Lunar Strings

3 - The Feast (part 1)

Trying to reclaim his usual cheery disposition, Baruke laughed, rearing backward. "Oh, Ren. My body is incapable of such maneuvers. This 'purpose' you speak of is as false as your worries. You mustn't—"

"Besides," I interjected, too eager to defend our mavren, "the Martial Mavren is both a birth-man and a Moon warrior. It has nothing to do with your spirit. He merely wishes to elevate the lean physique you have. We cannot all be born of arms and legs as thick as Jartüles." I kicked the islander a third time.

" 'As thick as Jartüles.' " Baruke laughed. "Pria darling, you're too kind."

Softly, Jayla said, "Might I add a few words to your pondering, Etzik?"

"If you must," Ren said, exhaling.

His tone made her sit a little taller in her seat. "Yes. I must," she pressed. "I wish to say that the Martial Mavren makes Pria and I train under the Sun as well, so . . . I—I believe he wants us to be versatile in our skillsets, and . . . I also believe that if he did not see your value, then he would simply leave you be." Her demure smile became playful. "So, perhaps it is Baruke who should be insulted."

The islander's confused expression was suddenly overcome with loud, roaring laughter. "My my, where did you find this one, Pria?" He slapped the table. "We must keep her!"

"Now now, Baruke," I began, uneasily. "Let us not be too hasty."

"Pria darling, surely you do not harbor a disliking towards such a sweet marigold blossom."

Jayla blushed and pushed her orange hair behind her ears. Then, she glanced sideways to study Ren's expression, but his focus was still tied to the goblet in his hands. With a crooked smile, Baruke narrowed his eyes and met mine with a knowing look. I mouthed the word, No, but he nodded to Jayla. I shook my head. He nodded to Ren. I shook my head. Now grinning from ear to ear, Baruke took a steady sip of his wine, cleared his throat, then said, "Pray tell, Marigold: what brings you to our table today?"

Before she could answer, Ren glanced over his shoulder. "Pria," he began, avoiding my gaze, "is it true that you wish to join the fleet closest to Emural Tyrko's command after training?"

"Strange subject to bring to the table, Etzik. You're very somber this eve."

"Strange, but relevant," Baruke supplied, his attempts at partnering thwarted for now. "Rumors suggest the elder's guests this evening are notable warriors of the first captain's militia. Tyrko's finest regiment, under Captain Darthlahelm of Esquoia."

"Esquoians," I muttered, directing a disdainful once-over toward Jayla. "And exactly what rumors are these? Children in the marketplace speak of Magi, whilst the tyrs prattle of Tyrko's army? The first captain has no business here in Gaeris, with our elder or otherwise. These are nothing but stories, Baruke."

"Ah, but that is where you and I differ, isn't it, Pria?" He lifted the spiced roll from my plate and drove his teeth into its dough. "You linger on the stories of children, whilst I gather truth elsewhere. The first captain is among us, darling. I assure you."

"Regardless," Ren insisted. "Is it true, Pria?"

"What, that I wish to join the first captain's regime?" I dug my fork into the soupy yiirshta. "Of course. Is it not true of us all?"

"I suppose," Ren whispered. "If we are lucky enough to receive Mavren Frayne's counsel."

"Precisely."

He looked toward me then; the welt above his right brow had thickened, darkening his stare and contradicting the formal appearance his robes and half-braided hair had presented. His eyes, although green like our mavren's, were of a bolder shade—like stiff prongs of grass, as opposed to polished marbles. Those eyes met my own, savagely, before returning to the meal before him.