Red Rope of Fate (10 page)

“And you admire him?”

“He has a good heart. His wedding gift to the dancer was a new house, and she wasn’t even his protégé. He will be very pleasant to you since he likes you.”

“I’m not sure if he thinks of me as a man. He seemed to be treating me
like a dog. What was he saying?”

“Ahaha, I must go prepare for practice now.”

“Tari!”

Almost a week later Tari gingerly followed Seer Ringali down the hallway. The older elf looked refreshed and energized in spite of the late evening hour and hours of intense practice. Tari was fairly certain she was a sweaty mess, and she felt as if she had
run with horses for a full day. Seer Ringali’s stamina was legendary.

Seer Ringali abruptly stopped and turned around to face Tari. “Eat a light dinner,” he advised, jabbing a finger in her direction. “Nothing too rich, or you will make yourself sick.”

Tari nodded and stretched her spine. Practice had kept them so late it was safe to assume dinner was no longer being served, but the kitchens would still be open for evening tea.

Seer Ringali reached into his sash and pulled out a tiny satin bag, which he passed to Tari. “You did well. Here is your tre
at, share them with your wolf man.”

“Thank you Seer Ringali,” Tari said, bowing slightly. After a cross examination Arion admitted ‘welcome’ was the only elvish word he had picked up. Tari hoped it remained that way for the duration of Seer Ringali’s stay, or she would have some very awkward explanations to give.

Seer Ringali nodded before separating from Tari, turning down a different hallway. Tari gripped the bag, flexing the soft cloth that covered her hands, and continued on her way.

“Tari?”

Tari looked up to see Kiva come around the corner. Her older sister was dressed in a beautiful peach colored dress, her hair was twisted and secured to the back of her head with a gold clip. She looked suspiciously lovely for a night that did not have a banquet scheduled.

“Did Seer Ringali have you practicing at
this
hour
?” Kiva said.

“Yes, it’s cooler in the evenings. Was there a banquet
or state event this evening? Blast, I must have forgotten it,” Tari sighed.

K
iva smiled archly. “No, there was no banquet.”

“Then why the finery?”

“I am meeting with Princess Claire.”

“In your best dress?”

Kiva sighed. “Once a week Princess Claire hosts an evening tea. She is careful to schedule it on nights that do not contain state events, or on evenings when another member of the royal family is hosting a tea as well.”

“Oh,” Tari said, leaning back on her heels as she thought. “Wait, Princess Claire hosts the tea, and Arion and I are not invited?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. It seemed odd that Arion’s sister wo
uld not invite them. Their celebrity status made them very enviable guests. Was she trying to distance herself from her family? Was the princess ashamed?

“Arion attends the teas,” Kiva said.

“
What
?” Tari asked.
They invite Arion and not me?

“Princess Claire wished to extend an invitation to you as well, but Arion asked her not to,” Kiva quickly added.

“
WHAT
?” Tari repeated, her voice growing dark.
Arion
was the one who withheld the invitation? After all that pretty talk about friendship and informality?!

Kiva winced and took a step backwards under the pressure of Tari’s anger.

Tari squeezed a hand into a fist until it shook. “Where is this tea held, Kiva?”

Kiva
swallowed uncomfortably. “The Crystal Hall.”

Tari twisted on her heels and started down the hallway as she
attempted to shove the stabbing sensation of betrayal out of her ribs.

“Tari, you cannot possibly mean to go this evening,” Kiva called in protest. “You are dressed in your practice uniform, you haven’t been invited.”

“Forget it, I’m going!” Tari snapped. “If the humans want informality, they’re going to get it!”

Tari stormed to the Crystal H
all, a smaller but still grand hall that was meant for evening teas—or drinking parties as Tari still called them—and small luncheons. She expected resistance when she reached the entryway—after all she bore no invitation—but the guards scrambled to open the doors for her when they saw her coming.

Tari blew through the doors, stopping on the small platform the hallway opened into at the top of four stairs to look for her bond partner.

Tari was aware there were several gasps from a few of the guests—there had to be only twenty to twenty five people present, odd considering a small royal drinking party usually consisted of at least a hundred people—but she ignored the stares and zeroed in on Arion.

He was standing at the side of the hall, dressed in his formal armor, talking to Eric. Their sisters were not present, but Talon was. This only served to further infuriate Tari. The fact that Eric would invite Talon but Arion would not invite Tari spoke volumes.

Eric caught sight of Tari heading in their direction and dropped the goblet he was holding. It fell with a metallic clank, spilling his wine across the floor.

Arion turned to see what stirred such a reaction in him, and he blinked as Tari stopped at his side.

“When were you going to tell me about this?” Tari asked, her voice was quiet but dangerously cold.

“What are you wearing?” Arion asked.

Tari almost threw the satin bag from Seer Ringali at his face, even though it was a valid question.

Tari’s practice uniform was un
like any other clothing in the Continent. The outfit consisted of black suede boots that were molded to Tari’s calf, black pants with white stitching, a tight, black shirt, and a strange jacket/hood combination that started near the top of Tari’s ribcage, stretched back behind over her shoulders, and hooked down over her middle fingers. She wore black, mismatched gloves beneath that. Her left hand was completely gloved, save for a circular patch on the top of her hand. The fingers of her right glove were cut off, displaying Tari’s tapered fingers.

The clothes were designed to provide maximum support and flexibility as the physical demands put on an Evening Star were rather weighty.

Combined with her hair—which was somewhat windblown, although the top half was pulled back in a bun and secured with a clasp—the look was eye popping, and certainly unconventional for anyone who had not seen an Evening Star before. (Which was just about all humans. Ever.)

“Arion why did you not tell me your sister hosted teas every week?” Tari thunderously said, ignoring the four footmen that scurried from the room.

Arion stared at Tari’s hair. “Hm?”

“
Arion
,” Tari said, stamping a foot. Her clenched hands shook under the force of her emotions.
This lumbering ox can feel what I’m feeling. WHY ISN’T HE SAYING ANYTHING!?

Arion shrugged and set his goblet down
as a servant mopped up Eric’s mess. “I wished to spare you.”

“
What
?”

Arion thoughtfully looked to the end of the room where Kiva was speaking to Princess Claire. “You are already forced to attend numerous banquets,
luncheons, and events. I didn’t want to force another on you, nor did I want to use you.”

Tari tilted her head back and pushed an eyebrow up. “Please explain in further detail.”

“Our presence can be used as an attraction, as a weapon. If I invited you—and I knew you would say yes—our joint presence would attract a crowd at least three times the size of this. It would be excellent, socially speaking, for Princess Claire, but it would be thoughtlessly using you.”

Tari frowned as she looked around the room. “Isn’t Princess Claire choosing exclusive guests?”

Arion shook his head. “No. Princess Claire sends out many, many invitations. People choose not to come,” Arion said.

Anger drained from Tari as she realized what Arion wasn’t saying.
The courts are snubbing her. She’s married the prince, and they’re still snubbing her
.

Tari relaxed her stance, unclenching her hands. “I see,” she said, her voice returning to its usual warmth. She glanced around, frowning slightly
when she realized almost all of the tea attendees were still staring at her.

“Perhaps it was a miscalculation to break into the tea dressed in my practice uniform,” Tari said, turnin
g back to Arion. Eric was still gape mouthed next to him.

“That may have helped some, but it wouldn’t have done much. I don’t think any of us have seen an angry elf before,” Arion said, glancing at his
brother.

“So they’re gawking at the rare emotion?” Tari asked, a ghost of a snicker in her voice.

“Not at all,” Arion said, shaking his head. “It’s the fact that you’re stunning when you’re angry. You look very different, not like the usual elves we see.”

Tari shifted, growing uncomfortable, but she was saved by Eric snapping out of his funk. “Lady Tari,” he said in
Calnoric. “You look beautiful…,” he said more, but the words were too fast for Tari to understand. When finished he turned expectantly to his brother.

“I am not translating poetry for you,” Arion told his
brother before calling a servant over and speaking quietly to him.

The servant ran off as
Eric grew bright red and turned to Tari to attempt to sign his admiration to her. Tari suspected he was trying to form the gesture for “beautiful,” instead it looked more like the sign for “pregnant.”

Tari looked over to Arion, who was smiling quietly into his
reclaimed goblet of wine. “You aren’t going to let him know he’s doing it incorrectly, are you?” she asked.

Arion thoughtfully sipped his wine before replying. “Not likely.”

Tari shook her head slightly and smiled to Eric before signing “Thank you.”

Another
wave gasps broke out, and Tari turned to look for the spectacle.

It was King Petyrr, storming the room with a bright smile, askew hat, and his usual procession. Today, trailing behind him
were: four courtiers, six guards, two assistants carrying quills and scrolls, a footman, and one fat, orange tabby cat that sat on the King’s shoulders.

King Petyrr caught sight of Tari and Ario
n and brightened. He was thoroughly distracted, however, when his eyes happened to land on Prince Vincent and Princess Claire.

“Daughter!” King Petyrr said, descending the platform and bowling over his son to get to Princess Claire. His infectious laughter spread through the room like his procession, effectively removing all attention from Tari and Arion.

“Does His Majesty King Petyrr normally attend Princess Claire’s drinking party?” Tari asked.

“No. That would be your doing. He was sent for by one of the footman that left wh
en you first arrived, I suspect,” Arion said as Eric stepped back to allow a servant holding a tray to approach them.

Arion took the lone
tea cup that sat on the tray. “Here, your drink for the evening,” he said, passing Tari the cup and saucer.

Tari grinned in delight. “It’s tea,” she said, inhaling the decadent scent.

“I thought you would enjoy it more than the wine,” Arion dryly said.

Tari took a careful sip. It was an elf herbal tea, mint based on the flavor, but there was also strangely a hint of chocolate to it. “This tastes wonderful.”

Arion placed his hand on Eric’s elbow. “I am glad to hear it. If you’ll excuse us for a few minutes, Tari, as Princess Claire’s siblings it would be best for us to greet the guests,” he said.

Eric opened his mouth to argue, but Arion’s grip on him was firm. The brothers walked away as more members of the human courts trooped through the entryway
of the Crystal Hall.

Within minutes Princess Claire’s small group of 25 had turned into a bustling gathering of 80, and more were still arriving.

Tari exhaled, content with the evening as she sipped her tea, noting when King Celrin and Crown Princess Yvrea arrived.