She gazed up at him in the window there, and he pointedly turned away, the curtains swishing closed in his wake. Well, that was a problem to solve later, she decided as she climbed into the carriage.
Celedin sat on one side with the steward, both in top hats and pressed suits, their silk ties splashes of color under their throats. She and Flaihir sat on the other side of the carriage.
It took only twenty-five minutes to go straight to Thelandel Chapel. It was called a chapel because it had once belonged to the clergy of the old religion. During the wars with the Valaedor, they had desecrated a number of chapels, saying that the silvans reliance on the old religion was all superstition. When the wars ended, the old religion was outlawed for a time, and all of the chapels were given over to envivtains and barlins, some stewards too, perhaps even some lucky wardens. Eventually, the laws forbidding the practice of the religion were repealed, but the chapels never went back to the clergy. Indeed, the clergy of the old religion was not what it had once been.
Nowadays, the clergy all traveled to the south to go to the schools, because that was the only way to be ordained. Now, the clergy was as skeptical of the gods as any progressive-minded elf. Now, the clergy talked of tradition and ceremony, of the importance of ritual and the effect on the psyche. They rarely talked of the gods as if they had any real power.
Aerhril did not know if she believed. As a girl, of course, everyone was taught that the gods existed, but the stories of the gods were told alongside all manner of other fanciful tales, stories that were clearly just made-up stories to amuse children. Were the gods the same thing?
Well, no god had ever answered her prayer, she supposed.
Even so, there was something to be said for the chants around the bonfires at the harvest or the processionals through the streets in the spring, music playing, elves dancing. There was a power to it, something she had felt in the marrow of her bones, something that made her feel tied to this land, to this sky, to these rocks and trees.
She did not know if she believed in the gods, but she believed insomething.
The dance was peopled with the typical families of the area. The Warden nae Gilsin and his family, the steward from Falls Keep and his family, and the merchants who lived in town along with their wives and grown children. It was a lively gathering of at least forty people, and the music was cheery and upbeat, strings and a piano, the dance having already begun.
She was introduced to Elrion nae Nilriane and he was tall and dark and pleasing. He was older, likely somewhere in his early thirties, she thought. He had been married once and his wife had died in a fever, leaving him behind a small little girl, but he had no male child, no heir. He must be looking for a wife again, and he would want someone young and fresh, capable of giving him sons.
Of course, every other girl in the entire barlinship seemed to have the same idea. There were all sorts of girls around him, simpering and asking him all manner of questions.
She decided she could not be so obvious. “What part of the Vale did you live in during your wardship?” she asked,smiling at him.
“Ah, yes, you are from the south,” he said. “I was located in Ailbarlogh. I hear you are from Renegahan.”
“Yes, but my family used to vacation in Cirlahir,” she said. “It is a beautiful country, well, when you can get a chance to see past the carriages and crowded streets to get a peek at the water, that is.”
He chuckled. “Yes, nothing like the Silvarenna, in the Vale.”
“Nothing like it at all,” she said. “I am to stay, of course. I have accepted the hand of the steward-to-be, Celedin nae Lathien.”
“Yes, so I hear,” said Elrion. “My congratulations. He is a lucky man.”
And she went off to dance her obligatory dance with Celedin, who complained the entire time, but she had to admit he was a fine dancer. He executed the moves with grace and polish, and she thought of trying to be in a room like this with Dathor.
Dathor didn’t know any dances at all. She could not picture him in a suit with a silk tie, sipping at a goblet of wine punch or lemonade. She could not picture him coiffed or tamed. It would not suit him.
If she were with him, she would have to give this up.
After the dance with Celedin, she waited for Elrion to seek her out, and when he did not, she debated whether she could speak to him again, whether she should make herself more available, knowing it was entirely the wrong thing to do. If she had not enticed him already, she would have to try again, but she could not make herself seem desperate or everything would be ruined.
But then, he did find her, and he asked for a dance, and she agreed, smiling.
“I hear there is an orc at Foxglove Peak,” he said as they circled each other, palm to palm, and then switched directions.
“He is the steward’s nephew,” she said. “Half orc, truly.”
“How fascinating,” said Elrion. “I have three orcs in myemploy, you see, all of them orphans that I have taken in over the years. It has become a bit more troubling in these past years, with the High King so rabid to cast them all out.”
That was right at the beginning, of course. Findas had been on the throne for only a few years. He was still testing his power to send the orcs back to Arzakh.
“Yes, I think it would be.”
“The guards will often take the parents and force them into the pass, but the children will be hidden away, and they are left behind. It’s a nasty business, really. I do not hold with it.”
“No, neither do I,” she said. “I cannot see why we must treat orcs as if they are lesser than us.”
“Indeed not. They are simply another sort of people,” he said. “They are different, but not inferior.”
