Page 83 of A Brat's Tale
“You’re going to get yourself killed and you’re not just a prince anymore, you’re engaged to thecrownprince.”
“Not if I can help it. I already have a husband thanks; I’d like to get him back.”
“If he still lives. For now, things are as they are.”
“If that’s how things are, then you’re in very big trouble helping me hide. We still haven’t got to the part about why you helped me.”
“My son was one of the children taken. Salamir. This is my other son, Aldagir. We both train the men around these parts. We weren’t invited to go with the royal entourage, but we believe Prince Corrik was headed in the right direction to whatever’s been taking our children and if you know the direction he went, we’d like to accompany you. I want my son back.”
“Wait, you’re the warriors I’ve seen from my window.” I look back toward the palace, which is a speck in the distance.Wow, my looking device can see this far?They’re both looking at me funny, rightfully so. I change the subject. “Where I’m going is said to be dangerous.”
“We’re willing to risk it,” Jagarbendir. “It’s doubly dangerous for us. I have a whole crew of men willing to go, but we’ve been ordered to stand down so no more of us are taken. Aldagir and I will accompany you and offer our protection and hope it’s enough for your future husband to go easy on us. Regardless, we’ll suffer whatever consequences we’re given. We need to at least try to get Salamir back. You will need our help Warlord. I mean no offense by that, it’s just the way it is. You’re a human, these lands are full of magical creatures you’ll need help with.”
As much as I don’t want to admit to my human weaknesses, they’re true. I hear the desperation in his voice, how can I turn him down? Isn’t this exactly what a Warlord is made for? Plus, our plights are the same. It’s just, “I’m sure you realize the chances Salamir is still alive are grim.”
He nods. “About as grim as the prince being alive. But Salamir was the child taken, just before we lost the Prince Corrik. We hope that means there’s still hope to be had.”
“All right, you may join me, but it’s imperative we leave as soon as possible.”
“We’ll eat and have our gear together within the hour and then make one quick stop.”
The three of us look a sight, riding across the small town, but I get the sense this town has an unspoken solidarity, with Jagarbendir as their unofficial leader. We ride a goodly distance, still outside the forest, but further into the countryside, where the larger farms are. We approach one farm in particular and a little boy runs out to meet us. “Papa! Papa!” The boy looks young, but that’s relative. He could have lived twenty summers by now, yet he looks the age of a four-year-old Markaytian boy.
Jagarbendir lifts the boy to him. “I suppose you expect to be carried everywhere. Where is your mother?”
The boy doesn’t answer, popping a thumb into his mouth, eyeing me. I’m sure I’m a sight. I’m still a little beat up from my fall down the side of the palace and while I had Diekin’s help sticking to the side of the tall wall surrounding the palace, there were cold places where my skin stuck, by the time I got down, I needed bandages for my hands, not to mention all the dirt and grime that must be on my face even with the bit of clean up I attempted while I waited for Jagarbendir and Aldagir to put together their things. Now that he’s still and I get a better look at him, I notice something I didn’t before—the boy is half-human.
A pale-skinned human, with golden hair rushes out after her babe. Her hair shimmers in an otherworldly way, she may be human, but the humans in Mortouge are not quite as human as I am anymore. Maybe they were thousands of years ago, but since then they have evolved and changed, perhaps having absorbed some of the magic from their Elven kin.
There is an uneasy relationship between the humans and the elves of Mortouge. In Aldrien, the humans are slaves, but in all seven of the realms that make up Mortouge, lives a different race of humans, one that began long ago when humans were permitted to enter. Since the ban, the humans who already existed here were allowed to stay and carry on their lineage, but like with every differing culture, there came some amount of prejudice. Human-Elf children are known ashalflings, not considered Elf, not considered human. A breed of their own, and arguably experiencing the most prejudice.
In Aldrien, human-Elf marriages are forbidden, it would be the equivalent of marrying your pet; you love your pet, and you take care of him, but you wouldn’t marry him. Humans weren’t considered equal to Elves, yet there was little mistreatment of them. It was even all right to fuck them and mark them. You just couldn’t enter a proper marriage with one.
The king wasn’t stupid; he knew I was more to Bayaden than his pet, but so long as Bayaden understood that what we did was all we would ever have, he was fine with our, what he consideredgames. When it was time for Bayaden to get serious, he had to flush me out with the tide.
I like that Jagarbendir does not hold such prejudices. “Highness, this is Cilrilda, my forty-seventh spouse, my fortieth wife.”
The number astounds me for a moment, but I remember the polyamorous nature of Elves, except for the two Cyredanthem brothers I know and their sister. My Corrik never seemed to want any other but me, but I never thought to ask him. Getting-to-know-you time has not been a luxury for us, something I vow to change once I have him back. “Pleased to meet you, Cilrilda. Just Tristan is fine.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t, Highness. Especially not after the news.” Ugh. These Elves work fast, Corrik’s not even gone a year and the word’s out I’m to be Crown Prince Consort. “My condolences for the passing of your first husband.”
They are the first condolences I’ve had. Other than the servants who are not supposed to get too friendly with me, I’ve only had contact with Alrik and Diekin. Alrik, who was going through his pain about Corrik and Diekin, who believes as I do, that Corrik is out there somewhere. I’m not sure how to respond. Thankfully, Jagarbendir saves me. “Save your condolences, my dear. We’re off to find him.”
Her body lifts and her features fill with hope. “Does that mean you’re off to find Salamir?”
“We are,” I say, feeling proud to be on this mission.
She cries. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Your Highness.”
“Tell no one, Cil,” Jagarbendir warns.
She nods and her expression gets serious. “Jagar.”
“We will get him back.”
“Then what of you? Have you asked Suki if you can take Aldagir?”
Apparently, the wives watch out for each other. “Aldagir is a man,” he says, his voice becoming stern.
