Page 10

Chapter Nine

Varen

They arrived at the estate an hour past nightfall, just as he had predicted.

The guard standing at the gate of the Trisfiel estate greeted them as they approached, though her eyes lingered on Korik at the rear of the group.

“Commander Varen Petkas,” he said, identifying himself. “Is Lady Trisfiel available? I have a group of refugees and would ask for shelter tonight as we guide them back to Castle Aefraya.”

The guard straightened, looking back at the group with alarm. “Yes, of course, Commander. Please come with me. I’ll take you to Lady Trisfiel.”

“Perfect,” Varen said, then turned to Enriel behind him. “Stay here. We’ll be right back.”

She nodded, and Varen followed the guard, who led him through the gate and into the courtyard. They hurried along a garden path, then up into the manor itself. The foyer led directly into a parlor; the guard knocked at the closed door. After a beat, a voice from within called out, “Enter.”

The guard opened the door to reveal two women sitting in front of a crackling fireplace, each in their own plush-looking armchair. Varen had visited the Trisfiel estate a few times, due to its location near the northern border; it had been many years, but he still recognized both women. The first, a willowy lady with long, curly brown hair that cascaded nearly to her waist, wore a simple, pale purple dress beneath a light pink robe. She had a look of surprise on her face as she turned to the door and spied Varen entering behind the guard.

The other was a more androgynous woman with narrow features and short-cropped black hair, whose eyes flicked between the guard and Varen with a cool expression. If his memory could be trusted, the more severe-looking elf was Lady Trisfiel, and the other was her wife.

“Lady Trisfiel,” the guard intoned, bowing her head to the short-haired woman. “Forgive my intrusion. I present to you Commander Varen Petkas. He brings a small entourage of elves with him and requests your aid.”

The woman stood. She too was wearing a leisure robe, but beneath was a plain, finely made tunic over soft, loose trousers, all in more neutral colors.

“Commander Petkas,” she said, sounding as regal as any lady of Castle Afreya holding court. “I am Indrin Trisfiel, and this is my wife, Nedralie. You are welcome here. Please, tell me what assistance you need.”

Varen gave a low bow at the waist. “Thank you, Lady Trisfiel.” It would be best to play the part and show her every courtesy, stifling the smirk that threatened to overtake him—after all, they were in her parlor, and she was dressed only a step up from a set of pajamas. “I wish I brought more glad tidings, but unfortunately, this has been a challenging week. I have with me seven refugee elves who had been kidnapped by orc rebels, who we encountered on the road. There are ten of us in all.”

“We?” she asked.

“Myself, my sister, and a healer from Drol Kuggradh,” he said. Feeling uncomfortable at how her gaze did not move or even seem to react, after a beat he added, “My sister is with child, and Healer Korik tended to the prince himself, and so came with us as a precaution. I’m accompanying her back to my family home in the south. She was taken by the orcs. When we pursued, we found the other elves at their camp, captured in a similar fashion.”

Lady Trisfiel’s wife, Nedralie, made a soft sound of sympathy from where she remained sitting, her eyebrows furrowed with concern. She closed the book that had been open in her lap and set it down in the chair as she stood up.

“Of course we’ll help,” she said. Lady Trisfiel looked at her with a softer expression, stifling a small smile.

“Of course we will,” she agreed, turning to Varen again. “I’ll have a meal prepared. A group of ten is a bit beyond our capabilities to keep comfortably, but we have two guest rooms you are welcome to use.”

“We deeply appreciate your hospitality,” Varen said, bowing again. After a beat, he added, “My only concern is that our orc healer, Korik, is... quite tall. I fear sharing a guest room may be difficult for a man of his stature.”

The two women glanced at each other, clearly having a silent conversation. Varen knew married elves could communicate with their bond, a mental link created between them during the wedding rites. It was said the clarity of the bond could vary widely: some only having a vague sense of the other, while others could have full conversations, as clear as speech. He had always been curious what it must be like to have another in his head. Sometimes it seemed far too intrusive; at other times, he thought it must be a deep comfort to be so wholly known and understood by one’s mate.

“We will clear space in another room,” Lady Trisfiel finally said, turning to him again. “One of our younger sons keeps a room for storing and practicing his musical instruments. We should be able to clear space in there and provide extra bedding.”

“Perfect,” Varen said. “Thank you very much.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Nedralie said, smiling at him.

“Leita, bring Commander Petkas’ group into the bigger parlor. Darling, please explain the situation to Reniel so he can get started on some food,” Lady Trisfiel continued. The guard nodded and turned, moving quickly. Nedralie nodded too, and with one last smile at Varen, bustled past him back into the foyer. “Commander, why don’t you come with me to the dining hall? You and your sister are welcome to sit with us as food is prepared.”

Varen followed her gratefully, and she led him to a dining room that was smaller than he expected. A long dining table took up most of the space. Seven chairs were arranged around it: three on each side, plus one more, a larger chair at the head of the table. The room was richly furnished, complete with a chandelier positioned directly above. With a swish of her wrist, Lady Trisfiel lit the chandelier and bathed the room in flickering candlelight.

“I have a small request of you, Commander,” Lady Trisfiel said, surprising him.

“Anything,” he answered quickly. She gestured to the opposite wall, where a large family portrait was mounted. It depicted the two women and their seven children—four boys and three girls. The tallest was a man grown, positioned directly beside his mothers with a look of pride. The youngest was a babe still in Lady Nedralie’s arms.

Lady Trisfiel’s expression had not changed as she motioned to it. Varen observed politely, then said uncertainly, “Your family is lovely.”

She stifled a small laugh, lowering her head. “Thank you. The boy standing just behind Nedralie is our second eldest. His name is Cheryth. He was twenty-two in this picture, but he is now a man at twenty-five. Earlier this year, he left the estate without alerting anyone; and we suspect he traveled north, perhaps even into Drol Kuggradh. Would you happen to have seen him?”

Varen frowned, still confused, but studied the boy in question more closely. He had a less stern air about him compared to the eldest brother; these sorts of things were often exaggerated in portraits like this, though, so Varen took it with a grain of salt. He had similar narrow features, wavy auburn hair that framed his face charmingly, and a pleasant smile. But he was not especially remarkable looking; it was entirely possible he could be in Drol Kuggradh, but Varen did not readily recognize him.

“I’m afraid I haven’t seen him, Lady Trisfiel,” he confessed, bowing his head. “I apologize. However, I spend most of my time near the king’s tower, or handling matters in the barracks. He may be there without me ever having seen him. I can ask the others—”

“That’s alright,” Lady Trisfiel interrupted, shaking her head. “I expected as much. It is a big world he wanted to see, and Drol Kuggradh is just a small part of it. Cheryth always had a... flair for the dramatic. I just thought I would ask, since you’ve been there recently. I have hope he will contact us soon.”

Varen looked between her and the portrait, wondering about what might have happened. But she offered no other information, only sighed as she turned away from the portrait.

“Please, sit,” she prompted. She took the head seat, and Varen sat beside her. He couldn’t quite stifle a groan of relief at finally sitting down in a comfortable chair after so many days on the road.

Before long, Nedralie returned with Enriel in tow. She brightened at seeing Varen and sat down beside him, as Nedralie sat opposite him beside her wife. They chatted for a few moments, then Lady Trisfiel stood again.

“I will greet our guests now that they’re settled,” she said. “Please, remain here. Food should be served shortly. I’ll be back soon.”

Varen was content to stay right where he was, and only half-listened as Enriel and Nedralie spoke. The lady had clearly developed a soft spot for Enriel since learning she was pregnant, now asking her about names, which Enriel had not yet decided on.

“They’re so sweet when they’re little. Our youngest is turning five now,” Nedralie sighed, a wistful expression crossing her face. “I keep telling Indrin how nice it would be to have another, especially now that our eldest two are out of the house. She’s a little more on the fence, but... I don’t know. I always dreamed of a big family.”

“Seven children is no small family, to be sure,” Enriel chuckled, and Nedralie laughed.

“I suppose that’s true,” she agreed. “Still. We both have plenty of time for more, though, so maybe she’ll get the itch again in a few more years.”

Varen could not fathom having seven children and still wanting more. One or two seemed nice enough, though he was getting up in years now, so it seemed less likely that any at all might be in the cards for him. But seven? To each their own, he supposed.

Several servants came bustling out from the kitchen before they could continue for much longer. Some held trays of food that were placed on the table before them; others pushed carts laden with similar trays, as well as stacks of plates and cutlery, which were wheeled out into the hall and out of sight—presumably for the others in the parlor.

The chef followed, wringing his hands as he addressed them.

“Lady Nedralie. Esteemed guests. I apologize for the hurried nature of the meal,” he said, lowering his head. “Lady Nedralie, I sent out extras from today’s dinner, and I pulled from some of the prepped ingredients for tomorrow’s breakfast. This may cause a delay in breakfast, though I will endeavor to make suitable replacements in time. My sincerest apologies.”

“No apology necessary,” Nedralie said, waving her hand. “Do whatever you have to do, Reniel. I’m sure our guests care more about filling their bellies than what time it’s served.”

“That’s for sure,” Varen agreed, his mouth watering as he eyed the food placed before them. “All we’ve had for weeks has been rations and wild game. This is a feast in comparison.”

“Thank you, sir. My lady. A few more dishes are on the way,” the chef repeated, bowing again, before hurrying back into the kitchen.

They were served a vegetable soup; roasted potatoes and carrots; spicy sausages atop a bed of rice and leeks; and—best of all—soft, buttery bread rolls. It seemed the most enticing meal that Varen had ever seen.

“Please, help yourselves,” Nedralie said, and Varen needed no further encouragement to start piling his plate with food.

Lady Trisfiel rejoined them a little while later, but did not sit down. Two children followed her: a boy and a girl of about eight and twelve, similarly in their pajamas, but with eager expressions.

“Nedralie, why don’t you join us in the parlor with our guests? The children were quite adamant about having a second dinner, too, when they heard all the commotion,” she said. Nedralie stood with a laugh, joining the children who were giggling with delight. “Commander, Captain. Please forgive our absence. You’re free to join us if you’d like, or once you’re done, you’re welcome to freshen up and retire to the guest rooms. Any servant can guide you there.”

“Thank you very much, Lady Trisfiel,” Enriel said, bowing her head deeply.

“Yes, thank you again. We appreciate it,” Varen repeated, making a similar motion. The stoic woman offered them a small, pleased smile.

“It’s my pleasure,” she replied, and together the family stepped out of the dining hall, leaving the siblings alone.

“I know it’s just because I’m hungry, but gods, this is so good,” Enriel sighed, turning her attention back to her plate. Varen smiled; it had pained him to ration everyone’s food so strictly, hers most of all, knowing she needed as much as she could get. Here, at least, she could eat her fill of fresh, nourishing food. Hopefully, they could replenish some of their supplies, too; and that would sustain her on the last leg of their journey.

Varen sat with her until she was full, then together they went to the guest rooms that had been prepared for them. The guest rooms were on opposite sides of the same hall, a little ways away from the dining room. They were really only intended to house one couple each, with one large bed in each room, but cots had been set out on the floor.

They had been divided by gender, which left Varen dismayed. Three women to a room was not too overfull, but six men in the other? It would be very cramped indeed.

But Korik had a room of his own. His thoughts brightened; he could take a cot and set up in Korik’s room instead. Two to a room would be nice and cozy, plus they had slept just a few feet from each other each night for the past weeks, so he was sure the orc wouldn’t mind. An ideal solution for everyone.

“Are you sure he’ll even let you?” Enriel asked with a laugh, watching from the doorway as he gathered up a pillow and blankets, along with his rucksack. “I think you annoy him even more than you annoy me.”

“I’m sure,” Varen said, ignoring the quip, then he made his way down the hall. He ended up peeking into the parlor where all the other elves were eating; the room was full of merriment, but he was surprised to see that while the two ladies and now three of their children were within, Korik was not.

A servant near the parlor guided him to the music room, where, sure enough, he found the healer. He had piled up pillows and blankets on the floor and arranged his bedroll atop them. It truthfully looked a mess, but a comfortable one, at least.

The room itself had a wide variety of instruments, more than he was expecting to see: several stringed instruments, such as lutes and zithers; wind instruments, like flutes and horns; several kinds of drums that he had never seen; and others still in cases, unsure of what exactly they housed. But it looked as though everything had been pushed up against the walls in a hurry, leaving the center of the room empty.

Varen lightly rapped his knuckles on the frame of the open door. Korik turned and gave a start, clearly surprised to see him.

“What are you doing here?” Korik blurted out, and Varen laughed, grinning.

“Hello to you, too,” he said cheerfully, setting down his things. “Lady Trisfiel told me you were being put up in your own room. I thought that seemed a little unfair, so I’ve decided to keep you company.”

Korik frowned, but the protest Varen expected never came. Instead, he only asked, “You didn’t get your own room too?”

“Sadly, no,” Varen sighed. “The Trisfiel estate is lovely, of course, but not that large. They only have two guest rooms. The ladies’ room isn’t too bad with just three of them, but sharing a room with five other men? I rather think you got a better deal here, Korik.”

The orc’s cheeks darkened—he always flushed like this when he was embarrassed or flustered, which Varen found rather endearing. He looked away, muttering, “I suppose you can stay.”

Varen set down his cot and arranged his pillows up against the back wall of the room, so they had some comfortable distance from each other.

A stack of instrument cases was beside him; he could see three near the bottom all had a name written on them in a faded, childish scrawl. Cheryth . Idly, he wondered again what the story was behind Lady Trisfiel’s prodigal son.

“Did you get enough to eat?” Varen asked. “I was expecting you to still be in the parlor, to be honest.”

“Yes,” Korik replied, shrugging. “I’m more interested in where you and Enriel were.”

Varen snorted. He wondered if the orc had truly gotten enough food, but he supposed he had to take Korik’s word for it, choosing not to press the matter. “Sitting in the dining room with Lady Nedralie. It wasn’t exactly formal, but it was more stuffy than your dinner, at least until the children came in wanting a second dinner, too. They have a whole gaggle of them.”

“I didn’t see them,” Korik said. “Lady Indrin said they would join us in the parlor, but I left before they arrived.”

Varen grinned over at him. “Maybe we’ll catch them at breakfast instead.”

He chattered on about how tiring it must be to have seven children as he finished setting up his bedroll; but once it was done, he laid down and asked Korik to turn off the light, knowing he was far too tired to get back up now. Varen expected sleep to take him within seconds after the candles were all snuffed, yet found himself laying there in silence for long minutes.

They had slept this close, or even closer, nearly every night since they’d set out from Drol Kuggradh; but that had been out in the open, under the stars. Being enclosed in this small room made him feel strangely, acutely aware of the orc’s presence in a way he hadn’t been before. It made his chest feel warm, his heart beating just a bit too fast for him to relax fully into sleep.

In the two years he’d been stationed in Drol Kuggradh, he’d long grown used to the presence of so many other orcs. He was not so proud that he couldn’t admit to himself there was a certain thrill of attraction to suddenly be surrounded by men so much bigger and stronger than him when he was so used to being the tallest in the room. But Korik wasn’t like that—he was tall, of course, but had about as much intimidation about him as a cat. He was… cute, maybe. As cute as an orc could be, anyway.

It must have just been the close quarters, he told himself. Of course it would feel strange to sleep in a small space, after weeks of sleeping beneath the open sky. Of course that was all it was.