Page 28 of The Song of Sunrise (The Prentice Teller #1)
The Arrival
“ R amona’s right, you know. Hair up is the way to go,” Leaf says from his perch on the edge of my desk. Both he and Ramona have been insufferable ever since I told them Castor invited me to the Summit Luncheon as his date.
“Ouch!” I yelp from the pain as Ramona tugs my hair for the tenth time, pulling me out of obsessively replaying last night in my mind.
I had run from the Underling as fast as I could, scraping my shoulder along the massive stalagmites growing from the floor as I weaved in and out of the cave’s labyrinth.
Only when I was safely on the bottom level of the library did I put my clothing back on and then hastily sneak back to my room.
Ramona was snoring when I had entered and climbed into my bed, clutching my shoulder that had since healed from the magical properties of the water dripping over the wound.
I absently grab my shoulder now, unblemished and cured.
“Sorry, Kem, it’s just that you have so much hair,” she says as she fashions my hair into a tight low bun at the nape of my neck.
“Castor will be here any minute. Are you almost done?” I wince as she tugs my hair one last time for good measure.
The beginnings of a headache pulse near the base of my head.
The visiting royal courts from the Elven and Underworld territories are going to arrive at the Watch for the luncheon before the opening activities begin.
Everyone at the Watch has been anticipating this day. Cadets are on edge, faculty are high strung in their lessons, and decorations are being adjusted over and over again. Even the Elders are making more appearances along the corridors and peeking into classrooms.
My limbs begin to tingle, and a cold sweat coats my skin. I haven’t felt this way since… since… the night Marrow was killed. All I need to do is get through this luncheon without drawing too much attention to myself. Stay focused on the real task ahead: the Presentation.
Then maybe I can finally sleep.
“You have to tell us what they are like. I can’t believe you get to meet the Elven royals!” Ramona squeaks. We both had decided earlier that we would want an Elven delegate to choose us as their champion.
“I’m sure they shit just like we do,” Leaf quips from the other side of the room.
“Don’t ruin my fun, Leaf.” She rolls her eyes at him then turns back to me, her face above my own in the mirror.
The high neck of my cobalt blue dress complements my tanned skin and slicked dark hair.
It’s simple and elegant, clinging tightly to my body until the knee, where it loosens and ripples to the floor.
I would say it is beautiful if it wasn’t sent the night before from the Elder Superior with a note depicting that Castor and I are to match in “Watcher blue”.
Ramona pets my head like I’m a cat, slicking back singular hairs and only stopping once Castor arrives.
He is in full Watcher military regalia, from the silver tufts on his shoulders and Moon’cher patch embroidered on his chest, to the double belts that wrap around his narrow waist where three daggers are strapped.
While I admit I look good in Watcher blue, Castor is made for it.
His hair is still slightly wet and mostly pulled back, though a few pieces fall forward over his brilliant blue eyes.
Leaf strides over to me from his perched position on the desk and grabs my hands. “Have fun, Kem. It’s just a luncheon with boring govs and some other political snobs.”
Castor grumbles a retort, but Leaf ignores him. “Give us all the juicy details later. And good luck if I don’t see you until the Presentation. You are ready, my little quick-handed friend.” He winks.
Then to demonstrate his point, he swings his arm around toward my ribs, but I swat it away immediately, rolling my eyes. My reflexes are getting faster.
“Let’s go,” Castor says and offers me his arm.
We walk together to the same office area where I came on my first night. Except instead of going into the Elder Council Superior’s office, we are ushered through tall onyx doors by a group of three WatchGuards, non-magic-wielding infantry, standing clad in full battle gear.
Show offs.
One of the WatchGuards leads us to a long pine table already prepped with glittering silverware, goblets of red wine, and plates of soft cheeses, steaming buns, and fruit.
Castor’s father and Elders Hightail and Davenpath are already seated at the table.
Markus reclines backward, despite the stiff, tall edges of the stained wooden chair.
Elder Hightail sits crooked on his right, brushing aside her wispy hair before reaching for a glass of wine.
Elder Davenpath is on his left, belly pressing into the table and plate already filled with cheeses.
The only sound in the room is my chair scraping across the floor as Castor offers me a seat. Markus’s fingers tapping impatiently in clusters of three, like a waltz or funeral procession.
A WatchGuard enters the room and clears his throat. “The Elven delegate of the Forest Tribe, Lord Clayoq and his two cousins and famed Roc Riders, Opita and Tofina of the Ancient Forests, Protectors of the Sky and Soil.”
The Elders stand immediately. Castor and I follow suit.
A large elf strides in the room. His skin is a rich umber, and his curious, dark eyes scan the room until settling on Markus.
His hair rests gently on shoulders that are wide and strong, supporting a brown and green cloak wrapped across his body.
He wears the thinnest layer of copper chainmail that clinks as he glides forward, like the wind itself is carrying him forward.
Maybe it really is! Elves are very powerful creatures, born with the Source within them, though most of the time, only the royal families can channel significant amounts of magic without depleting their energy.
This royal is undoubtedly powerful, using magic for such frivolous purposes, he must have a vast source before he is depleted.
The air smells of leaves and rain and moss, caressing the room with gentle breezes. Birds chirp in the distance as if the giant forests where this Tribe hails is right outside the castle windows. Birds chirp faintly in the distance.
Two beautiful women enter beside him, lithe and strong.
They pause behind each of Lord Clayoq’s shoulders like birds flying in a flock formation.
All three of them are taller than the average human.
Even their fingers are elongated and ears are tapered into points that match their angular facial features.
The female Elf on the left, Opita, has bright green eyes and razor short hair, an inverse of the other, Tofina.
Her eyes and hair are like the darkest shades of iron.
Intricate braids fall down her shoulders and back.
Both wear formal ivory tunics that hang past their knees and taper at the waist from green and brown braided belts clasped with the tree sigil of Forest Tribe.
“Elder Superior Markus, a pleasure,” Lord Clayoq says. His voice practically drips with sophistication and boredom. Five more Elves enter in quick succession. Large wooden bows with intricate carvings hang across their backs.
The Roc Riders! I had read that each rider carries a calling feather from their beast so they may summon the roc at any time. The warriors wear tight braids or shave their hair, like Opita. Likely easier to manage given how windy it might be to ride atop a roc.
Where are the rocs? Outside among the snow-capped peaks, or somewhere on the campus grounds?
No doubt the giant, eagle-like creatures have a preference of their own.
Not only deadly with their sharp beaks and talons the size of my torso, but intelligent as well.
Some Tellings go as far as saying they talk to their riders mind to mind.
My attention shifts back to the table. Opita winks her bright green eyes at Castor, and she sits across from him. Heat prickles my spine with a feeling I have no reason to claim.
Castor isn’t mine. Even if he did kiss me.
Opita is beautiful, cheekbones high and full, and her almond eyes tilt upward, giving her the appearance of a feline cat playing with its food. Like a princess that gets what she wants with a single wink.
Service staff appear from hidden panels and pour us wine in sparkling goblets, and Lord Clayoq and the Elders exchange a few short sentiments before another WatchGuard interrupts. The poor guard is trying and failing to subdue his smile over whomever awaits his announcement from the hallway.
“The Lady of the River Tribe has arrived, my lords.” He gestures toward the door and bows gracefully for being in such thick armor.
“May I present Lady Neda, Lord Neilos, and their son, Prince Ladon. Protectors of the Northern Waters, home of legendary Kingfishers and the most talented Healers of the Realm.”
And now I understand why the WatchGuard was smiling like a fool.
The Lady of the River Tribe strides in the room, her dress flowing in wafts of light blue and cream chiffon.
Her hair, a soft blonde, ripples weightlessly as she walks as if she’s floating.
There is a youthful look about her, cheeks pink, skin poreless, and nails long and painted blue.
She smiles, unlike her husband and son who stand brooding behind her, blue eyes searching the room for potential threats.
Both male Elves stand around six feet tall, but it isn’t their height that strikes me. Their hair is blue , the son’s a lighter shade than his father’s. Their posture curves around Lady Neda, like shields made of flesh and bone.