited until King Petyrr addressed Arion before he spoke as well
. “I do not argue against your point, for I am aware of the responsibility you bear. However, right now our country has great need of you. You, Tarinthali, and Captain Arion are the only bond we have historical record of, or even dreamed of, that upon bonding are immediately able to understand each other. I know your position as an Evening Star is of great importance, but at this moment the change you and the captain symbolize is of much greater magnitude.”

“He told you too
that we must stay?” Arion asked. His words were so quiet Tari doubted the kings and their translators heard.

Tari nodded to
the captain, who exhaled. “I thought as much. I have been pulled from the military and reassigned to an Honor Guard squad in Haven.”

Tari waited until the kings spoke to each other in a combination of sign language and translators before she said to Arion, “It seems we will have to sacrifice our personal lives for a time.”

Arion added, barely above a whisper, “We can only hope it is indeed for a time.”

“Here are the grounds upon which you can practice your magic and dancing, Lady Tarinthali,” the elf handmaiden said, gesturing to the nicely sized private garden, located in Rosewood Park—the handsome grounds and garden
s kept by the elves who lived at the palace in Haven.

Tari nodded
and walked the length of the garden. It was big enough that she could move about freely and was screened by a copse of trees.

“It will be available for your exclusive use,” the handmaiden said,
stepping in front of the two guards that stood at the entrance.

Tari turned suddenly, making the velvet blue skirt
s of her dress swirl around her legs. She studied the morning sun and raised a hand to rub the back of her neck.

“Is the Lady Tarinthali not pleased with the gardens, or her rooms? Did you not sleep well last night?” the handmaiden ventured at Tari’s silence.

Tari smiled at the tentative young elf. “No, everything is beautiful. I am beyond pleased with my living quarters, and I am very much in debt to Our King Celrin for allotting me this space,” she said.

The previous evening Tari
had hopes she would be allowed to live with her sister and brother-in-law in the city of Haven. She was shocked when her new attendant timidly explained that she was to live in the palace. Furthermore she was being bestowed a great honor by taking up residence in the wing reserved for elven royalty.

Tari had spent most of the evening and morning outlining the items and clothing articles she would need as long as she stayed at Haven. Tari hadn’t much time to dwell how she felt, but for most of the morning a vague sense of resignation had plagued her.

“Evlawyn, could you tell me where Captain Arion is?” Tari asked, pausing to stoop over a flowering bush of bleeding hearts.

The handmaiden was quiet for a few moments, drawing Tari’s attention to her. “Certainly,” the attendant smiled shakily. “I believe I know where
Captain Arion’s new office is located, but I must apologize in advance: I am not certain I know my way there.”

Tari smiled and linked arms with the young elf. “I do not mind taking the scenic route. I know nothing
of the palace. This will be an opportunity to view more of it.”

Tari knocked on the door of Arion’s office, flashing her nervous attendant a smile as the young elf gawked at the human soldiers loitering down the hallway. Clearly she hadn’t often
been in the human half of the palace.

“Come in,” Arion said from inside the office, and Tari’s attendant startled when Tari opened the door and trooped in.

“I will wait outside, Lady Tari?” the attendant timidly asked.

“Yes, thank you Evlawyn,” Tari smiled before shutting the door behind her. She tipped her head when she beheld Arion seated behind a desk, looking vas
tly different than the previous day.

If
possible he seemed even larger and more intimidating. Instead of wearing his formal wear, Arion was garbed in his captain’s uniform: a hauberk with a linen tunic of black and silver. Silver pauldrons with black accents covered his shoulders, and a large sword and assortment of daggers were buckled to his black belt.