Chapter 29: 34. Mum’s The Word!

Rorri

 

“Any questions?”

Rorri holds up his machete. The teacher nods. Burning trees surround them, scraping the cavern walls.

“Yes, Mr. Tipón?”

“If you catch me,” Rorri asks, “do you mean to kill me?”

The teacher, a spider, scratches her mandible.

“That depends,” she clicks.

 

Rorri sprints down the tunnel, but runs headlong into her web. I’ll just cut it down, he thinks to himself. He flails with the fish in his hand, but it isn’t sharp enough.

“Damn…”

“Now that you mention it,” the teacher clacks, “I am feeling peckish!”

Adar finally shows up. The cave rattles! But nobody cares.

“I made dinner,” Adar says, uncovering a silver platter. “Rorri, why are you crying?”

“I shouldn’t have come here,” Rorri says. He isn’t actually crying, though he thinks he might want to. He curls up on the silver platter, defeated.

“That’s true…”

 

“When is it supposed to snow again?” Rorri asks.

“It is snowing.”

“Oh, right.” He lays in the soft, warm snow, rising and falling with its breath.

“I like you better like this,” the spider croaks, caressing his face.

Rorri sighs. “Nobody likes the real me.”

“That’s true.”

The forest – black with charcoal, white with ash – ripens all around them. Rorri sits up, perturbed. He decides, if he wants to escape, he probably ought to fly. He spreads his wings…

“Wait a second.” Rorri stops. “Is she a spider, or is her husband dead?”

“Huh...”

“I never thought about it like that…”

Adar dabs at his face with a napkin. “Why not both?”

 

*******

 

Rorri’s eyes fluttered open. He didn’t know how much time had passed. The dream left a residue in his mind, a melancholy he didn’t fully understand…

As his senses reclaimed their stations, he remembered where he was – in the fancy carriage, on the comfortable seat, next to the white parasol, half-sitting, half-laying with his head nuzzled into the soft spot of someone’s shoulder. He groaned and stirred, blinking away the remnants of sleep. As his vision cleared, an ugly blue tunic came into focus. He pulled away, feeling where the delicate chain shirt had pressed little dimples into his skin, and as his mind regained its autonomy, a devastating realization struck him.

He had been sleeping on Markus.

Rorri yelped and scooted away, nearly tumbling into the road.

“I’m s-sorry—!”

Shacia’s unmistakable, unbridled laughter cut off his panicked apology. Dazed and confused, it was not until he blinked that Markus shimmered out of existence, and his tutor’s soft silhouette shimmered in, doubled over and red in the face.

“Oh my god,” she sputtered. “That was perfect!”

Rorri watched her, baffled. “Um… W-what just happened?”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, regaining her composure. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

She gave a small sigh and a demure smile. A second later, she attempted to stifle another burst of laughter but failed, gracefully transitioning into a snort which escalated into a giggling fit. Though embarrassed, Rorri couldn’t help but to laugh with her. Before long, they were both reduced to nothing more than a bubbling, chuckling puddle, fighting to catch their breath.

“How’d you do that, anyway?” Rorri asked as their laughter waned. A mischievous smirk glimmered over Shacia’s lips.

“It’s a bit advanced for you, I think,” she said.

“What’s the harm in explaining it?”

“Well…” Shacia hummed. “For one, if you were to try it and mess it up, you could end up permanently disfigured.”

“Oh…” Rorri scrunched up his face. “I guess that could be a p-problem.”

He briefly caught her eyes, the veins around them pulsing and pink, and wondered if the droop in her eyelid was the result of magic gone wrong. He couldn’t even know for sure whether the veins were typical of her color, for as few white elves as he’d seen, but he could imagine them a consequence of magic as well. As if she could tell what he was thinking, she looked away and changed the subject.

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

“What?” Rorri crossed his arms. “I had no idea. What was I saying?”

“Something about cabbages, I think?” she said, nibbling a fingernail.

Rorri’s face went curiously dark, eyes shaded beneath his furrowed brow. “Why would I say that…?”

Shacia chuckled. “Weird dream?” she prodded.

“I barely remember it…”

Shacia squinted at her student, her gaze dancing over his cheeks, as if seeking a secret on his freckled skin.

“Do you dream often?” she asked.

“All the time.”

“Interesting… Did you know that not everyone can?”

“Really?”

She nodded. “People who dream are said to be the most gifted with magic,” she explained, her voice suddenly reclaiming its teacherly resonance. “We haven’t really talked about the origin of magic, have we?”

“I never really thought about it,” Rorri said, shaking his head.

“Well, nobody really knows where it comes from,” Shacia said, her eyes sparkling, but distant, as if reading a far-away book. “Some people say it’s from the Dream – the same realm from where dreams come, obviously – which would make the act of dreaming just a form of passive illusion magic. If it’s true, anyway,” she added. “It’s just a theory.”

“It makes sense, I think,” Rorri said. “Do you dream a lot too, then?”

Before Shacia could reply, the carriage came to an abrupt halt. The horses snorted, hooves clacking against cobblestone.

“Why are we stopping? We’re not there yet,” Shacia said, annoyed. The wooden slat carved out the back of the driver’s seat slid open.

“The Guard wish to see your papers, my Lady,” the driver relayed through the tiny window.

Rorri froze, all moisture evaporated from his mouth, as the image of the young guard’s vacant eyes thrust itself into his mind, and his human housemate’s warning bounced between his ears:

 

Y’look fishy as fuck, mate.

 

“What?” Shacia leaned forward. “Papers? Are you kidding me?”

She threw open the curtain on her side of the coach, revealing two Royal Guards. They both turned to the noblewoman, faces obscured by their helmets.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, folding her arms in defiance.

“King’s orders, my Lady,” came a high, tinny voice from behind one of the helmets. “Just a routine stop, part of the Defense Against the Du-én Act. Just need to see your papers, and we’ll get you on your way.”

“Okay, first of all…” Shacia closed her eyes and raised one finger. “It’s Duén. One syllable. Duén. Second,” she opened her eyes with a sharp glare, “since when are we supposed to be carrying papers? I haven’t heard anything about this!”

“It cleared the Council just yesterday, my Lady,” the guard said, taking a nervous step back. “Effective immediately. I’m just following orders—”

“Oh please, you can take your orders and shove them up your arse. I’m so sorry about this, Rorri,” she said, rubbing her forehead. Rorri sat stiffly upright, his expression that of someone very close to soiling themselves.

“Q-quite alright, erm, my Lady…”

The guard cleared her throat. “We just need to verify your right to access the—”

“I don’t have any papers on me,” Shacia barked. “So, what then, you’re going to arrest us?”

“No, no, not at all, my Lady,” the guard bumbled, turning to her comrade. The other guard folded their arms.

“Do you have anything with your house’s crest on it, my Lady?” they coaxed. “A ring, a seal, anything at all?”

“Oh!” Rorri jumped, rifling through his pockets. He pulled from his breast pocket the wax seal stamped with the Rosari magpie, and shakily passed to his tutor. She paused, lips quirking into a bemused smile.

“Will this do?” she asked, turning back to the guards with a puffed-up chest. The guards shared some sort of look from behind their helmets, then took the seal and inspected it closely.

“…Not really,” the frontmost guard sighed as she handed the seal back. “But, given the circumstances, I suppose we can let you pass.”

Shacia rolled her eyes. “Thank you,” she said bitterly. “I’ll be sure to have my papers next time.”

“Much appreciated, my Lady.”

She pulled the curtain shut, and shortly after, the horses whinnied and trotted onward.

“Unbelievable,” Shacia muttered under her breath. She glanced at Rorri, who was still visibly tense, his breathing stilted and quick.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I’m fine!” he said with a taut smile and a nod. She went to speak, but hesitated, absently running her finger along the wax seal’s curve.

“Oh…” She glanced down at the seal. “Did you want this back?” She held it out, face-up, in her palm.

“No, th-that’s okay, I don’t need it or anything,” he said, feigning a dismissive chuckle. “I’m n-not sure why I kept it, honestly. I forgot it was in there – in my pocket, I mean – until just now…” Shacia shrugged and tucked the seal in her purse.

They went on in a strange, uncomfortable silence. Rorri kept his eyes on the road rolling by, while Shacia picked at her lip, stealing the occasional glance at her student, only to find his tension had not eased. Were she any closer, Shacia could have heard Rorri’s heart beating against his chest, like a prisoner in a cell.

“You know, there aren’t actually any Duén in the city.”

“How d-do you know?” Rorri said, looking down at his hands.

“It just doesn’t make any sense. If there were, the government would be taking military action, not demanding papers from random people in the street, as if the Duén are riding around in noble carriages, in broad daylight, on the Plateau.” She scoffed. “It’s absurd.”

Rorri rocked softly back and forth, barely noticeable with the carriage’s sway. “I heard they already h-hanged one…”

“I haven’t heard anything about that,” Shacia said. “You can’t believe everything you hear, you know.”

“But the rumors have to come from s-somewhere,” Rorri said. “Why would the Guard be doing all of this if there wasn’t s-some sort of threat?”

“Because they know people are scared, and they don’t want to look incompetent and uncaring.” She sighed, tucking away a loose strand of hair. “And as far as the rumors go, how does any rumor start? It just takes one imaginative person with a chatty friend, doesn’t it?”

“I guess that’s true enough,” he conceded. “Still, though… M-maybe it’s silly, but I can’t help feeling on edge.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Shacia joked, leaning in a little closer. A warm buzz spread across Rorri’s skin, beginning on the side where she sat. “And it’s not silly,” she added. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

“It’s p-probably not as bad as you’d think,” he said. “Or – I mean, maybe it’s worse than you’d think, I don’t – I don’t really know, w-what you might be thinking, so – you know what, I think I’ll just stop talking now.” He winced at himself. She tilted her head, watching him like a cat watching another cat through a window.

“So...” Shacia said. “What do you like about living in the city?”

“Oh – well… It’s, erm… Easier to navigate. And… I like the p-people, mostly.” He cleared his throat, flicking his shy gaze between the edge of her face and the white parasol bisecting the seat. “W-what about you?”

“Hm… I don’t really make it down to the city proper, much,” she said. “The Plateau is… pretty, I suppose. But, I’ve been here all my life, so it’s difficult to think what I like about it.”

“I can’t imagine what it’s like,” Rorri said. “Living in one place for s-so long, I mean…”

“Oh? How many places have you lived in?”

“H-hard to say…” He gave a small, self-conscious chuckle, rubbing his neck. “We m-moved a lot, but it was mostly just different parts of Belethlian, s-so… I couldn’t count.”

“What is it like in Belethlian?” she asked. “If you don’t mind telling me.”

“No, not at all…” He drummed his fingers on his thigh. “It’s – well, pretty, b-but it’s a very thick forest, and it’s… How can I put this? It’s very… protective.”

She perked up. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we have to m-move so much because the forest will… take over our settlements? W-which I know sounds ridiculous, but it’s s-sentient or something, and when it decides to grow, it grows really f-fast, and you can’t do anything but find somewhere else to live. We’d stay for years, and then…” He gestured vaguely, shaking his head. “And then one day it’s overgrown, and if you s-stay too long after it grows over, it gets… Violent. It would get violent in a lot of d-different ways, actually, but…”

Rorri’s voice trailed off. Shacia seemed to be watching the world he described through her own lenses, as if it lay on the other side of a portal that only she could see.

“What was moving like?” she asked, her gaze unwavering.

“Um…” Rorri rested his lips against his knuckles. “Well, the ones gifted with m-magic would just mold buildings out of dirt and trees and that s-sort of thing, so it never took long to settle. But traveling between places was awful, and d-dangerous. People would get lost all the time. Sometimes they’d find their way back, and if they didn’t, hopefully they’d r-run into another group – we picked up stragglers all the time – but otherwise, there was no way to know what happened to them…”

“So you’d just never see them again?”

Rorri paused, then nodded. Shacia frowned, then leaned in, sending another chittering wave over his skin.

“Did you ever get lost?”

“Y-yes,” he stuttered, looking away. “My sense of direction is just awful. But, um, I u-usually stumbled back, somehow.”

“It sounds terrifying,” Shacia said soothingly, though a sparkle of excitement danced across her eyes. “Were you ever one of the stragglers that got picked up?”

Rorri hesitated. “Once,” he said, “but I’d r-rather not talk about that.”

“Of course,” Shacia said, her cheeks flushing pink. “I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Rorri said. “I a-appreciate your interest, it’s just that some things are still a bit r-raw.”

For the rest of the ride, Shacia’s gaze flitted towards and away from pupil, her breath held as if she might speak at any time, her fingers subtly twitching as if she might reach for his hand – but she stayed still and quiet, an odd phantom on the edge of Rorri’s peripheral vision. Eventually, the carriage slowed to a stop.

“We’re here,” Shacia announced. She stretched across Rorri, her chest hovering just inches before his, and drew his curtain back. Rorri shrank into the seat, afraid to accidentally brush against her, as if he might stain her blouse.

Shacia slid open the wooden slat. “Thank you, Daaron! Can you be back here in thirty minutes or so?”

“Yes, my Lady,” came the driver’s raspy voice.

“Only thirty minutes…?”

“Oh, that will be more than enough time, I’m sure,” she said, ushering him out. He hopped down the low step with Shacia close behind, her umbrella dispatched before her skin could meet the sunlight. The horses trotted away, leaving tutor and tutee alone on a finely-cobbled street.

Disoriented from the flood of light and solid ground, Rorri shaded his eyes, surveying the square. Storefronts surrounded them, each with verandas, glass windows, and goods on display. It was nothing at all like the market on the Wall, where vendors were lucky to have a wheelbarrow or a wooden stand. People walked slowly, on one side of the street, and many of them stared at the forest elf and his chaperone. The Royal Guard patrolled the area, doing the same. Rorri shoved his hands into his pants-of-many-pockets, suddenly afraid he might have missed something when he’d emptied them, or perhaps not washed the stink well enough.

“We’re right here, Rorri,” Shacia said, taking his wrist. He followed her into a narrow alley and up its only stoop, watching the shadow of her parasol bob with every step.

No windows revealed what goods awaited him on the other side of the door. Rorri’s face burned with anticipation – he could only think of so many reasons why a business here wouldn’t have a window – and the sign, etched first in Human, then in Elvish, only mystified him further:

 

♥ Mum’s The Word! ♥

NO WALKS-INS ● APPOINTMENT ONLY

Please Send Requests by Courier

 

Shacia knocked lightly. After a few seconds, the door opened a crack, stopping short against the chain that held it shut. From inside, a small voice chirped out a single Human word.

“Rosari, for one,” Shacia replied in Elvish.

“Oh! Of course, dear, just a moment!”

The door shut, and after a series of clicks and shuffles, it swung open again. At first, Rorri saw only the space beyond the door, as if it had opened on its own…

You are reading story The Thief’s Folly (Book One of the Bloodlines Duet) at novel35.com

“This is the boy, I take it?”

Below him, a squat, middle-aged, silver-haired Small woman – barely taller than his knees – squinted up at him through wire-framed glasses, her light floral perfume wafting into his nose. He had never seen a Small person before. Caught off guard, he fought hard to contain his surprise, resulting in an unnaturally blank, tight-lipped visage.

“Yes, Mum, this is Rorri,” Shacia said.

“Looks like he’ll clean up nice enough,” the Small woman said with a playful wink. “Come on, then, let’s get you on the pedestal!”

Rorri looked desperately to Shacia for some kind of exposition, but she granted him only a kittenish smirk as she folded up her umbrella and trotted down the narrow entryway. He hesitated, but it was far too late to back out of whatever this was, so he scuttled in after them, gently shutting the door.

“Oh, goodness, how rude of me!” The Small woman stopped abruptly, nearly causing the two elves to topple. “I haven’t introduced myself proper at all, have I? Call me Mum, dear.” She extended her tiny hand up to Rorri, a gesture he recognized as the same bizarre hand-holding ritual he thought was unique to human culture. He bent forward and politely offered his, which she took with a firm, vigorous shake.

“Erm, p-pleased to meet you, Mum,” Rorri said, shocked by the strength of her grip.

She led the two into a wide, cluttered room. Scraps of fabric, half-empty spools of thread, loose needles, and random embellishments littered an absurdly low corner table. Partially-dressed mannequins lined the walls, and bolts of fine linens and silks overflowed from bins and shelves. A spotlight illuminated the wooden pedestal at the center of the room, next to a cleverly designed self-standing ladder, and a single high window cast a flood of sunlight over the scene.

“Alright, love, up you go,” Mum ordered, as she waddled over to the table, excavating from it a small notebook and a measuring tape. Rorri looked to Shacia, who gestured to the pedestal.

“Wait – me?”

“Yes, you,” Shacia said, wiggling her eyebrows deviously.

“Come on, sweetheart, I haven’t all day to spare,” Mum said, already climbing the tall stepladder. “Oh, and take off your coat, will you? There’s a rack over there.”

Shacia wandered to a shelf to comb through its fabrics, as Rorri cautiously obeyed the Small woman’s command.

“So…” Rorri started as he stepped onto the platform. “I—”

“Lift your arms to the side, like you’re pretending to be a bird,” Mum interrupted with a whimsical lilt. Rorri again did as he was told, wincing through the soreness in his shoulder, and glanced at his tutor.

“So,” he tried again, chuckling nervously. “I have no idea what’s happening.”

Mum stopped and put her hands on her hips, giving Shacia a look of amused disapproval. “You didn’t tell him?” she said, unrolling her measuring tape. “No wonder the poor sod looks like he’s about to shit himself.” Shacia cracked, covering her mouth with her fist.

“I’m so confused,” Rorri said through a self-conscious giggle.

“Oh, dear…” Mum sighed as she doddered up the ladder. “She’s having you fitted, love.”

“I figured that much out, yes,” Rorri said, shifting his eyes. “But, um, can I ask… er, can I ask why, m-my Lady?”

“Oh, hush with that ‘my Lady’ nonsense,” Shacia said, turning back to the shelf. “Everyone should have at least one set of tailored clothes, and I’m curious to see what you’ll look like in them.”

Rorri hesitated. “If you just w-wanted to see me in tailored clothes, then, couldn’t you just, you know… illusion it on me?”

“I could,” Shacia said, “but that’s not quite the same, is it?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Of course it isn’t!” Mum said as she stretched the tape across his arm.

“Even if you illuded yourself wearing a fine shirt,” Shacia said, pausing on a bluish-lavender silk, “you wouldn’t feel it against your skin. It has a way of changing a person’s posture, how one carries oneself…”

“But I felt your f-fake Markus’s ‘chainmail’,” he said, wincing as Mum turned him gently by the shoulder.

“Really?” Shacia paused. “Funny.”

“What is?”

“Hm…” She leaned against the wall, poking her lip in thought. “Basically, an illusion only holds up as well as you can trick someone’s mind into believing it. So, the feeling of the chain pressing into your skin was your mind utterly convinced that you were napping on poor Markus’ chest.”

“That makes sense,” Rorri said as Mum jotted down his measurements. “It didn’t go away until you s-started laughing.”

Mum spun him again so she could measure his chest, stopping him when he faced his tutor, and Shacia turned back to the shelves to sort through the fabrics. In the short silence that passed, Rorri thought to try a playful illusion. He pictured a little blue bird roosting on her shoulder, nibbling at her hair, then Willed it into existence. She jumped and batted it away, but her hand phased through it, and the illusion dispersed to the air. He stifled a snicker, satisfied to have provoked her competitive smirk.

“So do all of your students get f-fitted for clothes, then?” Rorri asked.

“Most of my students don’t last as long as you have,” Shacia said as she unrolled a bolt of bluish-lavender silk. “Perhaps they would, if they did.”

“You can lower your arms now, love,” Mum said, scooting down another step.

“Oh, thank god,” Rorri muttered as he dropped his elbows. “So why don’t your students last, anyway, if you don’t m-mind me asking?”

“Some don’t have the aptitude for magic,” she said, holding up the fabric, as if picturing him in its color. “Some lose interest. Others, I think, need to be coddled more than I am willing to coddle.”

Rorri snorted knowingly. “Am I your only one, then?”

“No,” Shacia replied hastily, dropping her arms. “I do have another regular student currently. She started just a week or two before you, actually. Human.”

“But she hasn’t got a fitted shirt,” Rorri teased.

Shacia rolled her eyes. “No, but she’s like eighty years old, which is elderly for a human.”

“Oh.” Rorri tilted his head. “Can she do m-magic, then?”

Shacia hesitated, nibbling a fingernail. “She’s… learning. I don’t know, she just seems sort of lonely, so…”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Mum said, “but, may I ask, dear, who made these pants?” Rorri looked down to find her transfixed on the outseam, as if trying to read a microscopically small line of text.

“I don’t know,” Rorri said. “A f-friend of mine let me have them.”

Mum ran her fingers along the stitching, counting quietly under her breath. Rorri shifted uncomfortably.

“Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” she said, breaking from her trance. “It’s just very fine needlework. I’m impressed!” She smiled and returned to her measuring. Rorri and Shacia shared a puzzled look, but neither pressed the subject.

“How m-much does this sort of thing cost, anyway?” Rorri asked.

Shacia started to speak, but Mum piped up ahead of her.

“Just a few Stars, dear. Special discount for this one!” She winked at Shacia, who returned the look with one of sharp disapproval. Rorri’s eyes widened.

“Did – what – a few Stars?” Rorri gaped. “D-did I hear that right?”

“Don’t make such a fuss, now,” Mum said. “It’s just a drop in the bucket—”

“Mum!” Shacia cut her off. “Please, this is highly inappropriate—”

“Is it as inappropriate as spitting on your own title, love?”

Mum lowered her tape and gave the noblewoman a pointed look. Shacia’s face flushed bright red, but she had nothing with which to counter the remark, apart from her incredulous glare.

“I-I shouldn’t have asked,” Rorri stammered. “I’m sorry, I just d-don’t want to cause any undue hardship, or—”

“Spread your legs, dear,” Mum said with a gentle tap on the inside of Rorri’s calf.

“There’s no hardship, Rorri,” Shacia said. “I assume you’re referring to the robbery, but rest assured, the only hardship my family endured was the blow to the Madam’s pride.” Her face soured as she spit the word out.

“Is that…”

“The woman who birthed me, yes. It’s lovely to know you’re both so keen on discussing my family’s wealth, but I would still ask that you respect me by shutting up.”

“Goodness, girl,” Mum quipped as she jotted down his inseam, “if you want the poor boy to shit himself, at least wait ‘til I’m out from under him!”

Rorri blushed, and though she fought not to, Shacia couldn’t help but snicker.

“Erm… If it makes you f-feel better, I heard the Madam has been looking a bit wrinkly, lately,” Rorri said. Shacia quirked an eyebrow.

“Urtis told you about the necklace, then?” she said. “He’s such a gossip.”

“It’s true, then? That it’s enchanted?”

Shacia nodded. “It was a family heirloom. The Madam used it to make herself look effortlessly beautiful,” she said mockingly. “A terrible waste of magic, if you ask me, but she’s never been the creative type.”

Rorri tilted his head. “What would you use it f-for, then?”

“We’re just about done here,” Mum interrupted, rolling up her tape. “Have you picked a fabric, sweetheart?”

“Hm…” Shacia pulled out the silk she’d been eyeing since the start, draping it over her arms. “What color would you call this, Mr. Artist?”

“I think…” Rorri squinted. “I-I think I’d call that periwinkle, like the flower, my – erm, I mean, Miss – Miss Rosari.”

“Well, it’s your shirt,” she said, walking the silk to him. “What do you think?”

Rorri timidly reached out and grazed the cloth. Its soft, liquid texture enchanted him, so refined and tightly woven were its threads. He’d never seen fabric with such a gorgeous, pearlescent sheen.

“It’ll really make his eyes pop,” Mum said.

“They are his best feature,” Shacia agreed. “And his most talented.”

“Figured his most talented would be his fingers,” Mum said as she toddled towards her table. “You’re an artist, after all, aren’t you?”

Shacia looked down, shielding her face.

“R-right, yes, that’s why you said that…” Rorri cleared his throat, blinking rapidly. “But yes, I think I like that fabric a lot, actually.”

“Then it’s settled!” Mum said, scribbling in her pad. “For the pants then, black or white? Or something else, if you’re wanting to get adventurous with it?”

“I think white w-would be nice,” Rorri said, glancing nervously at his tutor. “Unless you have a different opinion—”

“White would be lovely,” Shacia said, her voice taut. “Thank you, Mum. You’ll send a letter when it’s done, then?”

Mum nodded. “As always.”

“Perfect.” She inhaled sharply. “Well, I suppose we ought to get on our way…”

“Of course, of course, I’ll show you out. And don’t forget your coat, dear, it’ll be chilly after sundown!”

 

Shacia held her parasol ready, seamlessly maintaining her shade as she entered the sunlight.

“S-sorry if this is a dumb question, but why do you carry that around?” Rorri nodded towards the umbrella.

Shacia glanced up at its underside, as if she’d forgotten she was holding it. “Are there really no white elves near the Wall?” she asked.

“I don’t know that I’ve seen any,” Rorri said, watching its shadow spin.

“…We have very sensitive skin,” Shacia finally said, halting its rotation in her palm. “Direct sunlight gets painful pretty quickly.”

“Oh…” Rorri’s face pinched. “That s-sounds awful.”

“Yes, well, I’m used to it. I always thought it was funny – not funny, but… It never made sense to me why we set ourselves up on the Plateau so close to the sun, while the Duén live underground, even though they have the complexion to survive comfortably up here, and we…” Her voice trailed off.

“Nobody could live comfortably down there,” Rorri mumbled. “That’s why – I’m sure that’s why – w-why they’re so…” He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut, and bit down on the inside of his cheek.

“Savage?” she suggested.

Rorri sighed through his nose, his jaw pulsing, eyes twitching behind their lids. His fingers tingled, growing cold, his ears filling up with blood…

“Rorri?”

He jumped.

“Sorry – s-sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m, I’m fine, I was just—”

She touched his arm lightly, scattering chill bumps all over his skin.

“It’s alright,” she said. “Let’s walk while we’re waiting for Daaron. I think just once around the square would be enough. I know I could use the chance to clear my mind a bit.”

“…Sure. That s-sounds nice,” he said, forcing a smile.

 

*******

 

Rorri and Shacia sat side-to-side in the carriage, each wearing an expression suggesting the want to speak, but neither would even look at the other. So, most of the journey back to the manor was silent. Rorri tried to piece together whatever it was that his tutor was orchestrating, but nothing seemed to fit the narrative Adar had depicted. It was probably for the best, but…

“I hope—” Shacia finally broke the silence, stopping herself with a sigh. Rorri looked over, ears perked.

“You hope?” he prodded.

She scrunched up her face. “I hope you enjoyed… that,” she said, gesturing vaguely in the direction from which they came.

“Oh, no, it was nice, in its own weird s-sort of way,” he said with a lopsided smile. “It’s not at all what I expected, of course…”

“What was it that you expected?”

Rorri stopped. “U-uhm – I – well, I didn’t really expect anything…” He scratched behind his ear and looked away. Shacia narrowed her eyes.

“You have some extremely obvious tells when you’re lying,” she observed. Rorri chortled nervously.

“S-such as?”

“Well, I’m not going to tell you, because then you’ll stop doing them. I rather like knowing when you’re full of it.”

“I-I’m sure I’d find some other way to give m-myself away,” he joked. She suppressed a chuckle, shaking her head.

“What were you expecting, then?” she asked again.

Rorri watched the road through the gap in the curtain, eyes flickering back and forth, quietly calculating whether he could jump and roll into a landing without critically injuring himself. From the corner of his eye, he saw Shacia’s foot bobbing impatiently.

“I’m an idiot,” he started, creeping into the smile he wore only when caught in a lie.

“Okay,” she said. “Go on.”

He sighed, covering his face. “I didn’t know what ‘extracurricular activities’ meant, so… I asked a f-friend of mine. He went to school here, so I thought he might know…” He cleared his throat, heat creeping into his neck and ears, then continued, muttering. “I think he was in a bad mood that day, honestly. I’m starting to w-wonder if he did this to me on purpose…”

Rorri paused to steal a glance at his tutor just as a flicker of understanding lit up in her eyes, though he hadn’t had the chance to fully explain. She burst into laughter and covered her face, though she was unable to hide the bright red flush in her neck and ears, visible like fire beneath her skin.

“Oh my god,” she gasped through her mortified giggles. “It makes so much sense, now – ‘Only thirty minutes’?” She snorted as Rorri watched the road, wide-eyed, revisiting his calculations.

“I’m so sorry,” she continued, tears streaming down her face. “I swear I’m not laughing at you. I really should have chosen my words more carefully when I invited you in the first place.”

“It’s alright,” Rorri said, his voice jumping in pitch. “I-I should have clarified with you, instead – lessons learned, I guess, ha-ha!” He tittered and squeezed his eyes shut tight, silently cursing Adar to a terrible, terrible fate.

“I can teach you how to actually set his room on fire later, if you’d like,” Shacia joked, as if reading his mind.

“I might just take you up on that…”

Though she seemed to be taking it well, he couldn’t help but worry he’d irreparably ruined whatever bond they had by his idiotic assumption. He should’ve known better. He did know better. And he knew, deep down, he had nobody to blame but himself—

“Please don’t beat yourself up over this.”

Shacia’s laughter had long since died down, but her skin was still pink from blushing.

“It was just an awkward misunderstanding, no harm done,” she said.

“Of course,” Rorri nodded. “B-but it’ll be easier to forget about once I find a suitable cliff to jump off of.”

“Oh, stop!” Shacia said, pushing his shoulder. He bobbed away, leaning back into his sheepish grin.

They settled into another silence. By then, Rorri’s mind had gone from overworked to utterly blank from exertion, and perhaps self-preservation, but it wasn’t much longer before the hooves’ clattering slowed and the carriage came to a gentle halt. He quickly scooted out of his seat, bowing his head, and hopped down the step.

Across the road, Markus and Urtis waited at their posts, just as they were. The manor looked the same, the fence looked the same, the garden looked the same, and yet, Rorri felt deeply that something had shifted, as if he’d been standing on the hand of a clock as the hour changed. The sun hid behind the clouds, casting a cool shadow over the estate, so Shacia kept her parasol closed as she emerged from inside the coach. Rorri offered her his hand, and she took it to steady herself, applying just enough weight and tension to his arm that it swayed as she made her descent. She landed beside him with a gentle thum, and her fingers lingered on his for just long enough that he felt their absence when she pulled away.

“I’ll see you next week, then?”

Her hopeful tone surprised him. He looked up, as if to see whether her face matched the sound. He so infrequently allowed himself to take in her asymmetrical features – the drooping eye, the uneven smile, the cut of her jaw – and every time he did, he felt an assault on his heart, a violent fluttering he did not understand. This time, something flickered in her aura, like a candle’s flame barely breathed upon.

“Um,” he twitched, looking to the ground. “Yes – yes, I’ll be here.”

“Good. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Without another word, she turned and glided down the cobbled path. He watched until she disappeared into the manor, despite his discomfort with the guards watching him. It seemed he simply couldn’t tear his eyes away.

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