Page 20 of Storm to Victory
“It is superior, of course.” Rothilion’s tone might have sounded haughty, if one didn’t know him that well.
“It’s something, all right,” Fieran muttered under his breath, too low for anyone but Pip to hear.
She nudged him gently in the ribs, shaking her head. The others would just have to see for themselves.
They rounded a corner and found themselves at the edge of a broad green in the center of town, a few large trees breaking up the expanse. At the far end of the park, a beautifully painted silk backdrop was suspended between two of the largest trees with more rolls of backdrops rigged to be released when needed. Rows upon rows of assorted chairs, benches, and stools had been set up facing the stage. Most of the homes and businesses in the town must have been emptied of furniture to provide enough seating.
Along the edges of the park, tables with refreshments had been set up, and they appeared to hold a variety of traditional elven foods and drinks.
“Good thing your dacha is at the front. He would not have appreciated all of this going on right outside of his door.” Pip leaned closer to Fieran as they shuffled between the various groups of people.
The townhouses surrounding this park had been turned into the quarters for the various generals and other commanding officers traveling forward to this base. Dacha, Uncle Iyrinder, and Adry had stayed in one of these townhouses before they returned to the front, with Uncle Julien and Aunt Vriska in the one next door. Uncle Rharreth and Rhohen probably had one of the townhouses, now that they were taking their week of rest from the fighting.
“No, he wouldn’t have.” Fieran headed down one of the rows that was mostly empty, gesturing for her to take a seat in a spot nearly in the middle of the row where they would have a good view.
After she sat on the bench, Fieran took the seat next to her with Merrik on his other side. Lije and Stickyfingers claimed chairs on the other side of Merrik while Mak worked his way past all their feet and knees to claim the seat on Pip’s other side. Tiny, Aylia, and Rothilion found seats on the other side of Lije and Stickyfingers.
Fieran wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and Pip snuggled into him, resting her head on his shoulder. She didn’t care what the elven entertainment was going to be. She was here for the snuggles and whispering with Fieran until they got yelled at.
More people found seats as the evening darkness closed deeper around them while elven lights in the trees set the stage area aglow in a soft light.
A few rows ahead, a slim figure with gray skin and long black hair shuffled between the benches, holding the hand of a young dwarf woman.
Fieran’s cousin Rhohen and her cousin Draenelynn. Pip tightened her grip on Fieran’s hand, not sure if she expected Fieran to start something or not.
Fieran stiffened, his breath hitching as his gaze locked in that direction.
Merrik elbowed Fieran, causing him tooofand squirm. “Remember. Mature.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Fieran slouched even more on the bench. “But did he have to sit right there?”
“Just keep your eyes on the stage.” Pip poked him in the ribs, making him squirm again.
“He’d better not kiss her.” Fieran’s mumble was almost sullen.
“Hush. Now you’re starting to sound as petulant as Prince Rhohen.” Pip poked him again. “Be the mature one.”
Merrik shot her a grin, and she grinned back, already feeling a hint of what the future might look like. She was going to enjoy teaming up with Merrik to keep the Laesornysh siblings on the path of good sense.
“I knew you’d gang up on me.” Fieran sighed and shook his head, but he, too, was smiling.
An elf glided to the center of the stage and made some elaborate pronouncement about their production. The only really important bit being that the elves were, magnanimously, performing for the Escarlish for the sake of their esteemed allies. They had just completed a tour with the elven armies along the Hydalla River border.
The announcer elf glided back into the wings as lights swung to illuminate a male elf standing in the branches of the tree on the left. Another light flared to focus on a female elf perched in the branches of the tree on the right.
The male elf began the recitation of a traditional elven ballad. This particular ballad was a woven story, written to be recited by a male and female as if speaking in a dialogue.
On the stage between the two trees, more elves poured into view, the females wearing flowing dresses with just as flowing sleeves while the males had the traditional tunics and trousers with abbreviated pieces of armor. Their motions were somewhere between a dance and acrobatics as they performed.
One of the male elves lifted a female elf, her skirts floating around her like the petals of a flower in a breeze. It was strangely mesmerizing, even if Pip had seen similar performances before.
The voices of the recitation flowed around them, telling the story of young elves who desperately loved each other but could not be together because their families were political enemies.
As they got to the part where the two lovers tragically died, ribbons of red silk pooling on the stage, Pip found herself sniffing as she squeezed Fieran’s hand tighter. The loss in the story hit a lot harder now that she had Fieran, the memories of his crash still far too fresh.
Fieran held out a white handkerchief. She took it and dabbed at her eyes. “How did you know to bring a handkerchief?”
“It’s an elven troupe. It was guaranteed that at least one of their performances would be something morbidly sad.” Fieran tugged her closer, as if he knew she needed a bit more snuggling.
