PART FOUR:
Chapter Ten~
There were six of them. Six of them sat at one end of the huge oak table in a dining hall fit for a dozen of giants. To their right were hundreds of wooden chairs, sturdy and plain. The table itself was long and narrow, worn smooth until it shone, reflecting the circle of torchlight hugging the rock walls. On it lay roasted meat, dried vegetables, ale, and candles. The aroma nearly made the half-starving Cel drool.
The dining hall was an oval cave, the ceiling hundreds of feet above them so that Cel wondered how it was that they were still inside the mountain. The walls of the hall were carved in patterns that seemed to make her feel light-headed. Several such carvings were on the columns that supported the ceiling, two rows of columns neatly laid around the dining table.
At the head of the table sat King Basilius. To his right was Gaelan, to his left, as Cel soon learned, was the fearless Leander. Kistur sat next to Leander, Sen was seated beside Kistur. On the other side of the table, across from Kistur was the extremely handsome Adon. Cel sat at his right side.
"Sen, explain," King Basilius demanded gruffly. He was the same height as Gaelan, with his auburn beard worn long. A rough golden circlet was the only visible symbol that he was a King, as his face was dirty and his hair unwashed. Yet an air of authority came from him, his good posture showing his royalty. In the depths of those light green eyes there was cunning.
Sen stood and bowed deeply. "My king, I was hunting when I happened to cross a frozen river with a floating maiden in its icy depths. I rescued her and brought her here, so that she could receive shelter and healing."
"Did ye hunt today?" King Basilius demanded after a moment of silence.
"Three hares, one small buck, and a pheasant, highness." Sen gestured toward the table. King Basilius grunted, then eyed Cel warily.
"Did ye question her?" he asked, looking her over. His expression was guarded, so Cel had no idea what the king thought of her. She squirmed. Even though she had washed her face free of the mud, her hair was unruly, leaves and twigs tangled in its layers, still damp and dripping at the ends. Most of the foliage was gone now, and she'd replaited sections of her hair, but without a mirror she could not tell if that helped much. Because her own clothes were set to dry, she'd borrowed Sen's clothes. He was much taller than her, but she rolled up the sleeves and the edges of the leather trousers. As far as the shoes went, Gaelan had lended his boots. Now, sitting before the King Basilius, she felt dirty and uncourteous dressed in men's clothing.
"No I did not, highness," Sen admitted, glancing at Cel. "Though I am sure she means us no harm as she--"
"Don't make assumptions, childling!" King Basilius roared, beating the table with a large fist. "That's what started our trouble in the firs' place. Did anyone else question the lass?"
"I did, highness," Gaelan said, standing. He bowed, but not as deeply as Sen had. "Her name is Snow White. Lass's been mute fer the last four years."
"If I may be so bold, highness," Kistur said loudly as he, too, stood and bowed, "I believe that she deserves naught our food nor help. She's a spy. No good has ever come of a Child of the Mines trustin' a sun-dweller." At this he eyed her with suspicion and distrust.
"What proof have ye of this, Kistur?" King Basilius demanded, bushy eyebrows furrowing. Cel felt better at his sense of justice, or at least his honor. Kistur shrugged.
"She's rude. Refuses to talk. Now, isn't that suspicious?" He turned to Adon. "Don't ye agree?"
"Aye," Adon said, rising as well. Now Leander and Cel were the only ones seated. "Never can a Child of the Sun be trusted! Our ancestors have been betrayed enough. We must learn from their mistakes." Adon was as an inch taller than King Basilius, built with the same bulging muscles and broad chest as all the other men, save Sen. Blond locks curled around his face, a neat beard at his chin. Cel had not looked at him closely before, but now she stared at him. He was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. Everything about him was perfectly proportioned and exactly semetrical. The nose on his face was exactly the right size and in the very center of his face, his pale blue opticals spaced correctly apart.
Gaelan sat down, his face unreadable. Kistur and Adon followed suit, leaving Sen standing. Obviously flustered, his fists were clenched before him. King Basilius frowned.
"I suppose that ye wish to speak on her behalf?"
"I do," Sen answered, to which King Basilius sighed. "We have no proof that she is a spy. Please let us hear her story before judging her." Then he took his seat in a graceful manner.
"He speaks wisely," Gaelan said. "Listen to him, for it is not to be said that the Children of the Mine make hasty judgements." To her, he said, "Let us hear your tale, Lady Snow White. Entertain us, and perhaps you may further enjoy our hospitality."
Suddenly, Cel understood Gaelan's importance. Only one position would enable him to give her a command without the king's consent. Gaelan was the king's advisor.
"Your majesty," Cel croaked, attempting to recall every conversation her father had ever had and draw eloquent phrases from them. "I am in your debt. Without the compassion of you and your people, I would certainly be--" she paused, trying to find the right words.
"Oh, out with it already," Kistur grumbled. "No need with the fancy pleasantries. Yer tale."
"My tale," repeated Cel. "I--I was born..." she faltered. How truly could she trust these strangers? Did she dare tell them her name? An image of them dragging her off to the palace crossed her mind.
"Ye see, m' leige!" Kistur burst. "She 'esitates! Surely this is a sign that she is a liar, for why else would she--"
"Silence," King Basilius said dangerously. Instantly Kistur closed his mouth but comforted himself with looking displeased.
"I lied to you before," Cel said suddenly. She glared at Kistur. "My true name is Icelynai-Bianca of the Phalogn line. My mother was Elyce Hermione Dae-Shinta of Canelrie. My father is King Victor Phalogn."
There was a moment of silence following this outburst. Then, Leander spoke for the first time. "'Tis possible."
"She is a liar," Kistur grumbled. "The princess disappeared years ago."
"Exactly," Leander replied coolly. "They never found her. 'Tis very possible that she might be the lost princess." His lavender eyes regarding her. Multi-colored hair--black strands, blond, brown, and red--were slicked back with water from a widow's peak. A smile danced on his lips, above a small beard that only spanned across his chin. Instantly Cel decided that she liked him.
"Nay," Adon declared. "Ye would think a human childling could spin better lies."
"That is unfair, brother," Leander answered. Adon glowered at him.
"I never thought I'd see the day when ye sided with Sen," Adon spat. "Brother, yer no longer right in the mind."
"I only say what I think. She firs' said that her name was Snow White." Leander smiled wryly. "Icelynai-Bianca does mean Snow White, eh lass?" Cel nodded vigorously, provoking a chuckled from Leander. "So, either she had her lie down from the start, which I doubt, or she's plain telling the truth. What say ye, Gaelan?"
"We should test 'er, I say," Gaelan commented. "Lass, who is yer sister?"
"My stepsister is Silvea Blanche Chastity. She's older by about six or seven years. Her favorite drink is lemon water, and her favorite dance is the waltz," Cel added for good measure. With her eyes she dared them to argue. They eyed each other.
"She could've heard that anywhere," Adon said.
"True," Gaelan admitted. "Why should we trust ye?"
"Because I trusted you with my secret," Cel answered. "I ran away when I was eleven, when Silvea married Prince Zachiriah. My stepmother hates me, you see, and I didn't feel like marrying Maximillian of Veseld. I'd intended to run to Telren." She flushed, feeling stupid. "I got lost in the woods, and stumbled across...across a village. These people took me in. I lived there for the last four years."
"And then?" Gaelan prodded.
"Then I ran away from the village. Because...I don't know why I ran away," Cel admitted. "It just didn't feel safe anymore, like maybe Stepmother was close to finding me." Forcing a laugh, Cel remarked, "I know I sound silly."
"'Course ye do," Kistur muttered. "If yer truly the Princess, then tell me where the Mirror of Lady Lleilanellyn is hidden." He smirked.
Cel inhaled sharply. The Mirror of Lady Lleilanellyn. At three, she first heard of it from the servants. When asked, her father refused to speak of it, so she'd pieced together the story from palace gossip.
Then, when she was nine, she saw it. She didn't think the huge reflecting surface in her stepmother's private chambers was anything special. Not until she looked closely at the frame. Carved prettily onto it were the words: "To my wife, the Mirror of Lady Lleilaneyllyn I give to you. From the Morth-He I salvaged it as a token of my love. Victor."
"Of course I know where it is," Cel retorted. "It's in my stepmother's private chambers. I was sneaking around to spite her, and I saw it."
"How did you know that it was the Mirror?" Gaelan asked.
"It's framed. There was a carving on the side, and it read 'To my wife, the Mirror of Lady Lleilaneyllyn I give to you.' I just assumed."
"Anyone could've made that lie up," Kistur complained.
"Your lineage," Gaelan probed.
"My mother was Elyce Hermione Dae-Shinta of Canelrie, daughter of Baron Alecsandar of Canelrie and Waveild, son of Baron Henric d'Ammanh of Canelrie and Waveild, son of Baron Rulon Lothar of Canelrie and Waveild, son of Duke Yevgenyi of Canelrie and Waveild, son of Duke Ondro Perrin of Canelrie, son of Duke Stasik da Gautier of Canelrie, son of Sir Malory Woodville of Canelrie, son of Sir Tudor Graham of Canelrie, son of Sir Thaddus from Canelrie." Cel paused and drained her mug of ale. The foul taste made her wince, but it soothed her scratchy throat. "My father was King Victor Phalogn, son of King Uaine Phalogn, son of King Malcom Oratio Phalogn, son of King Valdemar Phalogn, son of King Reuban Phalogn, son of King Lafayette Phalogn, son King Francis Phalgon, son of King Riordan Tavo Phalogn, son of Prince Vladimar Phalogn."
"O' course she'd know that if she was a spy!" Kistur snapped. "They'd see to it!"
King Basilius sighed. "What can we do? For now, we'll trust yer story. Let us decide if it's true or not another day. For now, we eat."
Cel breathed a sigh of relief. As she hungrily attacked her food, she knew that she was only given a little more time. What she needed now was proof.
Chapter Eleven~
Sen woke her early the next day and showed Cel her chores. It appeared that it was Cel's duty to do "women's work"--cooking, cleaning, washing, sewing, mending, and the like. She was shown the kitchen, which had an enormous hearth and various worn-looking pots, the nearest river, where to collect the dirty laundry, and the supply room. Sen also gave her a brief tour of the living area of the tunnels, warning her never to venture into the mines.
"Stay down here, in the dwelling caves," he said. "The mines are...dangerous. You could easily grow lost or be crushed under a the collapse of a weak tunnel."
"I'll stay here," Cel promised, and Sen smiled. She found that he liked his smile, which was fortunate since he smiled easily.
"Lunch is at high noon," he continued. "Supper is at dusk. You'll be able to view the sun from the window in the kitchen. See it?" He pointed at a hole in the ceiling. "I'd best start hunting now. Game has been scarce lately, and Bazek will be furious if I don't bring anything home. He's angry enough that I don't do any of the mining, but nobody else can hunt, so what can we do?"
"Bazek?" Cel repeated, confused. Sen started.
"Oh. I mean King Basilius. Don't tell anyone that you heard me call him Bazek." It was more of a plea, for all that it was stated as a question. Cel smiled.
"Don't worry, I wouldn't do that."
"Alright then. 'Til the sun climbs high, princess." He bowed deep, the proper degree for a person to foreign royalty. She waved an arm in protest at this.
"Please, just 'Cel' would be enough. I'm not a princess anymore," she said. It seemed as if his eyes darkened a tone, though this was technically impossible since his eyes were black.
"I apologize for the behavior of my kinsmen, princess, especially my brother," Sen said. "You are a princess, and you should be treated as such."
"Brother?" Cel repeated. A corner of Sen's lip curved upward. "Kistur is your brother? Pardon me, but there isn't much by way of physical resemblance."
"No, there isn't," Sen laughed. "We're hearth-brothers."
"Hearth-brothers?" The implied question was, of course, What is a hearth-brother?
"As Children of the Mines--"
"Dwarves," Cel breathed, then caught herself. "Oh, I'm sorry! That--that just came out!"
"Yes, as the Children of the Sun call us." He held his arms out, as if for inspection. "But we hardly appear to be anything like Human dwarves, is this not true? Let not my kinsmen hear you utter this word, for they loathe it."
"And do you?" The question was spoken before Cel realized that it was perhaps rude to ask such personal questions of her rescuer.
"Yes," Sen answered, a flash of pain crossing his face. Then he shook himself. "As I was saying, as Children of the Mines we are at a young age pledged to one other, our hearth-brother, whom we must always protect and never betray. If one brother commits a crime against the Children of the Mines, the other must suffer the punishment as well. This way we look out for each other, keeping the other out of trouble's reach. Kistur is mine, as Adon is Leander's."
"But you're so different!" protested Cel.
"I think that they intended on that when they chose our brothers, perhaps so that we can learn from each other," Sen mused aloud. "But Leander and Adon are much alike. Both are fearless in battle, the most valiant fighters you've ever seen."
"Have you been in battle before?"
"You ask many questions," Sen told her, smiling wryly. "Yes, I have been in battle before, the last one barely fifty years ago."
"Fifty!" Cel was stunned. Sen looked only as if he were eighteen, so how could he be over fifty? "How old are you?" Cel demanded.
"Two hundred and forty-eight," Sen answered, amused. "We Children of the Mines have notably longer lives than your kind."
Cel cursed under her breath. Had her tutor not told her? Dwarves were known to live close to a thousand years, sometimes longer. She wondered how she could of forgotten this. They were there own race, for all that people often confused them with human dwarves. Their culture revolved around mining, their nature usually gruff. It was known that Dwarves were suspicious of other people, and disliked associating with them. In fact, Dwarves were also known to rarely associate with each other, each clan keeping to themselves. They were not social people, or so the royal tutor had taught her.
"The day's long begun," another voice boomed behind Sen. Leander's shaggy head appeared next to Sen's, his lavender eyes twinkling a greeting to Cel. "I think that ye'd best start the hunt, as I'd best show our visitin' princess here how to cook a decent meal."
"I can cook," Cel protested. Leander laughed, a deep rumbling from his chest. It reminded her rather much of a lion's roar.
"Not the food that we like to eat, princess." He gave Sen a friendly shove out the door. "Off with ye." Sen bowed again to Cel before leaving the large cave. Leander kicked at a large barrel in the corner. "Know what this is, princess?"
"Rice?" she guessed. Leander guffawed and took off the top. She spotted speckles of color. "Beans?"
"Ah, nay." Leander ran a hand through his thick hair, which unlike the night before was very messy now and much of it hung in his eyes. "I forget that yur a Child of the Sun and don't know these things. It's a type of food that my people like. It's cooked with everything."
"Cooked with everything?" Cel asked curiously. Leander scooped a handful of it up. It was a fine powder, reddish brown in color, though there were spots of white and green as well as black. Dipping a finger in it, Cel tasted it. Instantly she spat it back out. "It's horrible!"
"Ye didn't seem t' think so last night, princess," Leander said as he filled a cup with it. Cel gaped at him in horror.
"You mean I ATE that last night?" He chuckled.
"It flavored yur meat, spiced yur ale, an' helped make yur bread. Ye didn't notice?"
Now that he mentioned it, Cel vaguely remembered the extra, strange taste of the food. Somewhat spicy and bitter at the same time, with an extra tinge of something she didn't know. So that's what it was.
"I suppose it doesn't taste that bad when it's cooked," she said. Leander grunted as he cracked two eggs and dropped the yolks into the cup. "Where did the eggs come from?" It was, after all, wintertime. Leander eyed her curiously.
"Why, Mortagels, o' course," he cried. "What other bird lays in the winter?" Cel's brows furrowed as she tried to understand what Leander was saying.
"Mortagels? I've never heard of such a bird. Wait--do you mean Mertingales?" she asked, watching as he made dough from the powder and eggs. Leander grunted.
"If that's what ye call them, princess." He kneaded the dough expertly. Catching her approving look, Leander grinned rather wolfishly. "I was the cook b'fore ye came a-long. Here, why don't you knead the dough?" Cel took his place and placed her knuckles cautiously into the brownish muck. It FELT like ordinary dough, at least.
"So for lunch we have bread made with this," Cel summarized. "What else?" Leander opened another barrel and pulled out a pickle. Cel wrinkled her nose at the smell. She'd never liked pickles before, but this one smelled even worse than ordinary pickles.
"That powder's used in the brine," Leander explained when he caught her look. "That's why it smells different."
"And looks different too," added Cel when she caught the sight of the splotches of red on the pickle. Leander shrugged.
"Best get used to it, princess," he said cheerfully, pulling a handful out of the barrel and placing them in a pot. Whistling to himself, Leander started working on building a fire in the hearth. It dawned on Cel that Leander was perhaps the most cheerful person she'd ever met. While Sen had small, easy smiles, Leander made no exuse to break into huge grins, all of his perfect teeth flashing.
"You cook your pickles??" Cel cried incredulously as he hung the pot over the fire. Leander nodded as he sprinkled powder over the pickles and filled the pot with water.
"I take it that ye haven't ever tried it, eh princess?" He eyed her dough. "Ready for baking?"
"Why not?" laughed Cel. Leander gestured to a large stove next to the hearth. Obediently Cel set the dough inside, doubtful that it would actually turn into bread. "Now what about meat?"
"That barrel, to your right," Leander answered. "Salted meat. The barrel next to it is jerky. We'll have our salted meat for lunch. Fresh meat comes at dinner." Making a face, Cel reached into the barrel and pulled out a wrapped cut of salted meat.
"You cover this with that powder too?" she guessed as she set it on the stone table.
"We'll need more bread an' meat than that, princess," Leander told her. "And yea, we do cover it wi' the powder. It's called Gamelin in our tongue. First discovered by Gamelin the Foreigner."
Cel pulled more slices of meat from the barrel until Leander stopped her with the raise of his hand. She then began to unwrap them and wrinkled her nose at the smell of salt. Chuckling, Leander covered them with Gamelin. He handed a simple knife to Cel, gesturing to the meat. Understanding, Cel began to cut the meat into smaller slices. Leander began making more bread.
"Tomorrow yur to do all this by yeself, princess, so pay attention," Leander said as he pulled eggs from yet another barrel. So many barrels! Cel didn't think she'd be able to remember which was which, and she told this to Leander.
"I don't think I'll remember what goes in which barrel."
"Ah, read the lids. Ye can read Minen, can't ye? Why, being a princess an' all." His tone was casual, but his eyes regarded her carefully. Cel shivered as she realised that this was a test.
"I can read a bit," Cel said slowly. It wasn't an outright lie; she did know a few words in Dwarvish, or Minen as Leander called it. None of them happened to be food, though. "But I doubt the little that I know could be of use here."
"What do ye know?" Leander asked, returning to kneading the dough. Chewing on her lip thoughtfully, Cel tried to remember what she'd learned. Her former life as a princess had seemed so long ago!
"Directions," Cel said. "And I can recognize a few names. Mostly famous dwarvish Kings." Instantly Leander whirled on her, his humorous lavender eyes now wild and angry.
"What did ye say?" he growled. Gulping, Cel averted her eyes. She'd done it now, she'd called them Dwarves. Hadn't Sen warned her about this? Now they were probably going to turn her out into the freezing cold or worse--send her back to her stepmother.
"I-I'm so sorry! That...it just came out, and I...I'll never say it again! It's just that I-I'm so used to that word...and I know it's insulting, and...I'm sorry, but you..." she trailed off helplessly. Leander wordlessly walked to the hearth and pulled the pot of boiling pickles from the hearth, setting it on the floor. For the rest of the morning he spoke not another word to her and hardly made eye contact, his face almost blank. Sometimes Cel caught him sneaking glances at her, his eyes wary, the light of humor gone.
She felt horrible and hated herself for letting the words slip. By the time they all settled down in the banquet hall for lunch, Cel sorely missed Leander's laughter. What good was being able to speak when it caused trouble like this?
Chapter Twelve~
Soon Cel discovered that the afternoons were spent in sweeping, mopping, washing, and sewing until Sen brought the meat. Then she was to cook until dusk. Leander still did not speak to her once for the rest of the day, and Cel somehow knew that to apologize would not make things better.
Since the caves had been cleaned only a few days before, and the laundry only yesterday, Cel did not have much to do except mend Gaelan's trousers and one of Adon's stockings. Leander had tossed her a few yards of fabric with which to make her own clothing. The fabric was rough, coarse and undyed. She'd started on a simple dress when Sen arrived with a boar. Cel gasped.
"A boar!" she cried in admiration. Sen sighed.
"It wasn't my choice. Boars are hard to eat, but this one attacked me, and I hadn't come across any other game. I do not envy you the trouble you will have in attempting to cook this beast."
Sen was right in that the boar was difficult to cook. Leander's jaw had dropped nearly to the floor when he saw the boar. Shaking his head, he took it from Sen in dismay.
"What have ye done, Sen? Are ye trying t' kill me?" he muttered.
"No praise, Leander?"
"Praise? Why praise? When ye bring home a bear, I might praise ye then," Leander grunted as he pulled the spear from the boar's chest. "Or I may not. Bring me home a bear t' cook an' I might kill ye, Sen."
"Ah, but then who would hunt for you?" Sen answered. "A bear would last us until the spring, I think. It's a good thought." Leander grumbled, pulling two arrows from the boar's head.
"Waste o' good weaponry," Leander spat. Sen cocked his head to the side.
"It's not as if we have any BAD weaponry. What's the thorn in your side today, Leander? Or will you not tell me?"
"I'm in a black mood, an' I don't care t' tell ye why," snapped Leander. "Though this boar did nothin' t' make me day better."
"Well, I'd best report to Bazek now," Sen said, stepping out the doorway. "He's probably saved the worst of the mining for me. Hope you're in a better mood by supper."
"'Doubt it," Leander grumbled as Sen left. He tossed the bloodied arrows onto the floor. Grabbing a meat cleaver, he began to skin the boar. Cel felt sick as she watched him work vigorously to cut through the thick hide. Covering her mouth to force down the bile that was rising, Cel fled the kitchen. Once she was in the hallway, she retched freely.
When her head cleared a bit, she returned to the kitchen. As wordlessly as Leander, Cel began making more bread, careful not to look at Leander or the bloody mess on the stone table. She'd baked bread, cooked pickles, cooked vegetables, prepared the stew, and assembled the dried fruit onto earthen bowls by the time Leander was finished with the boar.
Supper was much different from the night before. They began to eat at once, speaking loudly to each other in a tongue Cel assumed was Minen. Minen was different from all the other languages Cel knew--the Common Tongue, Telrenaise, and Seawess. Her tutor had only briefly reviewed Elvish and Minen, as well as bits of Mornth, Landek, and Seish. Cel knew not a word of what they were saying, but she soon derived at the conclusion that 'Valei' meant ale.
Leander was quiet, as he was the night before. His hair was again slicked back with water, and he only listened to the conversations, never taking part. Cel wondered why he was so different when he dined than that morning in the kitchen when he was so merry. Now he lounged casually in his chair, yet seemed was somehow serious at the same time. His expression was calm and cool, as if he were emotionless or simply choosing to mask them. In short, Leander seemed to be an entirely different person.
Sen also did not speak. He kept his eyes on her, his expression the same as Leander's. He sat with his back straight, his manner calm and composed. Then he offered her another of his easy smiles.
"Feeling left out?" he asked her in the Common Tongue. Sighing, Cel set down her fork. She'd had her fill of boar. It was tough, and now her jaws ached from the chewing.
"I only know a little Minen," she admitted, glancing toward Leander. He was watching them with guarded eyes.
"It's not as if they're saying anything terribly interesting anyway," Sen consoled. "Adon and Kistur are arguing over mining techniques. Gaelan is adding his wisdom, as usual. Bazek is trying to change the topic of conversation."
"I still wish I knew more Minen," Cel sighed. Sen set down his silverware and leaned back into his chair. Glancing from him to Leander, she saw that they were now sitting in identical positions.
"I'm sure you know by now that Valei means ale," he said, smiling. "Arco means the boar, or at least cooked boar. They speak in Minen because they choose to ignore your presence. I believe it is working quite well, judging from your expression."
"Are they talking about me?" Cel asked when he saw Kistur glancing at her with dislike. Sen stiffened.
"Of course not. It would be rude. If we were speaking about you, we would be sure to speak in Common Tongue, so that at least you will know what we are saying of you."
"That's fair," Cel said slowly, "though I don't like to be talked about, in Common Tongue or in Minen."
"Neither does anyone else, but it happens. We believe that if you are going to speak badly of anyone else, you should at least let them hear you speak of them in this manner. To not do so would be..." Sen struggled visibly for the word. "To not do so would be...dishonorable, sneaky."
"Why is it that you don't speak with an accent?" Cel asked suddenly. "The others do, but you speak Common Tongue so...well."
"I would prefer not to discuss this," Sen said, his smile falling. Leander leaned forward then.
"He prefers not t' discuss it 'cause it involves his mother," Leander explained. "An' his mother isn't exactly in high favor with our people. Ye see, his mother was not--"
"That's enough, Leander," Sen interuppted. Though he did not raise his voice, his tone implied the warning. Leander shrugged and leaned back into his seat.
"Yul figure it out soon enough," Leander finished. Cel gave Sen an apologetic look.
"I didn't mean to pry," she said. "It was meant to be a compliment."
"A compliment to speak a foreign tongue better than my own?" Cel heard the edge of bitterness in his statement.
"What do you mean? I mean, if by that I'm not prying," Cel added. Glaring at Leander, Sen met her eyes slowly, his black eyes filled with spots of orange from the reflected torchlight.
"You are prying," he said simply.
"She's gone, Ranita," Lada told her bluntly. "It's been more than a week since anyone's seen her. She must've run off."
"No!" Ranita cried, sobbing. "Snowy would...Snowy'd never run off!" Lada held the crying woman, crooning words into her ear. "She can't be gone! What'd I do without her?"
"Move on," Lada replied. "You're a survivor, Ranita. You lived when your family burned, you continued when your husband was executed, you didn't betray us when they tortured you, and you moved on when Tusa died. You'll move on again."
"My heart can't take it," Ranita whimpered. "How much loss can one woman take? How much sufferin' can ya endure 'fore ya break? She has to come back, she has to."
"And what if she doesn't?" Lada said reasonably. "You'll spend the rest of your life hoping for something that will never happen."
"She'll come. Maybe she got lost, but she'll come," Ranita declared wildly. "She has to."
"You're just setting yourself up for disappointment," Lada said impatiently. "The sooner you accept that she ran off, the sooner you can move on."
"She didn't run off!" Ranita shrieked. "She got lost an' had trouble findin' her way back! But she'll come back!"
"What if she got lost and starved to death?" Lada said coldly.
"That's what ya want to think! Ya only want to believe the worst!"
"Now Ranita...why would I do that? I'm usually the one who thinks the best of things, but....Ranita, she just ran off. I mean, what did we ever know about her in the first place? She was a complete stranger to us, Ranita."
"Not to me!"
"Well, I know you thought of her as your daughter, but she wasn't. Think on the bright side--at least you won't have all those boys pestering you about her anymore," Lada joked. Ranita's eyes widened.
"That's what this is all about? About them boys? About how them boys're all after my Snowy, leaving your daughters alone? Ya took Snowy into the woods, didn't you??" Ranita acused wildly. "Ya took her out into tha woods, got her all lost, just so them boys would oggle after your daughters! Wicked woman!"
Lada backed away from the ranting woman in fright. Ranita flung herself at Lada, tackling her to the ground. Lada cried out as she shielded herself from the blows of the crazy Ranita. Ranita's eyes were wild; she beat at Lada with a crazed frenzy. Onlookers struggled to pull Ranita up.
"I hate ya Lada!" Ranita snapped. "I hate ya!" Lada touched her swelling face as two men kept Ranita at a distance.
"You are no longer in your right mind," one of them told her. "The Council will hear of this."
"I am in my right mind!" Ranita cried. "It's Lada that's crazy!!"
"That's for the Council to decide," the other told her calmly. "They'll see if you're fit enough to stay with us. We can't have crazy people in the Elven Circle. You'd be a danger to us all."
"Ya'd turn me out?" Ranita gasped. "After all I did for ya? I was one o' the first! I helped build the Circle with my bare hands! Ya can't turn me out!"
"But we can't have an insane person among us either," he told her. "Now let's go."
Ranita let them drag her along, numb. First she lost Snowy, and now the Elven Circle was turning her out. Or, if they thought she would betray them, they would kill her. Ranita understood the system. She had, after all, helped create it. Now she was losing her place here. She had lost everything that ever mattered to her.
Her world was falling apart.
Chapter Ten~
There were six of them. Six of them sat at one end of the huge oak table in a dining hall fit for a dozen of giants. To their right were hundreds of wooden chairs, sturdy and plain. The table itself was long and narrow, worn smooth until it shone, reflecting the circle of torchlight hugging the rock walls. On it lay roasted meat, dried vegetables, ale, and candles. The aroma nearly made the half-starving Cel drool.
The dining hall was an oval cave, the ceiling hundreds of feet above them so that Cel wondered how it was that they were still inside the mountain. The walls of the hall were carved in patterns that seemed to make her feel light-headed. Several such carvings were on the columns that supported the ceiling, two rows of columns neatly laid around the dining table.
At the head of the table sat King Basilius. To his right was Gaelan, to his left, as Cel soon learned, was the fearless Leander. Kistur sat next to Leander, Sen was seated beside Kistur. On the other side of the table, across from Kistur was the extremely handsome Adon. Cel sat at his right side.
"Sen, explain," King Basilius demanded gruffly. He was the same height as Gaelan, with his auburn beard worn long. A rough golden circlet was the only visible symbol that he was a King, as his face was dirty and his hair unwashed. Yet an air of authority came from him, his good posture showing his royalty. In the depths of those light green eyes there was cunning.
Sen stood and bowed deeply. "My king, I was hunting when I happened to cross a frozen river with a floating maiden in its icy depths. I rescued her and brought her here, so that she could receive shelter and healing."
"Did ye hunt today?" King Basilius demanded after a moment of silence.
"Three hares, one small buck, and a pheasant, highness." Sen gestured toward the table. King Basilius grunted, then eyed Cel warily.
"Did ye question her?" he asked, looking her over. His expression was guarded, so Cel had no idea what the king thought of her. She squirmed. Even though she had washed her face free of the mud, her hair was unruly, leaves and twigs tangled in its layers, still damp and dripping at the ends. Most of the foliage was gone now, and she'd replaited sections of her hair, but without a mirror she could not tell if that helped much. Because her own clothes were set to dry, she'd borrowed Sen's clothes. He was much taller than her, but she rolled up the sleeves and the edges of the leather trousers. As far as the shoes went, Gaelan had lended his boots. Now, sitting before the King Basilius, she felt dirty and uncourteous dressed in men's clothing.
"No I did not, highness," Sen admitted, glancing at Cel. "Though I am sure she means us no harm as she--"
"Don't make assumptions, childling!" King Basilius roared, beating the table with a large fist. "That's what started our trouble in the firs' place. Did anyone else question the lass?"
"I did, highness," Gaelan said, standing. He bowed, but not as deeply as Sen had. "Her name is Snow White. Lass's been mute fer the last four years."
"If I may be so bold, highness," Kistur said loudly as he, too, stood and bowed, "I believe that she deserves naught our food nor help. She's a spy. No good has ever come of a Child of the Mines trustin' a sun-dweller." At this he eyed her with suspicion and distrust.
"What proof have ye of this, Kistur?" King Basilius demanded, bushy eyebrows furrowing. Cel felt better at his sense of justice, or at least his honor. Kistur shrugged.
"She's rude. Refuses to talk. Now, isn't that suspicious?" He turned to Adon. "Don't ye agree?"
"Aye," Adon said, rising as well. Now Leander and Cel were the only ones seated. "Never can a Child of the Sun be trusted! Our ancestors have been betrayed enough. We must learn from their mistakes." Adon was as an inch taller than King Basilius, built with the same bulging muscles and broad chest as all the other men, save Sen. Blond locks curled around his face, a neat beard at his chin. Cel had not looked at him closely before, but now she stared at him. He was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. Everything about him was perfectly proportioned and exactly semetrical. The nose on his face was exactly the right size and in the very center of his face, his pale blue opticals spaced correctly apart.
Gaelan sat down, his face unreadable. Kistur and Adon followed suit, leaving Sen standing. Obviously flustered, his fists were clenched before him. King Basilius frowned.
"I suppose that ye wish to speak on her behalf?"
"I do," Sen answered, to which King Basilius sighed. "We have no proof that she is a spy. Please let us hear her story before judging her." Then he took his seat in a graceful manner.
"He speaks wisely," Gaelan said. "Listen to him, for it is not to be said that the Children of the Mine make hasty judgements." To her, he said, "Let us hear your tale, Lady Snow White. Entertain us, and perhaps you may further enjoy our hospitality."
Suddenly, Cel understood Gaelan's importance. Only one position would enable him to give her a command without the king's consent. Gaelan was the king's advisor.
"Your majesty," Cel croaked, attempting to recall every conversation her father had ever had and draw eloquent phrases from them. "I am in your debt. Without the compassion of you and your people, I would certainly be--" she paused, trying to find the right words.
"Oh, out with it already," Kistur grumbled. "No need with the fancy pleasantries. Yer tale."
"My tale," repeated Cel. "I--I was born..." she faltered. How truly could she trust these strangers? Did she dare tell them her name? An image of them dragging her off to the palace crossed her mind.
"Ye see, m' leige!" Kistur burst. "She 'esitates! Surely this is a sign that she is a liar, for why else would she--"
"Silence," King Basilius said dangerously. Instantly Kistur closed his mouth but comforted himself with looking displeased.
"I lied to you before," Cel said suddenly. She glared at Kistur. "My true name is Icelynai-Bianca of the Phalogn line. My mother was Elyce Hermione Dae-Shinta of Canelrie. My father is King Victor Phalogn."
There was a moment of silence following this outburst. Then, Leander spoke for the first time. "'Tis possible."
"She is a liar," Kistur grumbled. "The princess disappeared years ago."
"Exactly," Leander replied coolly. "They never found her. 'Tis very possible that she might be the lost princess." His lavender eyes regarding her. Multi-colored hair--black strands, blond, brown, and red--were slicked back with water from a widow's peak. A smile danced on his lips, above a small beard that only spanned across his chin. Instantly Cel decided that she liked him.
"Nay," Adon declared. "Ye would think a human childling could spin better lies."
"That is unfair, brother," Leander answered. Adon glowered at him.
"I never thought I'd see the day when ye sided with Sen," Adon spat. "Brother, yer no longer right in the mind."
"I only say what I think. She firs' said that her name was Snow White." Leander smiled wryly. "Icelynai-Bianca does mean Snow White, eh lass?" Cel nodded vigorously, provoking a chuckled from Leander. "So, either she had her lie down from the start, which I doubt, or she's plain telling the truth. What say ye, Gaelan?"
"We should test 'er, I say," Gaelan commented. "Lass, who is yer sister?"
"My stepsister is Silvea Blanche Chastity. She's older by about six or seven years. Her favorite drink is lemon water, and her favorite dance is the waltz," Cel added for good measure. With her eyes she dared them to argue. They eyed each other.
"She could've heard that anywhere," Adon said.
"True," Gaelan admitted. "Why should we trust ye?"
"Because I trusted you with my secret," Cel answered. "I ran away when I was eleven, when Silvea married Prince Zachiriah. My stepmother hates me, you see, and I didn't feel like marrying Maximillian of Veseld. I'd intended to run to Telren." She flushed, feeling stupid. "I got lost in the woods, and stumbled across...across a village. These people took me in. I lived there for the last four years."
"And then?" Gaelan prodded.
"Then I ran away from the village. Because...I don't know why I ran away," Cel admitted. "It just didn't feel safe anymore, like maybe Stepmother was close to finding me." Forcing a laugh, Cel remarked, "I know I sound silly."
"'Course ye do," Kistur muttered. "If yer truly the Princess, then tell me where the Mirror of Lady Lleilanellyn is hidden." He smirked.
Cel inhaled sharply. The Mirror of Lady Lleilanellyn. At three, she first heard of it from the servants. When asked, her father refused to speak of it, so she'd pieced together the story from palace gossip.
Then, when she was nine, she saw it. She didn't think the huge reflecting surface in her stepmother's private chambers was anything special. Not until she looked closely at the frame. Carved prettily onto it were the words: "To my wife, the Mirror of Lady Lleilaneyllyn I give to you. From the Morth-He I salvaged it as a token of my love. Victor."
"Of course I know where it is," Cel retorted. "It's in my stepmother's private chambers. I was sneaking around to spite her, and I saw it."
"How did you know that it was the Mirror?" Gaelan asked.
"It's framed. There was a carving on the side, and it read 'To my wife, the Mirror of Lady Lleilaneyllyn I give to you.' I just assumed."
"Anyone could've made that lie up," Kistur complained.
"Your lineage," Gaelan probed.
"My mother was Elyce Hermione Dae-Shinta of Canelrie, daughter of Baron Alecsandar of Canelrie and Waveild, son of Baron Henric d'Ammanh of Canelrie and Waveild, son of Baron Rulon Lothar of Canelrie and Waveild, son of Duke Yevgenyi of Canelrie and Waveild, son of Duke Ondro Perrin of Canelrie, son of Duke Stasik da Gautier of Canelrie, son of Sir Malory Woodville of Canelrie, son of Sir Tudor Graham of Canelrie, son of Sir Thaddus from Canelrie." Cel paused and drained her mug of ale. The foul taste made her wince, but it soothed her scratchy throat. "My father was King Victor Phalogn, son of King Uaine Phalogn, son of King Malcom Oratio Phalogn, son of King Valdemar Phalogn, son of King Reuban Phalogn, son of King Lafayette Phalogn, son King Francis Phalgon, son of King Riordan Tavo Phalogn, son of Prince Vladimar Phalogn."
"O' course she'd know that if she was a spy!" Kistur snapped. "They'd see to it!"
King Basilius sighed. "What can we do? For now, we'll trust yer story. Let us decide if it's true or not another day. For now, we eat."
Cel breathed a sigh of relief. As she hungrily attacked her food, she knew that she was only given a little more time. What she needed now was proof.
Chapter Eleven~
Sen woke her early the next day and showed Cel her chores. It appeared that it was Cel's duty to do "women's work"--cooking, cleaning, washing, sewing, mending, and the like. She was shown the kitchen, which had an enormous hearth and various worn-looking pots, the nearest river, where to collect the dirty laundry, and the supply room. Sen also gave her a brief tour of the living area of the tunnels, warning her never to venture into the mines.
"Stay down here, in the dwelling caves," he said. "The mines are...dangerous. You could easily grow lost or be crushed under a the collapse of a weak tunnel."
"I'll stay here," Cel promised, and Sen smiled. She found that he liked his smile, which was fortunate since he smiled easily.
"Lunch is at high noon," he continued. "Supper is at dusk. You'll be able to view the sun from the window in the kitchen. See it?" He pointed at a hole in the ceiling. "I'd best start hunting now. Game has been scarce lately, and Bazek will be furious if I don't bring anything home. He's angry enough that I don't do any of the mining, but nobody else can hunt, so what can we do?"
"Bazek?" Cel repeated, confused. Sen started.
"Oh. I mean King Basilius. Don't tell anyone that you heard me call him Bazek." It was more of a plea, for all that it was stated as a question. Cel smiled.
"Don't worry, I wouldn't do that."
"Alright then. 'Til the sun climbs high, princess." He bowed deep, the proper degree for a person to foreign royalty. She waved an arm in protest at this.
"Please, just 'Cel' would be enough. I'm not a princess anymore," she said. It seemed as if his eyes darkened a tone, though this was technically impossible since his eyes were black.
"I apologize for the behavior of my kinsmen, princess, especially my brother," Sen said. "You are a princess, and you should be treated as such."
"Brother?" Cel repeated. A corner of Sen's lip curved upward. "Kistur is your brother? Pardon me, but there isn't much by way of physical resemblance."
"No, there isn't," Sen laughed. "We're hearth-brothers."
"Hearth-brothers?" The implied question was, of course, What is a hearth-brother?
"As Children of the Mines--"
"Dwarves," Cel breathed, then caught herself. "Oh, I'm sorry! That--that just came out!"
"Yes, as the Children of the Sun call us." He held his arms out, as if for inspection. "But we hardly appear to be anything like Human dwarves, is this not true? Let not my kinsmen hear you utter this word, for they loathe it."
"And do you?" The question was spoken before Cel realized that it was perhaps rude to ask such personal questions of her rescuer.
"Yes," Sen answered, a flash of pain crossing his face. Then he shook himself. "As I was saying, as Children of the Mines we are at a young age pledged to one other, our hearth-brother, whom we must always protect and never betray. If one brother commits a crime against the Children of the Mines, the other must suffer the punishment as well. This way we look out for each other, keeping the other out of trouble's reach. Kistur is mine, as Adon is Leander's."
"But you're so different!" protested Cel.
"I think that they intended on that when they chose our brothers, perhaps so that we can learn from each other," Sen mused aloud. "But Leander and Adon are much alike. Both are fearless in battle, the most valiant fighters you've ever seen."
"Have you been in battle before?"
"You ask many questions," Sen told her, smiling wryly. "Yes, I have been in battle before, the last one barely fifty years ago."
"Fifty!" Cel was stunned. Sen looked only as if he were eighteen, so how could he be over fifty? "How old are you?" Cel demanded.
"Two hundred and forty-eight," Sen answered, amused. "We Children of the Mines have notably longer lives than your kind."
Cel cursed under her breath. Had her tutor not told her? Dwarves were known to live close to a thousand years, sometimes longer. She wondered how she could of forgotten this. They were there own race, for all that people often confused them with human dwarves. Their culture revolved around mining, their nature usually gruff. It was known that Dwarves were suspicious of other people, and disliked associating with them. In fact, Dwarves were also known to rarely associate with each other, each clan keeping to themselves. They were not social people, or so the royal tutor had taught her.
"The day's long begun," another voice boomed behind Sen. Leander's shaggy head appeared next to Sen's, his lavender eyes twinkling a greeting to Cel. "I think that ye'd best start the hunt, as I'd best show our visitin' princess here how to cook a decent meal."
"I can cook," Cel protested. Leander laughed, a deep rumbling from his chest. It reminded her rather much of a lion's roar.
"Not the food that we like to eat, princess." He gave Sen a friendly shove out the door. "Off with ye." Sen bowed again to Cel before leaving the large cave. Leander kicked at a large barrel in the corner. "Know what this is, princess?"
"Rice?" she guessed. Leander guffawed and took off the top. She spotted speckles of color. "Beans?"
"Ah, nay." Leander ran a hand through his thick hair, which unlike the night before was very messy now and much of it hung in his eyes. "I forget that yur a Child of the Sun and don't know these things. It's a type of food that my people like. It's cooked with everything."
"Cooked with everything?" Cel asked curiously. Leander scooped a handful of it up. It was a fine powder, reddish brown in color, though there were spots of white and green as well as black. Dipping a finger in it, Cel tasted it. Instantly she spat it back out. "It's horrible!"
"Ye didn't seem t' think so last night, princess," Leander said as he filled a cup with it. Cel gaped at him in horror.
"You mean I ATE that last night?" He chuckled.
"It flavored yur meat, spiced yur ale, an' helped make yur bread. Ye didn't notice?"
Now that he mentioned it, Cel vaguely remembered the extra, strange taste of the food. Somewhat spicy and bitter at the same time, with an extra tinge of something she didn't know. So that's what it was.
"I suppose it doesn't taste that bad when it's cooked," she said. Leander grunted as he cracked two eggs and dropped the yolks into the cup. "Where did the eggs come from?" It was, after all, wintertime. Leander eyed her curiously.
"Why, Mortagels, o' course," he cried. "What other bird lays in the winter?" Cel's brows furrowed as she tried to understand what Leander was saying.
"Mortagels? I've never heard of such a bird. Wait--do you mean Mertingales?" she asked, watching as he made dough from the powder and eggs. Leander grunted.
"If that's what ye call them, princess." He kneaded the dough expertly. Catching her approving look, Leander grinned rather wolfishly. "I was the cook b'fore ye came a-long. Here, why don't you knead the dough?" Cel took his place and placed her knuckles cautiously into the brownish muck. It FELT like ordinary dough, at least.
"So for lunch we have bread made with this," Cel summarized. "What else?" Leander opened another barrel and pulled out a pickle. Cel wrinkled her nose at the smell. She'd never liked pickles before, but this one smelled even worse than ordinary pickles.
"That powder's used in the brine," Leander explained when he caught her look. "That's why it smells different."
"And looks different too," added Cel when she caught the sight of the splotches of red on the pickle. Leander shrugged.
"Best get used to it, princess," he said cheerfully, pulling a handful out of the barrel and placing them in a pot. Whistling to himself, Leander started working on building a fire in the hearth. It dawned on Cel that Leander was perhaps the most cheerful person she'd ever met. While Sen had small, easy smiles, Leander made no exuse to break into huge grins, all of his perfect teeth flashing.
"You cook your pickles??" Cel cried incredulously as he hung the pot over the fire. Leander nodded as he sprinkled powder over the pickles and filled the pot with water.
"I take it that ye haven't ever tried it, eh princess?" He eyed her dough. "Ready for baking?"
"Why not?" laughed Cel. Leander gestured to a large stove next to the hearth. Obediently Cel set the dough inside, doubtful that it would actually turn into bread. "Now what about meat?"
"That barrel, to your right," Leander answered. "Salted meat. The barrel next to it is jerky. We'll have our salted meat for lunch. Fresh meat comes at dinner." Making a face, Cel reached into the barrel and pulled out a wrapped cut of salted meat.
"You cover this with that powder too?" she guessed as she set it on the stone table.
"We'll need more bread an' meat than that, princess," Leander told her. "And yea, we do cover it wi' the powder. It's called Gamelin in our tongue. First discovered by Gamelin the Foreigner."
Cel pulled more slices of meat from the barrel until Leander stopped her with the raise of his hand. She then began to unwrap them and wrinkled her nose at the smell of salt. Chuckling, Leander covered them with Gamelin. He handed a simple knife to Cel, gesturing to the meat. Understanding, Cel began to cut the meat into smaller slices. Leander began making more bread.
"Tomorrow yur to do all this by yeself, princess, so pay attention," Leander said as he pulled eggs from yet another barrel. So many barrels! Cel didn't think she'd be able to remember which was which, and she told this to Leander.
"I don't think I'll remember what goes in which barrel."
"Ah, read the lids. Ye can read Minen, can't ye? Why, being a princess an' all." His tone was casual, but his eyes regarded her carefully. Cel shivered as she realised that this was a test.
"I can read a bit," Cel said slowly. It wasn't an outright lie; she did know a few words in Dwarvish, or Minen as Leander called it. None of them happened to be food, though. "But I doubt the little that I know could be of use here."
"What do ye know?" Leander asked, returning to kneading the dough. Chewing on her lip thoughtfully, Cel tried to remember what she'd learned. Her former life as a princess had seemed so long ago!
"Directions," Cel said. "And I can recognize a few names. Mostly famous dwarvish Kings." Instantly Leander whirled on her, his humorous lavender eyes now wild and angry.
"What did ye say?" he growled. Gulping, Cel averted her eyes. She'd done it now, she'd called them Dwarves. Hadn't Sen warned her about this? Now they were probably going to turn her out into the freezing cold or worse--send her back to her stepmother.
"I-I'm so sorry! That...it just came out, and I...I'll never say it again! It's just that I-I'm so used to that word...and I know it's insulting, and...I'm sorry, but you..." she trailed off helplessly. Leander wordlessly walked to the hearth and pulled the pot of boiling pickles from the hearth, setting it on the floor. For the rest of the morning he spoke not another word to her and hardly made eye contact, his face almost blank. Sometimes Cel caught him sneaking glances at her, his eyes wary, the light of humor gone.
She felt horrible and hated herself for letting the words slip. By the time they all settled down in the banquet hall for lunch, Cel sorely missed Leander's laughter. What good was being able to speak when it caused trouble like this?
Chapter Twelve~
Soon Cel discovered that the afternoons were spent in sweeping, mopping, washing, and sewing until Sen brought the meat. Then she was to cook until dusk. Leander still did not speak to her once for the rest of the day, and Cel somehow knew that to apologize would not make things better.
Since the caves had been cleaned only a few days before, and the laundry only yesterday, Cel did not have much to do except mend Gaelan's trousers and one of Adon's stockings. Leander had tossed her a few yards of fabric with which to make her own clothing. The fabric was rough, coarse and undyed. She'd started on a simple dress when Sen arrived with a boar. Cel gasped.
"A boar!" she cried in admiration. Sen sighed.
"It wasn't my choice. Boars are hard to eat, but this one attacked me, and I hadn't come across any other game. I do not envy you the trouble you will have in attempting to cook this beast."
Sen was right in that the boar was difficult to cook. Leander's jaw had dropped nearly to the floor when he saw the boar. Shaking his head, he took it from Sen in dismay.
"What have ye done, Sen? Are ye trying t' kill me?" he muttered.
"No praise, Leander?"
"Praise? Why praise? When ye bring home a bear, I might praise ye then," Leander grunted as he pulled the spear from the boar's chest. "Or I may not. Bring me home a bear t' cook an' I might kill ye, Sen."
"Ah, but then who would hunt for you?" Sen answered. "A bear would last us until the spring, I think. It's a good thought." Leander grumbled, pulling two arrows from the boar's head.
"Waste o' good weaponry," Leander spat. Sen cocked his head to the side.
"It's not as if we have any BAD weaponry. What's the thorn in your side today, Leander? Or will you not tell me?"
"I'm in a black mood, an' I don't care t' tell ye why," snapped Leander. "Though this boar did nothin' t' make me day better."
"Well, I'd best report to Bazek now," Sen said, stepping out the doorway. "He's probably saved the worst of the mining for me. Hope you're in a better mood by supper."
"'Doubt it," Leander grumbled as Sen left. He tossed the bloodied arrows onto the floor. Grabbing a meat cleaver, he began to skin the boar. Cel felt sick as she watched him work vigorously to cut through the thick hide. Covering her mouth to force down the bile that was rising, Cel fled the kitchen. Once she was in the hallway, she retched freely.
When her head cleared a bit, she returned to the kitchen. As wordlessly as Leander, Cel began making more bread, careful not to look at Leander or the bloody mess on the stone table. She'd baked bread, cooked pickles, cooked vegetables, prepared the stew, and assembled the dried fruit onto earthen bowls by the time Leander was finished with the boar.
Supper was much different from the night before. They began to eat at once, speaking loudly to each other in a tongue Cel assumed was Minen. Minen was different from all the other languages Cel knew--the Common Tongue, Telrenaise, and Seawess. Her tutor had only briefly reviewed Elvish and Minen, as well as bits of Mornth, Landek, and Seish. Cel knew not a word of what they were saying, but she soon derived at the conclusion that 'Valei' meant ale.
Leander was quiet, as he was the night before. His hair was again slicked back with water, and he only listened to the conversations, never taking part. Cel wondered why he was so different when he dined than that morning in the kitchen when he was so merry. Now he lounged casually in his chair, yet seemed was somehow serious at the same time. His expression was calm and cool, as if he were emotionless or simply choosing to mask them. In short, Leander seemed to be an entirely different person.
Sen also did not speak. He kept his eyes on her, his expression the same as Leander's. He sat with his back straight, his manner calm and composed. Then he offered her another of his easy smiles.
"Feeling left out?" he asked her in the Common Tongue. Sighing, Cel set down her fork. She'd had her fill of boar. It was tough, and now her jaws ached from the chewing.
"I only know a little Minen," she admitted, glancing toward Leander. He was watching them with guarded eyes.
"It's not as if they're saying anything terribly interesting anyway," Sen consoled. "Adon and Kistur are arguing over mining techniques. Gaelan is adding his wisdom, as usual. Bazek is trying to change the topic of conversation."
"I still wish I knew more Minen," Cel sighed. Sen set down his silverware and leaned back into his chair. Glancing from him to Leander, she saw that they were now sitting in identical positions.
"I'm sure you know by now that Valei means ale," he said, smiling. "Arco means the boar, or at least cooked boar. They speak in Minen because they choose to ignore your presence. I believe it is working quite well, judging from your expression."
"Are they talking about me?" Cel asked when he saw Kistur glancing at her with dislike. Sen stiffened.
"Of course not. It would be rude. If we were speaking about you, we would be sure to speak in Common Tongue, so that at least you will know what we are saying of you."
"That's fair," Cel said slowly, "though I don't like to be talked about, in Common Tongue or in Minen."
"Neither does anyone else, but it happens. We believe that if you are going to speak badly of anyone else, you should at least let them hear you speak of them in this manner. To not do so would be..." Sen struggled visibly for the word. "To not do so would be...dishonorable, sneaky."
"Why is it that you don't speak with an accent?" Cel asked suddenly. "The others do, but you speak Common Tongue so...well."
"I would prefer not to discuss this," Sen said, his smile falling. Leander leaned forward then.
"He prefers not t' discuss it 'cause it involves his mother," Leander explained. "An' his mother isn't exactly in high favor with our people. Ye see, his mother was not--"
"That's enough, Leander," Sen interuppted. Though he did not raise his voice, his tone implied the warning. Leander shrugged and leaned back into his seat.
"Yul figure it out soon enough," Leander finished. Cel gave Sen an apologetic look.
"I didn't mean to pry," she said. "It was meant to be a compliment."
"A compliment to speak a foreign tongue better than my own?" Cel heard the edge of bitterness in his statement.
"What do you mean? I mean, if by that I'm not prying," Cel added. Glaring at Leander, Sen met her eyes slowly, his black eyes filled with spots of orange from the reflected torchlight.
"You are prying," he said simply.
"She's gone, Ranita," Lada told her bluntly. "It's been more than a week since anyone's seen her. She must've run off."
"No!" Ranita cried, sobbing. "Snowy would...Snowy'd never run off!" Lada held the crying woman, crooning words into her ear. "She can't be gone! What'd I do without her?"
"Move on," Lada replied. "You're a survivor, Ranita. You lived when your family burned, you continued when your husband was executed, you didn't betray us when they tortured you, and you moved on when Tusa died. You'll move on again."
"My heart can't take it," Ranita whimpered. "How much loss can one woman take? How much sufferin' can ya endure 'fore ya break? She has to come back, she has to."
"And what if she doesn't?" Lada said reasonably. "You'll spend the rest of your life hoping for something that will never happen."
"She'll come. Maybe she got lost, but she'll come," Ranita declared wildly. "She has to."
"You're just setting yourself up for disappointment," Lada said impatiently. "The sooner you accept that she ran off, the sooner you can move on."
"She didn't run off!" Ranita shrieked. "She got lost an' had trouble findin' her way back! But she'll come back!"
"What if she got lost and starved to death?" Lada said coldly.
"That's what ya want to think! Ya only want to believe the worst!"
"Now Ranita...why would I do that? I'm usually the one who thinks the best of things, but....Ranita, she just ran off. I mean, what did we ever know about her in the first place? She was a complete stranger to us, Ranita."
"Not to me!"
"Well, I know you thought of her as your daughter, but she wasn't. Think on the bright side--at least you won't have all those boys pestering you about her anymore," Lada joked. Ranita's eyes widened.
"That's what this is all about? About them boys? About how them boys're all after my Snowy, leaving your daughters alone? Ya took Snowy into the woods, didn't you??" Ranita acused wildly. "Ya took her out into tha woods, got her all lost, just so them boys would oggle after your daughters! Wicked woman!"
Lada backed away from the ranting woman in fright. Ranita flung herself at Lada, tackling her to the ground. Lada cried out as she shielded herself from the blows of the crazy Ranita. Ranita's eyes were wild; she beat at Lada with a crazed frenzy. Onlookers struggled to pull Ranita up.
"I hate ya Lada!" Ranita snapped. "I hate ya!" Lada touched her swelling face as two men kept Ranita at a distance.
"You are no longer in your right mind," one of them told her. "The Council will hear of this."
"I am in my right mind!" Ranita cried. "It's Lada that's crazy!!"
"That's for the Council to decide," the other told her calmly. "They'll see if you're fit enough to stay with us. We can't have crazy people in the Elven Circle. You'd be a danger to us all."
"Ya'd turn me out?" Ranita gasped. "After all I did for ya? I was one o' the first! I helped build the Circle with my bare hands! Ya can't turn me out!"
"But we can't have an insane person among us either," he told her. "Now let's go."
Ranita let them drag her along, numb. First she lost Snowy, and now the Elven Circle was turning her out. Or, if they thought she would betray them, they would kill her. Ranita understood the system. She had, after all, helped create it. Now she was losing her place here. She had lost everything that ever mattered to her.
Her world was falling apart.