THE HUMAN KINGDOM OF SALLES
Winter, after Solstice
“How’s Tuelzi?” Wight asks casually a few weeks later, while pouring me another cup of vervain tea.
I wriggle in my seat, one of the soft couches in what Wight terms her ‘parlor’. Her patron owns several businesses, but Wight’s Den is effectually hers, though she’s a slave and technically doesn’t even own herself. “You’ve not seen her?”
Her brow furrows in confusion. “Lallie said she was guarding you.”
I wince, hope I’m not getting Tuelzi in trouble with her insane ruler, and shrug. “She had some kind of falling out with my uncle. I’ve not seen her since.”
“Hmm.” Wight sips her own tea, which comes from a different teapot and smells odd, tangy and syrupy-sweet. I think I taste basil, but I don’t recognize the rest of the flavor.
“Solis saw it.” I accept my tea from her. The vervain tastes grassy with a hint of citrus, and it works great for tight muscles. “And Liathen. I think they understood more than I did.”
Wight glances at me over the edge of her teacup. “What do you think of him?”
Is she concerned about her son’s behavior, living away from home? “Uh, very serious. Does his job. Whittles on his wood whenever he gets a chance. Pokes his nose where it isn’t wanted…”
She smiles and clears her throat. “Forgive me—I meant King Liathen.”
Her question makes me realize I just casually referred to the elves’ high king by name in conversation. I frown at her, but she looks more curious for the sake of it rather than for the sake of juicy gossip.
“Why?” I ask warily, not trusting her apparent disinterest. She’s friends with Lallie; if she found out what I’m going for, wouldn’t she feel obligated to tell her?
Wight shrugs. “He married my best friend and hired my eldest boy as companion to his adopted son. I’ve met the man, but I know little of him.”
She considers Lallie her best friend? I stare.
One of her auburn eyebrows quirks a little, but something in her hazel gaze tells me that she’s more measuring than confused. “Yes?” she prods.
“Lallie’s crazy.”
“Feral,” Wight says, but I’m not sure if her tone is agreement or correction.
I wait in vain for her to elaborate. This is something I really should know, if I’m going to get Liathen to give me the veil. “I’m sorry?”
“Feral.” She refills her own teacup with an easy, precise movement that’s a stark contrast to the clumsiness of Evonalé and even Tuelzi.
“…Meaning?” I prod.
Wight’s fingers tap the side of her cup. “Someone without political affiliations is termed ‘independent’, correct? Much like a stray dog. A stray picks its own allies and will fight, tooth and claw, to defend them. However, due to the nature of independence, an outside observer attempting to identify those allies might find them…unpredictable.”
Lallie’s care to keep me alive certainly is that. “Should I tell her you compared her to a stray?”
A smile softens Wight’s expression, but something about it looks tired. “I’d be surprised if it bothered her. Well—” She grimaces and sets her cup down. “Beyond her being not entirely comfortable with admitting what she is. But she’s spent a good thirty years hiding it, so that’s understandable.”
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A Fistful of Water: Chronicles of Marsdenfel #3
FantasyShe can regain what her father gave up, but it'll cost all she has to get it... Geddis Feyim is tired of others complaining because they have all she ever wanted. Her father and elder sister serve as prophets for the king, their father's half-brothe...
