Chapter 204: In Search of a Friend

Book 4, ThChapter 45 - In Search of a Friend

Morning of the following day brought fairer temperatures accompanied by a heavy, grey sky.

Elizia lingered in her given room, standing before an opened window pane, her hair dancing back with the hard, but calming winds pushing through. Thin cloth drapes grazed her cheek in their constant fluttering. She breathed in the tepid air carrying the scent of damp earth and grass. This place, Elizia thought, was not a bad one. The manor, though small compared to her father's at Metsiphon, felt homely. It was empty, and bore old furniture, but that was its precise charm. It melded into the serenity of the north, and the quiet, cool atmosphere.

If only this feeling could be made to last…

It was embarrassing having said what she had to her host last night, and waking up at peace in his home in the morning. Elizia had felt lighter of chest in the moment. She'd meant every harsh word. But she'd revealed her thrice locked vulnerabilities in a moment of weakness. He'd proclaimed his dislike of her openly, and she'd disregarded that as if it might change. Why? Why did I do that?

Elizia closed her window panes. A vague reflection of herself stared back at her. A phantom, lonely, abandoned, and afraid. She pressed her hand to the glass where her face shown. “Are those really my eyes?” she mused in a breathy whisper, staring into their endless depths and the grasses beyond. She hugged herself. No allies had she to whom she might speak her mind and open her heart. No teacher from whom she might further her skills. No friend she might sit by a fire with and spend the night in idle conversation.

Elizia swept a thumb against the edge of her eye. She washed her face in a basin of water and made for Lord Caranel's study. Voices spilled from his open doorway. Voices spoken in a different tongue. One of them belonged to the lordling, and the other, a deeper baritone, belonged to a man of General Rask's size in both height and muscle. Elizia entered the study unannounced. She caught Aarondel's eye, and averted her gaze in an instant. Her face began to burn. Twice now she'd insulted the man, and yet slept under his roof regardless. Her shame was deep, but her hurt and pride dug deeper. She'd stayed, hoping for an apology. Hoping still for one.

“Your highness,” Aarondel noted.

His tone betrayed nothing. That might have been the first time he'd addressed her royal blood without mocking it. Aarondel nudged an open window until only a fraction of a gap remained through which wind whistled. That worn black coat hung from his broad shoulders, and in his free hand he held that walking cane still.

The Virk man stood next to the young lord, folded arms full of hair and thick with muscle. His attire was of hand sewn leathers and pelts with a blanched fur cloak upon his back. He spoke quick words to Aarondel who nodded in turn. “This is Cadgan, First Sword of the Ice Cliff tribe. The king, after a fashion, of that merry band of Virk refugees outside of Red Vine.”

Again Cadgan spoke. He had shoulder length dark hair, and a rough, but fitting beard that made him appear greater in size somehow. Elizia swelled herself with a deep breath, feeling sized by Cadgan's cool, fixed stare. She was outstripped in height by about an inch and a half. Her gaze flickered to Aarondel as he made mention of her name. His mastery of this foreign tongue was broken in places, and slow compared to the northerner's speech. But Aarondel spoke it nonetheless, and Elizia's envy only grew. That he knew the Virk language facilitated much for him in his current dealings, but it only made Elizia wonder from where he'd learnt it, who his teacher was, and what more was he capable of that she could only dream of achieving.

'Don't look to measure up to me' he'd said. He'd spoken true, but Elizia denied it. How could there possibly that much of a gap in talent and knowledge between her and someone of the same age, of a much lesser upbringing?

“Lord Cadgan says he'd seen you yesterday helping with construction efforts and was deeply impressed,” Aarondel said. “He is surprised to learn you command many of the soldiers as well.”

Elizia folded her arms. “Why am I here, Lord Caranel? If it's about supplying more armsmen to now guard your merry band of refugees , my answer is no, unless you're open to making amendments to our previous contract. You can let Lord Cadgan know that his comments are appreciated and taken with good heart. And also let him know that I am aware he will now ask something of me.” Flattery was rarely accompanied alone.

Aarondel smirked. “He already has. Claims he is infatuated with you now that he's seen you up close and has heard of your feats. He wishes to make you his third wife. Something about your tall, yet supple figure resembling the delicate artistry of Erioh, the Shaper of Mountains. It is their God, I believe. Erioh, one of four lesser deities of Illusterra. Your granduncle or some such,” Aarondel finished with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Elizia frowned. Her mother had oft spoken of Ny'Danis, the forest deity, and Elizia's grandmother. An immortal Goddess who'd given birth to many women over the millennia. They'd been stories of grandeur and full of wonder as a child, but as she'd stepped into adulthood, Elizia had sort of dismissed it all as fairytales spun to appease a little girl. Yet I used her name in a petty argument about gods with Aarondel. “I am deeply flattered but humbly decline,” Elizia said. She heard light sniggers and only then noticed little Ophelia, dwarfed as she was by the two tall men in the room, sitting at Aarondel's desk, scribbling away with her feet raised in the chair and knees tucked in. She wore a clean set of white and gold robes. “Wait. Did you say third wife?”

“That bothers you?” Aarondel asked with a hint of amusement.

“Ye— that's not the point. Relay my rejection, please. And make quick for what else I'm here. I don't want to remain in your home any longer.”

“My home,” the young lord echoed distantly, turning his head to the window again. “I lied about the infatuation part. Cadgan here has expressed worry for the spiteful glare your soldiers give to his warriors. He was hoping a union would remedy that.” Aarondel then relayed her words to the tribal leader. They exchanged further words to which the young lord let out a mirthful laugh.

Elizia scowled, feeling left out of some inside joke, or some jest made of her.

“Cadgan says he'd like to spin a lay in honor of your beauty,” Aarondel said. “Regardless of your rejection that is, but he asks that you reconsider after hearing it.”

Elizia's empty stomach gnawed at her insides. She seated herself on an old couch despite her growing impatience and deepening shame. This tribal leader had worries for his kin. The best she, as the head of her spiteful soldiers, could do was at least show a semblance of kindness and lay those worries to rest. “I'll hear it,” she said, still refusing to meet Lord Caranel's eyes.

Aarondel nodded and Cadgan began to speak almost immediately, near singing with a rather pleasant harmony despite that deep voice of his. Elizia understood not a word, but felt true passion in his manner of speech. She'd thought the random wedding proposal a mockery, but perhaps this was the way of this foreign culture.

The song ended, and Aarondel hesitated, as if working through the words in his head. He then began slowly. “There is no sea whose waves could pull these mighty legs of mine, but a look from you fair maiden, and I'll come running from far and wide. No thunder is so great that it could rend this body of mine, but a word from you fair maiden, and this heart is ripped inside.”

Elizia's eyes began to narrow. Did the language translate so well that words near rhymed, or was Aarondel putting in the extra effort? She leaned in, almost eager to hear the next verse from his lips.

“No blade and whip could wound me so as a solemn tear from your eye. Fair maiden, your beauty is great, even more than sun and sky. Not a thousand trees in a lovely wood could compare to the threads of your earthen hair. Not a thousand leaves to adorn those trees are better than your emerald stare.”

That last bit had to be a comment on my dark green eyes, but he changed it to rhyme…

“Fair maiden of the wooded land, fair maiden bright and pure. Forever I'll be haunted so by your radiant allure,” the young lord finished. “Something to that effect,” he then added. “I changed a word here and there.”

There was a stutter to the rhythm in Elizia's chest. She held out a long held breath and began fidgeting with her fingers. “The lay was beautiful,” she commented in a blunt tone. “But my answer remains unchanged. Let Lord Cadgan know I'll be speaking with my soldiers about their negative disposition and that he's nothing to worry about. Is there anything else?”

Aarondel walked to his desk, hardly utilising the cane's aid now. “I thought you might tell me,” he said, reviewing several loose leaves of paper as Ophelia piled them up. “The Virk are an unknown people to Xenaria. A new culture with a new language. I thought Lord Serene might have scholars in his employ that would want to come study their culture and language.”

“Can I study them too?” Ophelia suddenly blurted. It was easy to forget the girl was even there, with her head kept low towards the pages she was scribbling upon.

“Of course child,” said the young lord. “I'll teach you what I know of their language if you want.”

Child, Elizia thought with a scowl. Ophelia was only several years their younger.

Aarondel spoke further words to Cadgan, who then nodded and left the room. “He's a far more reasonable man than his mother made him out to be,” he then said. “I thought he'd be a hard headed brute. I certainly wasn't expecting him to sing a song. Greedy of him, wanting a third wife.

“I've nothing further to speak to you of, Lady Serene. As I said, you can stay a few days, or leave at your soonest convenience.”

Elizia balled her fists as Aarondel walked past her with bare hints of a lingering limp in his gait. She still awaited an apology. She was done being the one asking for forgiveness instead. If only he apologized, she could forget last night, and bury her guilt and shame for good. As it was, those feelings were eating at her from inside.

Elizia followed Aarondel out to the corridor. “What is it you said of the Virk God being related to me?” she asked.

“That he's your granduncle?”

Elizia thought she was being made fun of again, but she felt no mockery in his tone or expression. Certainly her mother had seemed sorrowful when uttering the name Ny'Danis, but claiming her a silver haired woman of great height and with fairy wings… There was that flying woman with butterfly wings that assailed us. I've seen strange enough things. Elizia, wrapped in so many worries, had forgotten about that. Can mother sprout wings and wield powers like that? Can… I?

No. Wishful thinking for sure. For a second, though, Elizia imagined herself soaring through the skies. “So a God is my granduncle,” she said flatly, “because I said my grandmother was one. And you're not making fun of me.”

“I haven't made fun of you since last night, your highness,” he said.

“You seem to be taking it awfully casually that I'm so closely related to a deity. Even I had a hard time believing the stories my mother used to tell me.”

Aarondel waved his hand. “Old lore I studied once upon a time.”

“And you just happened to believe it without question?”

“So?”

“So Ophelia is not your religious guide and you don't believe in Trillia,” Elizia accused.

Aarondel sighed. “Look, what is it you really want to say to me? If you have any conflicting emotions from our conversation last night, I don't care. I don't care that you insulted me and still slept under my roof. I never cared for your insults in the first place. Surely you've realized that. If you're feeling shame, then be proud in it, because it means you were raised with honor enough to feel shame for such a paltry matter. But I. Don't. Care. I really don't. I'm a street grown urchin, for Flame's sake. I thought you knew that.”

“A street grown urchin versed in old lore, the Virk language, and a host of other inexplicable things.”

“You're asking questions you should not,” Aarondel said bitterly. “My past and my life are no business of yours.”

“They're not, but I'm jealous of them all the same!”

Aarondel's eye twitched. “You shouldn't be. You're looking for a friend where there is none to be found, Elizia Serene.”

Elizia opened her mouth but shut it again. That was it, then. That's what it all came down to. She was alone, and in want of a friend. Someone who might understand her position as a noblewoman and yet soldier at the same time. Her mother lay asleep, inching near death with every setting sun. Emeria she'd grown up with, and Azurus she'd fought alongside, but she'd seen neither in too long a time. A ceaseless worry hung over her head like the ominous clouds of a thunderstorm to come. A worry that said she'd never see those two again, that the tumult in the capital would claim them from her, if it hadn't already. She'd not a word of her friends, not even a letter.

Aarondel was a nobleman, and had good battle instincts. He was also of similar age. But they were too different in ways Elizia did not understand. In ways he refused to explain. It was no business of hers, course, demanding an explanation, but still.

But still…

“Saintess Ophelia has done enough for the wounded among mine,” Elizia said in a formal tone. “There are only light injuries remaining. I'll be returning south on the morrow once the men have had time to rest from their work on your hillside fort, and I'll do my best to ensure the promised reinforcements arrive with haste.” Elizia would have liked another conversation with Rask at least. But the old general would not be swayed, if yesterday was any indication. He was committed to this new lord of his.

Elizia offered a formal half bow before turning down the dimly lit corridors of the manor.

“May the winds be ever at your tail, Silver Eagle” Aarondel called after her.