strolling through the competition grounds.
“You two come along,” a proctor said urgently, tapping them on their shoulders.
“What for?” Vinetia asked suspiciously.
“We’re going to present the winners from this round of competition to the royals,” he looked at Kestrel with barely concealed dismay, as another proctor brought a third archer alongside them. They hurried over into the path of the royal party, and waited humbly until the royal group stopped close by and an aisle opened in the crowd.
“Your majesty, may we present three of your subjects who have earned the honor of competing in tomorrow’s ongoing tournament? Their archery skills are a testament to the highest ideals of the elven nation,” a herald announced, then paused, and looked at Kestrel as a muted titter ran through the audience.
“All of us are pleased to see how widespread the reputation of our competition has spread,” the king said graciously, drawing a smattering of appreciative applause, “And we look forward to seeing who will win the honor of wearing the princess’s colors for the next year.” His motion towards his daughter drew all eyes towards the younger woman on his right side.
She was not a beautiful person, not the way Dewberry or Lucretia was, but there was an indefinable appearance that made it difficult for Kestrel to move his eyes away from her. And she wore a strange black ribbon on her arm, he noticed, as did the king as well.
The herald ushered them to the side, their moment of glory over, and the procession moved onward, as Kestrel continued to examine the princess’s profile, and then hastily averted his eyes when she turned her head and seemed to stare directly back at him.
“She’s royalty, she’s pure-blooded elf from the time of the first tree, she’s too old for you, she’s a young widow and will stay in mourning for at least another year, and you are going to have dinner with Lucretia, so don’t be stupid,” Vinetia whispered harshly in his ear.
“She looked right at me!” Kestrel said breathlessly.
“Because you’re so ugly! She’s embarrassed to think that you might wear her colors for a year,” Vinetia growled, but smiled to relieve the sting of her words, which nonetheless resonated with Kestrel.
“Why did she and the king have those black strips on their sleeves?” he asked.
“That’s the royal way of showing mourning,” the female guard explained. “The king’s chamberlain died last week. They’ve had three people close to the king die in the past year, a lot of odd accidents.”
“Let’s go back to the linden tree and learn how the others did,” she added. They returned to their targets and retrieved their arrows, then walked across the field.
“You scored well enough to qualify on your own, didn’t you?” Kestrel asked as they walked. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” she said modestly. “But I wouldn’t have been in this round if you hadn’t carried our team through the last round.”
They reached the meeting spot a few minutes later, the first ones there, and unburdened themselves of their gear. Kestrel felt warm and sleepy in the late afternoon sun, so he sat down against the tree trunk with his eyes closed, and began to nap until he heard others arrive and talk to Vinetia. He opened his eyes and watched them chat until the last pair from their group arrived.
It turned out that Kestrel and Vinetia were the only ones to make it to the second day of competition, and it was considered a success for the squad to have anyone get that far; no one else had in the past several years. “He’s good enough to be guaranteed winning in the next round too,” Vinetia said proudly. “He’ll be in the finals, before the king and everyone, while the princess prays to Tamson that he not win and wear her colors!”
“Let’s go drop our things at the base and go out for dinner at the fair. What are we going to have tonight Lucretia?” asked a guard who Kestrel didn’t know.
“You can have whatever you want. I’ve already got plans tonight,” the blonde guard said with reserve, drawing hoots and questions from the others, but offering no clues.
When their trip across the city was finished, Vinetia pulled Kestrel aside. “Lucretia says that you are to meet her down in front of that leathermonger’s shop,” she pointed to her right down the road, “in an hour.”
Kestrel nodded his head, then impulsively grabbed her hand in his. “Thank you for taking me as your partner this morning, Vinetia. I know you’re good enough you could have gone with no partner at all.”
“You made it an interesting day, but don’t go soft on me now; we’ve still got tomorrow to get through,” she answered. “Have fun tonight, but not too much fun!” she warned, then they parted ways. Kestrel went to his room and put on his clean shirt, having sweated profusely throughout the afternoon competitions, then fidgeted for a while until he decided to walk down to the meeting place. As he went down one set of steps he heard several pairs of feet walking along his hallway, but he continued on and arrived at the appointed location several minutes early.
Lucretia arrived just a few minutes later, changed out of her uniform into a becoming outfit that Kestrel knew would make him the envy of every male elf who saw them together.
“I imagine you don’t want others to overhear the rest of your story,” Lucretia commented as she took his arm and led him into town, “so I thought we could go back to the fair, get some food from the vendors, then wander off to a secluded bower where we won’t be interrupted.”
Her plan made sense to Kestrel, so they began to stroll through the city again. “Where are you from?” Kestrel asked her as they walked.
“I’m from a village out in the far eastern frontier of the kingdom. There are a few elven villages further east than we are, but not many,” she replied.
“And what’s past that?” he asked.
“Woods. Trees, forest. Emptiness. No one knows how far it goes on. They say there’s a great lake on the other side, but it would take weeks and weeks to get there; there is a story that centaurs live on the other side of the lake; folks believe it — that’s why we don’t like to ride horses, you know. We certainly don’t have any humans around our part of the Eastern Forest,” she told him with a sidelong glance, “or sprites or water imps or gnomes or yetis. Just elves…boring elves.”
“Which is part of what makes you so interesting,” she added, glancing at him again. “How much human blood is in your veins? I’ve never seen anything but pictures of humans.”
“My grandfather was human, but I never met him,” Kestrel said. “I came close to humans when I looked at the forest fire remains about a week ago.”
“When was that?” Lucretia asked, as they arrived at the edge of the festive gathering.
“That’s when my whole adventure began. I was on my way to Center Trunk with the report about the fire, to give to Colonel Silvan, when I met Dewberry and you’ve heard that part of the story already,” he answered.
“You work for the spies?” she studied him with more than a sideways glance this time, and their stroll halted as they faced one another.
Kestrel remembered the reference the guide had made the night before. He too had known Silvan was a spy.
“I just carried a message to the colonel. I didn’t know he was a spy,” he answered.
They began to walk again. “He’s not just a spy; he’s the head of the spies. He reports directly to the king when he wants to,” Lucretia said, as they reached a vendor’s tent where baked potato skins were filled with minced venison and herbs. Kestrel stood in line and bought two, while Lucretia bought two skins of fruit juice.
“Follow me,” she spoke peremptorily, and began to dart through the crowd, then left the festival grounds and entered a seeming labyrinth of hedges and ornamental trees, until Lucretia ducked through a narrow gap between two bushes. Kestrel followed her in and found a cozy opening, about the size of a room, comfortably floored with a layer of soft, dry leaves, where Lucretia already sat, her legs extending off to one side as she patted a spot to indicate where he should sit next to her.
They exchanged foodstuffs and said nothing for a minute as they each began to eat their food.
“Okay,” Lucretia spoke first, “so you told me you were in your room when the sprite woke up and disappeared. What happened then?”
And so Kestrel resumed his tale, telling of Dewberry’s reappearances and the confusion they had created for the poor innkeeper. “So she granted you three wishes?” Lucretia asked.
“That’s sort of what she said,” Kestel agreed. He had finished his food, and lay comfortably on his back, and
