The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Twenty Two

"You should ask him yourself," Mirthal said in Aodehsh as Tracou entered. Bread crumbs had gathered the corners of his mouth.

Unsurprisingly, the way Tracou and Mirthal's relationship had developed had infuriated Pendaer. Tracou had expected an explosion, of screams of insults that the entire village would hear. But Pendaer did no such thing. He took his frustrations out on Tracou the only way he could: with a pointed silence. Due to Mirthal's presence, mark, and Tracou's wand, he couldn't give him the beating he no doubt thought Tracou deserved and found himself able only to be annoying. He spoke nothing but Elvish, which frustrated Tracou to no end. But the less he had to do with Pendaer, the better, so overall he approved of this change. Mirthal translated the important bits, anyway.

Naturally, Mirthal's insistence that he use Aodehsh fell on deaf ears. Pendaer merely repeated his question in Elvish.

Mirthal shrugged his shoulders. "Tracou, he wants to know what, uh... the other dezmek said. What is his name again? The one with the fish house?"

"Stepan," Tracou said, taking a seat at the head of the time. "Anyway, it was just some nonsense about bad omens. And that Pendaer's always angry."

"He sure is."

Pendaer sat in the furthest chair away from Tracou he could and eyed his food. With Serpouhi gone, Tracou mostly cooked, which gave Pendaer something else to complain about—to Mirthal, anyway. Today Tracou had set a simple breakfast of bread and mulberry jam in front of them. Mirthal inhaled it, as he did, but Pendaer had taken a single bite and left the rest. If he wanted to starve to death, Tracou would not stop him.

Without looking at either of them, Pendaer spoke again, the end of his sentence trailing upward. Another question.

Mirthal blinked at him before slowly leaning back in his chair, his mouth shut.

"What did he say to you?" Tracou asked.

Pendaer repeated himself, volume climbing.

Shaking his head, Mirthal said a few harsh words in Elvish. This gave Pendaer pause for mere seconds before he stood up, his heavy chair screeching against the stone floor.

"A bad omen, dezmek?" he spat in Aodehsh.

Stunned, Tracou said nothing.

"Does that not remind you of anything? Perhaps something that might coat your fields instead of snow?"

Winlea.

Tracou winced, biting the inside of his cheek. A bad omen. Winlea. Stepan's stupid focus on reading into natural events to try to understand a future that could not be understood didn't mean anything. Glaring at Pendaer, he took in a breath to say exactly that, but Pendaer bashed his fist on the table before he could. The noise made both Tracou and Mirthal jump.

"What have you done about Winlea? You told that dying crone in Terel and then?"

To think that Pendaer, of all people, was scolding him about this. Tracou sank in his seat. Inside, an empty white surrounded his organs, dragging them downward.

"I couldn't say anything," he murmured. "Serpouhi was getting married..."

"That was more than a week ago! What have you done since then? Aside from forcing the Prince to engage in debauchery."

"Pendaer, I keep telling you that he didn't force me into anything."

Pendaer huffed, otherwise ignoring Mirthal. "What have you done, dezmek?"

Just who did Pendaer think he was, interrogating him like this? He had no right! Tracou stood up, rising to his meager full height. Unbeknownst to him, his limbs trembled.