Chapter 38 – Teachers and Students

While Thaelon had already begun teaching Benderast the basics of archery at a makeshift shooting range, Shaelith made her way up to Bomfrey Castle, where she was admitted without any trouble this time.

A maid led her far up to a solar where Obelaine was sitting at her embroidery frame among her ladies-in-waiting. When Shaelith was announced, Obelaine literally jumped and blushed before regaining her composure.

“Lady Shaelith.” A touch too quickly. “It’s a pleasure… to make your acquaintance, I mean.”

Nervous before I’ve even opened my mouth.

“Your Highness.” Shaelith bowed her head gracefully. “I hope you can forgive me for this unannounced intrusion. Might I… perhaps ask for a private word with you?”

No sooner had she spoken than Obelaine shooed her ladies-in-waiting out and they filed out amid curtsies and curious sidelong glances at the scandalous elf and her shockingly revealing dress.

Once they were alone, their eyes met for a moment too long before Obelaine looked down, embarrassed. They had last seen each other in a goblin cage, and Obelaine knew that Shaelith knew it. But it had to remain unspoken.

“How may I be of service to you?” Obelaine asked cautiously.

“With your knowledge, I hope,” Shaelith said, sitting down uninvited, which was probably against the rules of etiquette, but she decided to ignore that. “Benderast must face your brother in the Trial of Courtesy, and as you’ve surely noticed, he is something of a rough diamond when it comes to manners… oh, why am I beating around the bush? He’s a boorish oaf, you know that just as well as I do.”

When Shaelith said Benderast’s name, Obelaine’s eyes lit up immediately, and even more color rose to her cheeks. She was trying hard to keep a neutral expression though.

Girl, you’re not exactly subtle.

“I…” Obelaine lowered her gaze again. “You’re asking me to do this for him… I mean, you of all people, on his behalf…” She gave up trying to salvage the sentence. “It’s an unusual request.”

“I know.” Shaelith spread her arms. “But he can use all the help he can get. Do you know what he’ll be tested on?”

Obelaine took a deep breath, straightened up, and looked her straight in the eyes.

“Well… all right. All right,” she said. “I… I think three things are most important. First, the proper way to address people.” She twisted her mouth almost imperceptibly. “It would probably take more than an hour just to learn the forms of address that could theoretically make him look foolish. But I… I could meet with you every now and then leading up to the exam.”

I get it, you’d rather meet with Benderast, but unfortunately that’s not an option.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure,” Obelaine continued, “that courtly dance will be part of the exam. There’s always dancing at the tournament festivities, and a knight who doesn’t know how to lead a lady with grace is considered, um… incomplete. And of course, poetry. A nobleman is generally expected to be able to recite a courtly poem, ideally one he’s written himself.” Obelaine hesitated. “He… he knows how to read and write, does he?”

Shaelith had to bite her cheek. “Ooh, yes. He does. Surprisingly.” 

Obelaine rose gracefully, walked over to a bookshelf, and returned with a slim, leather-bound booklet, which she handed to Shaelith with both hands.

“This is a collection of some of the best and most beautiful poems, and… it’s very dear to me. If Benderast could memorize one or two of them and recite them from heart, that would certainly help him a lot.”

Shaelith accepted the book gratefully.

Finally! At least one person in this whole castle from whom you can get a few clear, useful answers. Tancred manages to say less in three hours of talking than the princess does in five minutes.

“But… I want to be honest with you,” Obelaine added more quietly, sighing, and for a moment the uncertainty returned. “My brother will win the Trial of Courtesy. He’s… that’s his forte. I’d like to make sure that Benderast isn’t… that he isn’t humiliated, but…”

Shaelith raised her eyebrows and made an inviting gesture with her hand. “But?”

Obelaine hesitated at first but then began to speak quickly. “It would probably be wise if you didn’t spend too much time preparing for the Trial of Courtesy but instead used that time to help Benderast prepare for the exams where he has a better chance. The Faith exam, for example. My brother isn’t a devout man, and after all, you have a dwarf among your companions who surely-“

The princess really got carried away but then was startled by her own boldness. “Please forgive me, I don’t mean to meddle in your affairs, I-“

“Oh no, I think you’re absolutely right, Your Highness,” said Shaelith.

Obelaine looked up in surprise. “Really?”

“Really. Thank you for your advice. I mean it.” Shaelith held her gaze. “This is probably the most honest and intelligent conversation I’ve had since my arrival in Bomfrey.”

If she couldn’t openly tell this smart, pretty woman what she really wanted to say, then she could at least try to give her a little bit of backbone.

A blush rose to Obelaine’s cheeks again, but she sat up a little straighter.

“There’s just one problem,” she finally managed to say. “As for the dance, well, I could show you the lady’s part, certainly, but you’d have to learn how to lead from a man.”

“Could you recommend someone? A good dancer, if possible?”

Obelaine hesitated again and then blushed even deeper than before.

“Well, there is someone,” she said, somewhat reluctantly. “Sir Gaudbert. He is undoubtedly one of the best dancers in the entire Triarchy, I mean, no one would dispute that. But for one thing, he is the closest confidant of my betrothed, Prince Frambert. They’re practically inseparable.”

A friend of Frambert’s, huh, that could have its upsides and its downsides.

“And besides, I must warn you.” Obelaine’s voice dropped to a discreet whisper. “He’s a… a real rake who makes a move on every woman, truly every woman, and sometimes, um, well, sometimes he’s actually successful at it. Besides, he’s also…” She now whispered so softly that Shaelith could barely make her out. “…quite open about seeing women who, um, aren’t of his social standing. For… for money.”

Actually, I think I have a hunch about who that might be.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Shaelith said dryly, “that sounds exactly like the kind of man who simply can’t resist the advances of a pretty, exotic woman.”

Obelaine clapped her hand over her mouth. Whether out of horror or suppressed laughter wasn’t entirely clear. “You… you say such outrageous things, Lady Shaelith.”

Better get used to it.

~

Sir Gaudbert wasn’t hard to find. She batted her eyelashes a little at the first Nalvinian squire she found and asked him about Gaudbert’s whereabouts. With bulging eyes, he pointed her toward a discreet plum-colored tent on the edge of the encampment. And from there, all she had to do was follow the sounds.

She sat down in one of the linen folding chairs in front of the tent and waited patiently until the giggling, moaning, grunting, and rhythmic clapping inside the tent finally reached a crescendo, culminating in a woman’s loud, shrill screams and a man’s deep, animalistic growl.

The man who stepped out of the tent entrance shortly afterward with a satisfied smile, fastening his pants, was indeed the broad-shouldered man with the Van Dyke beard and the extravagant doublet who had winked so blatantly at her and Mirrsoss in the throne room.

When he saw Shaelith sitting in front of the tent, he straightened abruptly and quickly smoothed his beard.

“By Mercy’s clement thread.” He bowed deeply and with genuine elegance, which had to be something of a minor miracle for a man of his stature. “Your Majesty, here, in this humble part of the tent city. Sir Gaudbert my name, at your service and forever devoted to your beauty. What in the world have I done to deserve this?”

Shaelith frowned. “You don’t have to call me ‘Your Majesty,’ Sir Gaudbert.”

“How else should I address the queen of my heart?” He winked at her, reached for a wineskin, and poured himself a generous drink.

Shaelith had to suppress a grin.

I walked right into that one.

“Then I hope my realm is a large one, Sir Gaudbert, for I have a request to make of you.”

Now it was Gaudbert’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Whatever I can give you shall be yours, my lady!”

“I need a dance instructor,” Shaelith said without beating around the bush. “I’ve been assured that you’re the best dancer in the entire Triarchy. I need to learn the court dances, and as soon as possible.”

Gaudbert placed a hand on his chest as if an arrow had struck him there. “By the Forge Father’s left iron testicle, may lightning strike me if I were ever to refuse such a request.” He drained the cup in one gulp and tossed it to a passing boy, who caught it with quick reflexes and a look of slight bewilderment. “My lady, let’s find a gleeman and a quiet spot with enough room, and I’ll dance with you for as long as you like.”

~

What a disappointment.

The dancing itself was quite demanding, with lots of stepping and bowing. Shaelith had to memorize all sorts of formal dance steps and when to turn at just the right moment, and all that. But even by Tulvian standards, the courtly dances were a terribly chaste and demure affair.

Gaudbert had one hand on her waist and held her hand with the other, but that was the extent of their physical contact. There was certainly a full arm’s length between them. 

So why even bother dancing at all if you don’t even do it properly?

Among the Shaeravyn, not even people who couldn’t stand each other kept such a great distance from one another. Of course, she hadn’t expected a Shaeravyn dance either. Among the Shaeravyn, dancing was always skin-to-skin. It was a conversation of the hips, so to speak, and depending on how much you liked each other, your hips had either more of a flirtation or a heated debate.

She watched closely to see how the lead dancer’s steps worked and willingly let Gaudbert guide her through all sorts of demure figures. With a composure that visibly threw him off balance. During a particularly spirited hook turn, his hand grew a little more adventurous, to which she, however, did not react at all.

He looked at her, his head tilted slightly to the side. “You must be the first woman who doesn’t blush bright red when I do this move. Usually, I have to convince the ladies first that my hand isn’t up to anything too mischievous.”

“Your wandering hands,” said Shaelith, “are really the least of my worries at this time.”

He laughed so heartily that the gleeman playing the music flinched briefly. “Oh, you’re a delight. Do you know how pleasant it is to spend time with a cultured woman who isn’t constantly acting as if she’s about to faint? I could kiss you for that.”

“Don’t even try.”

“Never without permission, my lady! I may be a lecher, but I’m a polite lecher.”

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“You and Prince Frambert,” she said casually as he led her through another turn, “are close, I hear.”

“Oh yes, you can say that. We’re as close as sword and scabbard.” There was pride in his voice. “I’ve known him since he was so small he couldn’t climb into the saddle on his own. There’s no man more straightforward in the three realms. He says what he thinks, and he does what he believes is right. Maybe sometimes even a little too thoroughly.” A brief, indulgent smile.

Gaudbert, of course, realized she was probing him. He might seem that way at first glance, but the colorful and already a bit tipsy knight was no fool.

It simply didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest that Shaelith was fishing for information, on the contrary, he seemed quite pleased to have the attention of such a beautiful and exciting woman. As if it were a game they were both secretly playing with each other.

And Shaelith had to admit that it was a surprisingly pleasant dance lesson. He was charming. It wasn’t until toward the end, when she said her goodbyes, that a slight discord arose.

“Thank you, Sir Gaudbert.”

“The pleasure was entirely mine.” He took her hand, bowed deeply and theatrically once more, and brushed her hand with his lips. “And don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you that you’re just here so you can teach your hero how to dance.”

Huh.

Was there something there? Maybe not. Maybe he was just a womanizer paying compliments to a beautiful elf, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a hint of coldness in his voice when he’d spoken of her “hero.” A coldness that just didn’t seem to fit the warm, generous man she’d gotten to know over the past hour.

Yeah, there was something there. I think I’ll have to keep working on him.

~

On her way back through the market tents, she suddenly spotted Mirrsoss, standing alone and conspicuously inconspicuous at a stall full of junk.

The vendor, a weasel-faced man with several gold teeth, was in the middle of touting one of his items to passing marketgoers. “…This is a genuine relic of the Forge Father, my lady! Recovered by the dwarves themselves from the depths of their mountains, I swear it by my mother’s grave!”

Then, when the woman merely shook her head and walked on, he immediately turned to a nomad merchant from a caravan out of the Sunveil Desert who was standing nearby. “This is an item from the belongings of a real Shindi, oh yes, I personally traded it from the desert spirit years ago… wait, hold on!” 

Mirrsoss stood in front of a merchant’s table, glanced around quickly, and while Shaelith was still twenty paces away, Mirrsoss’s hand closed over the small, dark object the merchant was touting, and she let it disappear into the folds of her pilgrim’s shawl.

The merchant didn’t notice a thing, which was probably partly because Mirrsoss had blown a fine, shimmering wisp of her wing dust into his face at that very moment. The man blinked violently, and his gaze grew glassy and sluggish as Mirrsoss made a quick getaway.

Shaelith stepped out of the crowd, intercepted Mirrsoss, grabbed her by the elbow, and pulled her a few stalls away, out of earshot.

“Have you lost your mind?” Shaelith hissed. “We’re in Tulvia! They chop people’s hands off for stealing here or even hang them if they feel like it. If you get caught, we’ll all be sitting in a dungeon before Benderast has even recited his first damn verse.”

Mirrsoss’s antennae drooped. “But I… I couldn’t help it.” She pulled the thing out of her shawl. It was a kind of small, old pendant that had already turned a dark, brownish color. “Oh my, it’s suddenly gotten really warm. It drew me in, you know. I don’t know how to explain it.” She tilted her head. “It felt… familiar. I thought it might be important for us to have it.”

“You could have just bought it,” Shaelith scolded. “You know, with money? We have some. You put it on the table, and then the thing is yours, without any gallows or having your hand chopped off.”

Mirrsoss looked at her in amazement with her big opal eyes.

“Oh,” she said. “I… I hadn’t even thought of that.”

Shaelith sighed. That was probably true. For the Umilari, who shared everything with one another in their swarms, the whole concept of “property” was understandably a bit difficult to grasp.

Shaelith held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

Mirrsoss placed the pendant in the palm of her hand. It was surprisingly warm.

And as she held it, the warmth radiating from it crept higher and higher, up her arm, into her chest, and it reached for the same thread with which that distant, sleeping thing had been tugging at her all along.

Okay, fuck, I don’t have the faintest idea what it is, but Mirrsoss is right.

She handed it back to Mirrsoss.

“Keep it,” she said softly. “But don’t show it to anyone and take good care of it. And if it changes temperature again or something like that, tell me right away, okay?”

Mirrsoss nodded, let the pendant disappear back into the folds of her shawl, and already let out a delighted chirp again when she spotted a stall where a vendor was selling small mirror medallions.

I just hope that wasn’t a mistake.