Reverie broken, Alkara strains to see the entrance. The edges of her cell block the view of the man’s face. But the voice and posture could only be one person. “Dorië!”
Relief cascades through her even as fear hems in from the sides. Dorië had come… but not Tharan. And Dorië had never liked Alkara. Would he help her? He could use the opportunity to remove her from Tharan’s life.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” Dorië’s tone offers no escape for the guard captain. He strides toward Alkara’s and Guen’s cells with Roislemh in tow. One quick look over both breaks his smooth expression and trades it for one of anger. He halts his advance, instead directing his fury on the captain. “This is beneath your duty, captain. Miss Alkara has been assaulted by your sentries.”
Roislemh stands in judged silence.
He turns back with a softer expression. “Miss Alkara, aside from the surface injuries, are you hurt?”
She shakes her head.
Dorië nods and address the captain. “This treatment insults the Cimäudi Clag, Doë, and all of Afanen.”
The captain set her jaw at the reproach. “She attacked my–”
“Obviously, you buffoon!”
The captain bristles. “Her aggression required action.”
Dorië showers the captain with disdain. “Her reaction was a direct reaction to your mishandling of the situation.”
Roislemh clenches her jaw. “She had in her possession a priceless necklace. The appraiser–”
“Told you it would purchase a small army.” Dorië set his gaze on the captain. “It was a gift.”
Captain Roislemh swallows. “Someone forged her visas.” She raises her eyebrows. “Alkara claims to be an invited guest.”
Dorië shakes his head. “She is an invited guest.”
“And the panther? She didn’t have the right–”
“Are you daft?” Dorië’s booming voice coats the walls of the cell corridor with derision. He takes a breath and composes himself. “Do Bread Eaters register their honored companions? Do thugs parade stolen goods through our city gates? The Cimäudi Clag invited her. That ends the inquiry.”
Captain Roislemh presses her lips together. The thin line relays a sense of how close she is to losing… something. Alkara can’t be sure but the consternation appears without question.
Dorië nods, “Take solace that our Cimäudi Clag’s compassion covers your transgressions. However, this act of naked prejudice will not go unremarked.” He appraises Alkara. The state of her clothes could only suggest an urchin familiar with street brawls. “His intended arriving in such a state. This will delay supper.” He returns his scowl to the captain.
Roilemh pales, that light blue hue diminishing in the flickering light of the cell block torches. She sets her gaze on Alkara. A tense moment slides past before the captain bows deep. “You have my humblest apologies, Miss Alkara.” The words spill out in clipped segments, each a strain, “I cannot atone for my transgression. It shall not happen again.”
“No, it will not,” Dorië passes a thin, rolled canvas to the captain. “Circulate this portrait of Miss Alkara Aberrant-Bane and her companion. They will not be molested again. She has special dispensation to enter and exit the city without limit. These interactions will proceed with courtesy and respect. Is this… understood?”
Captain Roislemh rises from the bow. “It will be done before Doë’s next call.” She steals a glance at the ground before moving to Guen’s cell. Without comment she unlocks the door and swings it open for the panther.
“Admirable.” Dorië’s driest tone seems to suck the moisture from the air. “Retrieve her belongings. The necklace, for example, and anything else you’ve removed from her. The Cimäudi Clag’s evening may be salvaged.”
Roislemh nods and departs, towing her shame.
Dorië guides Alkara to the interrogation room she first entered and invites her to sit. He speaks quitely. “The captain impressed upon me your instigation of the fracas.”
Alkara shakes her head and waves off the chair. She shrugs and, matching his volume, says, “I did.”
Dorië’s nod is short, almost curt. “What transpired?”
“I um…” Alkara exhales through her nose. “I lost my temper, okay?” She shrugs and half-turns from Dorië. “They tried to take Uncle Iro’s dagger. The one he gave me when I was little. After everything else that had happened…”
Dorië stands to join Alkara. “The captain will know better than to disseminate the evening’s events.” He pauses. “But the guards and others who witnessed you entering the tower will discuss it at length. Some may shame you with it.” He stands on the verge of saying something more when the captain enters with an escort of guards.
The guards move to set down Alkara’s equipment when Guenwyvar’s low growl stops them. They exchange uneasy looks with Captain Roilsemh, who nods encouragement. The guards set out Alkara’s bow, dagger, arrows, and other things. Everything could be accounted for, of course.
Alkara steps forward and gazes at the arrayed items with newfound appreciation. Tharan had crafted so much of it, a realization that had eluded her until Dorië informed the captain. No doubt more would come as Tharan found new ways to help.
The familiar weight of the pendant on her chest summons a smile. It was like putting on a tunic, bare without it. She retrieves the rest of her possessions but stops at the bow. The grip fits into her hands like it anticipates her needs. As though it knows the shape of her hand. Perfection lives in the bow, the weight and size both felt natural.
Alkara, now re-outfitted, turns back to Dorië. The guards stare as though looking at the wall behind her. Alkara shakes her head.
Whatever.
Dorië offers a short bow, “This way if you please, Aberrant-Bane.”
Puzzlement dances in Alkara’s eyes, but she strides outside and into the fresh air nonetheless. She begins to circle a carriage blocking the path–
“Your carriage awaits, Aberrant-Bane.”
She turns back. Dorië stands with the carriage door opened, a slight grin on his face. “What?”
“The Cimäudi Clag’s carriage is yours to command.” Dorië, ever proper, ignores Alkara’s clear confusion. “Walking would delay us more than we have been, so I suggest we take it.”
Alkara frowns at the carriage. Hitched to the front, two bucks wait. Gilt leaf covers the sides. The wheel spokes gleams in reflective silver. “It’s… fancy.” She prefers walking and Tharan’s house isn’t far. Even though the crisp air calls to her, Dorië’s right. The day’s light fades with each passing moment. The evening threatened to end before it had even begun for Alkara.
She sighs and nods. “Okay. Though I had hoped to be in this fresh air.”
“Then we shall.” Dorië gestures to the carriage driver, who hops off and joins an attendant at opposite sides of the carriage.
“I… what?” Alkara’s mouth opens as the carriage crew unclip sections of the carriage’s panels and begin to fold them upon each other.
The thin metal sheets lay near flat against each other. The crew folds the six panels in toward the carriage’s rear compartment, and the roof, through an array of metal arms, swings into place above them. Save for a half-inch crease, it leaves no gaps.
Alkara’s mouth, however, continues to gape. “How…?”
“Master Tharan thought to dispense with multiple carriages and commissioned an engineer to envision one which would meet his varied needs.” Dorië runs a hand along the rear compartment housing the carriage’s panels and roof. “Remarkable, is it not?”
Chiron’s and Uncle Iro’s puzzle contraptions paled in comparison. Alkara closes her mouth, nodding dumbly.
Dorië returns to the door, now half of what it had been. “After you, Aberrant-Bane.”
The attendant helps Alkara into the carriage, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Dorië as she appraises his expression with a puzzled one of her own. She hardly notices Guen’s graceful landing in the seat next to her.
Dorië climbs in and the driver urges the deer into a steady pace.
Uneven flagstones compete with the carriage’s unusual wheels, which shift separate from one another to absorb the bumps. They roll along the city’s entry avenue flanked by manicured lawns. A row of flowering bushes divide the center of the road. Scents from various blooms mingle into a sweet aroma.
Doësin stop and give the carriage a wide birth. Some begin to bow before realizing who sits in the carriage itself. Disappointment follows.
Alkara marvels at the wagon’s ability to change from covered to uncovered in mere minutes. She keeps looking back at the space where all the different parts are stored. It doesn’t take long for her attention to drift, however. Whatever mechanism allows for the transformation hides under the cover.
She turns to Dorië, allowing her unspoken curiosity to triumph over embarrassment. “Why do you keep calling me Aberrant-Bane? It’s… weird.”
He adopts a pensive expression, fostering it like it were his own. “The people of Three Rivers granted this title to you, did they not?” Dorië smiles. “Not in any official capacity. However it was a gift and implies both prestige and honor. Its use in public is imperative.”
“I hate titles,” Alkara mutters.
Dorië nods as though expecting that very reply. “I shall refrain from its use in private if you wish.”
Alkara shrugs.
“Alkara, titles are integral to our way of life.” He turns to watch the pedestrians moving along the avenue.
Some stop and bow. Others give deferential way to what must be their ‘betters.’ Alkara frowns.
Dorië continues, not turning from his spectating, “If and when you discover the courage to commit to a partnership with Master Tharan you’ll need to adhere to their use.”
Alkara’s frown curdles into a scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dorië turns back, pensivity fallen by the wayside. A cold look of serenity and determination replaces it. “Gifts are easy to accept when given. But we value reciprocity to a wonderful degree. It becomes an obligation. So then, I put it to you that you have yet returned Master Tharan’s generosity, and in doing so show that you do not value the ideals we hold dear.”
That familiar flame begins to burn in the pit of Alkara’s chest. She opens her mouth but Dorië holds up a hand.
“You are a better match than many. I appreciate your commitment to family. To Guenwhyvar. The devotion and love you hold for Urdima. I even value your skill as an archer. These commendable traits and others are to your credit as a potential match.” He purses his lips, some of that serenity fading into… distress? “It concerns me that you have yet to accept his proposal. Why are you here? What do you want from Master Tharan?”
The poignant questions quell some of the building fire. Alkara blinks down at the floorboard of the carriage. She wants to hurl accusations right back. But he isn’t out of line.
What have I done to reciprocate? How do I even accept it when we’re never in public together?
“I won’t…” She begins but scowls and looks at Guen. She occupies herself with petting the cat so that her thoughts don’t turn to something dreadful. “I want the same thing as Tharan. I want a partner I can trust. And I won’t… I won’t abandon him if he doesn’t abandon me.”
“Then you will accept his proposal?”
Alkara glares at Dorië and gestures back toward Afanen’s entry gate. “You know what happened back there. Saw how they looked at me. If it were just a question of marrying Tharan I’d say yes in a heartbeat but–” Alkara swallows the rest of the sentence in surprised silence.
“But?”
She clenches her jaw. “I’ll never belong here Dorië.” She squeezes the plush seat with one hand, crushing it with an iron grip. “Would being Tharan’s partner be enough to get me through all the crap I’ll have to deal with? Today wasn’t exactly encouraging.”
A worried silence sits between them. Dorië watches with a tinge of sadness in his eyes. “The incident will not be repeated. In the future–”
“It’ll be better?” Alkara attempts to wither him with a look but he returns the same calm expression. “For me, maybe. But what about everyone else? Do I want to live with people who think it’s okay to treat humans like that?”
The carriage turns from the main avenue, bringing the impressive edifice of Afanen’s municipal center to their side. Frescos of civil servants in their duties dominate the side facing the road.
“I’m sorry, Aberrant-Bane. To be looked down upon truly grieves us as well. Most, potentially all Doësin feel that sting. To be inferior. Unpleasant is a pale descriptor.”
Alkara arches an eyebrow, inviting Dorië to continue.
He shakes his head. “A story for another time. If I am inclined to share should you care to ask.”
Alkara snorts, “You don’t like me very much do you?”
“Dori ë smiles. “We are not compatible, no.”
Alkara crosses her arms, “Then why did you help me? If you’re all worried about me taking advantage of Tharan, why not make use of the opportunity to get rid of me?”
Dorië shifts. The subtle motion almost flies under Alkara’s view, slight as it is, but he recoiled nonetheless.
Dorië looks at the municipal building, inspecting the various frescos. He gestures to one, some ancient elf or another who plants trees. “We are committed to our duties. Even when the fruits of our labor will only be enjoyed by another.” He turns back to Alkara as though this explanation were sufficient.
She shakes her head with small movements and shrugs. “Okay?”
Dorië chuckles. That rare sound alien to Alkara. “Whether I like you or not is irrelevant. I serve Master Tharan and you are his intended. I will treat you with respect and provide succor where I can. It would be beneath me and the lessons Master Tharan taught me to do otherwise.”
No response finds its way to Alkara. They pass the remainder of the trip in silence. Alkara watches the now familiar sights of the city leading to Tharan’s home. As they round the final corner, she starts. “Wait a minute…”
Dorië allows puzzlement to show on his face. The carriage draws to a halt and Alkara waves him away from any inquiry. She climbs down from the carriage leaving the attendant scrambling to assist.
Dorië hurries ahead of Alkara and Guen so that he can usher them inside. At the door he bows as Alkara walks past.
“Um. Thanks.”
Dorië nods.
A twinge of pain from a blossoming bruise reminds Alkara of the various cuts and wounds she’s received. Dried blood on her tunic might be hers or a guard’s.
Maybe he’ll be in his study? Or working in his forge.
The hope dies as Tharan appears in the parlor door. Long, pregnant moments stretch between them. He clasps his hands behind his back and turns to Dorië. “What happened?”
Dorië bows, this much deeper than the one afforded to Alkara. “Sentries at the Urbound gate detained her. They suspected forgeries of the visas and the necklace to be stolen. They have been reprimanded with additional steps to be taken in the morn. Miss Alkara and the sentries had… a physical disagreement.”
“Thank you Dorië.” Tharan gives Alkara a short, curt smile. “Please inform the Custodian and schedule an appointment. It will be helpful to gauge her stance on the new edict the Council considers regarding our border policies.”
“Of course, Master Tharan. Will there be anything else?”
“No, that will be all for today. Thank you Dorië.”
Dorië bows low once more. “It is my honor.” He departs with a passing nod to Alkara.
The gate swings shut outside, muted by the home’s walls. Tharan unclasps his hands and steps to Alkara and… stops. He stares for longer, twitches in his expression giving evidence of his pain.
Why did he stop? A hug would probably feel really nice right now..
“Um… sorry I’m late?” Alkara shifts and gives him an awkward smile.
Tharan flinches. “Think nothing of it. I cannot express my gratitude you have come at all.” He looks her up and down once more before turning. “Leä! Your assistance, please.”
Alkara frowns. “Tharan. Are you okay?”
“I? What humiliation have I suffered today? No, I am most well.” Tharan keeps some distance between them as he ushers her toward the staircase. “I instead must apologize for the behavior of my people.”
Alkara steps closer to him. “You didn’t… Look. I’m fine, okay? I’ve definitely had worse.”
Tharan looks down, away from her gaze. “Then I pray that I fear the worst for nothing. Even so I would mollify my worry.”
“What–” Alkara cuts her question off as Leä enters.
“Please take Alkara to her room.” Tharan speaks even before Leä had finished her bow. “Tend to her wounds. If any are grievous, call for a healer.” He gives Leä a hard, significant nod before returning to Alkara. “I shall await you in the parlor.” Tharan retreats into the room without a word.
Alkara turns to Leä, “What is going on?”
“I can’t say. Except…” Leä gives her that same appraising look that Tharan had. “You’ve been fighting at the least.”
Alkara repeats the evenings festivities as they ascend the stairs together. Some of it makes her feel like the cat caught with the cream, especially how she lost her temper and started the fight.
Inside her room, Alkara turns back after finishing her story of the day’s events to find Leä staring with hate in her eyes. Alkara pulls back. “I… what’s going on? First Tharan, now you?”
Leä closes the door to the room with enough force to cause the frame to shutter. “I now understand Master Tharan’s concern.”
Confusion mounting, Alkara can’t even begin to form a question that would help her understand.
Leä’s bottom lip quivers. “How long..?” She exhales and shakes her head. “Did any of them..?” She paces as the question waits, unfinished. “Alkara. This is not an easy thing to ask. And propriety does not allow Master Tharan to inquire, though the possibility is likely torturing him.” She clenches and unclenches her fists.
“Well… what?”
Leä takes a deep breath and steadies herself. “Did any of the sentries force themselves on you?”
Alkara’s cheeks burn and her eyes widen. “What?! No! They just beat me up.” She rolls her eyes. “After I beat them up. Plus I started the–” Alkara snaps her mouth shut with wild realization. “That’s why he didn’t hug me?”
Leä nods, mirroring Alkara’s hurt. “If something had transpired… you wouldn’t want to be touched by anyone. Least of all another Doësin male.”
Alkara huffs. Both the thought that it could have happened and that that’s what Tharan was stricken with swirl around in her head, grasping for purchase. She throws her pack down. “I’ll be right back.”
Leä lifts a hand as if to protest but Alkara turns and leaves. “I’ll gather some ointments and warm towels.”
Alkara dashes to the parlor, taking the stairs two or three at a time. She throws open the door and stomps toward Tharan in his chair, his head in his hands. He barely has time to stand before she throws her arms around him.
Tharan stands with Alkara embracing him. It takes several moments before he returns it.
Alkara lifts her head off his chest. “They didn’t rape me.”
Tharan swallows, even with her head away from his chest the sound thumps in her ears. Then the tenseness of his body melts, shifting into a relaxed hug.
Alkara exhales and puts her head back to his chest. “Thank you. It’s been a rough day. I needed this.”
Tharan pulls her in even tighter. He whispers, “When I thought that… Alkara, I… I have not been that angry in many decades.” He takes in a shuddering breath. His eyes darts to her various cuts and bruises. “Their behavior is irredeemable. But at least the charges against them will not be as grievous.”
“I… didn’t know you got angry.” Teasing edges into Alkara’s voice. “Plus the fight was my fault. They didn’t start it.” Alkara smirks. “Not everyone appreciates my temper.”
Tharan chortles, shaking his head. “I suppose if you were using it to physically assault me I would find it less appealing. Probably appalled.”
Alkara grins and lifts her chin. Despite the obvious invitation for a kiss Tharan presses his forehead to hers. He closes his eyes and they both breathe in deep, relief-filled sighs.
Tharan returning somewhat to normal eases Alkara’s disappointment.
She pulls away, “Okay, I told Leä I’d be right back so she can patch me up. Then dinner?”
Tharan holds her a moment longer before letting her go. “I await your return with bated breath.”
Alkara rolls her eyes. “Don’t pass out.” She laughs a little. “So dramatic. I won’t be long.”