When they arrived at Marthlis’s town house, however, she felt a bit of familiarity. She had been in houses like this before. It was set up very similarly to the house she’d grown up in. This gave her a feeling of ease and readiness. Shestayed close to Dathor as they were taken into a sitting room on the first floor. The sitting room was set up in the classical sort of style, minimalistic smooth lines on the doors and windows, and the furniture was similarly understated. It was quite different from the ornate styles in the north and she noticed the way both of the orcs—Dathor and Gathren—looked around at it.
There were three other elves in the room.
All of them were blond. Two looked to be Marthlis’s age, but the other was younger, likely around Aerhril’s own age. He was in his early to mid twenties, she assumed. He was lounging against the wall, his pocket watch in hand. “Well, it’s about time,” he said.
“Iahir, calm yourself,” said Marthlis. “You said you had bought yourself the entire day.”
The young elf looked annoyed, but he put his pocket watch away. His gaze settled on Gathren. “Well. You never see the female ones, do you?” He looked her up and down, gaze skimming over her body.
Like most female orcs, Gathren was well-endowed. The orc women were curvier than elf women. Taller too, thicker, their skin gray-green. Because Gathren was some kind of soldieress or something, though, she had bound her breasts tightly against her chest, but they were so ample that she still didn’t look flat. In fact, Aerhril wasn’t certain that it didn’t make them appear even larger.
Gathren put her hand to her belt, where she had a knife.
Iahir met her gaze, and he suddenly smiled. When he did, Aerhril realized he was handsome in that sunny way of the fair elves.
Odd.
When had she begun to feel so distant from her own people?
Iahir ran his hand through his blond hair. He kept it short. It waved and fell carelessly over his forehead. He sat down and lifted his chin. “All right, orc. You say now’s the time we should strike against the High King. I’m the one who’s in position to do it, and I’ve been itching for it forsome time—”
“Shut your mouth, Iahir,” said Marthlis, sighing.
Iahir looked up at the ceiling, chuckling softly. “Typical,” he said.
Marthlis introduced the other two elves, but the names slipped into Aerhril’s head and back out again. He introduced Dathor, Gathren, and herself. And then he gestured to Iahir. “This is Iahir. He’s the son of the Envivtain nae Cirlahir.”
“Yes, and does anyone in this room ever address me with respect?” said Iahir.
“Yes, deeply sorry, my lord,” said Marthlis dryly. “He’s a rich brat of an elf who’s only here to make his father angry—”
“But I happen to be on the High King’s personal guard,” said Iahir, raising his eyebrows. “So, if you ever want someone to kill him, I’m your man. And it’s not about getting my father’s attention. It’s really about hating the High King. If you were on his personal guard, you would also hate him.” He smirked around at everyone in the room.
“We need him,” said Marthlis. “But he talks too much.”
Iahir’s nostrils flared.
“However,” said Marthlis, “we are grateful for your service, my lord.”
Iahir reached into a pouch on his belt and withdrew a long, silver pipe. “Does anyone mind if I smoke?” he said, getting out a pinch of tobacco.
Marthlis sighed heavily again. “All right, let’s get down to this,” he said to Dathor. “Elrion says you’re not to be trusted, but that you are intelligent, and that as an adversary, you would be something to watch out for. If we share an enemy, that is, Findas, it seems wise to keep on the same side, not working against each other.”
Aerhril wondered how Marthlis knew Elrion. Had they been at university together?
“Yes, that’s my thought as well,” said Dathor. “I don’t suppose the advancement of the orc race is high on your list of your priorities—”
“Well,” spoke up one of the elves whose name Aerhril could not remember, “we are in favor of a completely different sort of government.”
“Right,” said Aerhril. “Something democratic, or that’s what Elrion was always on about.”
“Different,” said Iahir. “He’s one of the Larhilists. They have this idea all property should be communal and that everyone will just wake up and work the fields out of the goodness of their hearts with no desire to get ahead over anyone else.”
“It’s only logical,” said the elf. “It is the best way to organize a—”
“All right, all right,” said Marthlis. He smiled thinly at them. “As you can see, we’re a bit, erm, divided as it is. But we all wish to get rid of the High King.”
“If it’s a revolution you want,” said Dathor, “regardless of what shape it takes, it can only be helped by the destabilizing efforts of the advancing orc army.”
