Page 21 of Storm to Victory
On the stage, the performers ended with a dramatic flourish, the two lovers both lying dead in each other’s arms, her skirt spread around her and his sword still in his hand.
As the elf announcer came back on the stage to proclaim an intermission and the soothing notes of elven flutes provided background music, most of the audience remained frozen in their seats.
Lije gaped at the stage, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. “Whatwasthat?”
“That was a traditional elven ballad.” Merrik had his arms crossed as he slouched in his seat more than he usually did. Perhaps he, too, didn’t exactly appreciate something about lovers dying in each other’s arms.
“That was…was…” Lije flapped his hand, seemingly at a loss for words.
“That was art.” Rothilion gave something that was very nearly a happy sigh.
“But…why?” Stickyfingers had tear tracks streaked down his face, even though he kept scrubbing at his cheeks with his sleeve. “I thought this was supposed to be a morale boost for the troops. Not…not…”
“Morbid and tragic?” Fieran’s sigh brushed Pip’s hair. “Most traditional elven ballads and stories tend to be. Don’t ask me why elves thrive on tragedy.”
“Perhaps our long lives give us the perspective to appreciate such things.” Rothilion gave a slight sniff, although he couldn’t fully hide the curve to his mouth behind his haughty expression.
“Or the long lives make you melancholic.” Fieran shook his head.
“Not a trait you will ever have to fear.” Rothilion somehow made a snort sound sophisticated. “I suspect the centuries will make you more nonsensical.”
“Absolutely.” Fieran began to ease his arm from around Pip. “I suppose we should hit up the refreshment tables before they’re too picked over.”
Merrik sighed and pushed to his feet. “Stay and save our seats. I will fetch refreshments.”
Pip probably should have protested and sent Fieran off with Merrik but she didn’t mind just staying there, snuggling, kept warm against the increasing chill of the evening.
Most of the other flyboys filed out as well after Merrik, including her brother Mak. Leaving her and Fieran semi-alone for the first time in far too long.
As Fieran settled his arm more securely around her again, she happily snuggled against him. “Poor Merrik. He’s moping.”
“Why do you think I made such a big deal about Rhohen and Draenelynn?” Fieran murmured before brushing a light kiss against her hair. “Thoroughly distracted him.”
“It worked.” Pip glanced at the spot a few rows down. Draenelynn was sitting alone now. Rhohen must have gone for refreshments. Probably just as well Merrik had gone alone, then. She could only imagine how Fieran’s maturity level would have been tested if he and Rhohen ran into each other at the refreshment tables. “Though don’t deceive yourself. You aren’t as mature about Rhohen as you pretend you are.”
“Fine, fine. You know me too well.” Fieran rubbed his thumb on her upper arm before he stilled. “Do you think that’s why Merrik volunteered to fetch food?”
“He knows you too well too.” Pip clasped Fieran’s free hand, her grip tightening as Rhohen appeared again, two plates and two glasses balanced in his hands. He was smiling as he handed one plate and glass to Draenelynn.
Thankfully, Fieran was further distracted when the whole group of flyboys returned, Rothilion leading the way as he pointed at something on his plate with the hand holding a teacup of all things. “This is an elvenishikal, a heavy pastry filled with honey.”
“And what’s this one?” Lije pointed to a square formed of flaky pastry on the bottom and topped with a layer of red berries.
“Alalah,” Lt. Rothilion informed him with a dignified tilt of his head.
“It’s a lemon-raspberry bar.” Fieran straightened so that he wasn’t so slouched in his seat.
Pip released Fieran’s hand and also straightened so that she wasn’t as slumped against him.
Mak shuffled past them and sank onto the seat next to Pip. He held out one of the two glasses he carried. “I got you a cherry cranberry juice.”
“Perfect.” Something more tart than too sweet. Pip claimed the glass and took a sip.
Merrik held two plates and two glasses. He twisted his wrist to turn one of the glasses toward Fieran. “And raspberry strawberry for you. The sweetest juice the elves make.”
“Linshi.” Fieran took the glass with his free hand. Then with a glance from Merrik to Pip, he withdrew the arm he’d had around her shoulders to take the second plate from Merrik, the plate piled with enough tasty treats for two.
“I did not think you would mind sharing a plate.” Merrik raised an eyebrow at them as he eased down onto his seat on the bench. “That was easier than trying to carry three.”
