I had to laugh. A bitter bark rolled out of me as I stood toe to toe with the grand advisor. His elven blood brought his nose to my chin, but he stood straight as an oak and just as strong.
“Yes, of course. You’re correct. There shall be no casting dispersions on the Stillcloud name until the proof of the perfidy committed is in the pudding,” I snarled, my voice much louder than intended.
“Pudding! Plum pudding!” Prescott bellowed from the hallway.
His booming voice shook me from the cloud of anger I was feeling toward everyone in this massive keep aside from myself and the half troll with purple paste on his head.
“We need to get to my suite, Your Advisorship.”
Le’ral bowed slightly, tossing his half cape aside in an elegant way that spoke of untold seasons of courtly affectations. Surely he should not be so damn elegant all the time. Did he ever scratch his balls or pass wind?
“My apologies. I meant no upset, Captain. Let us find your suite.”
I stalked out of the gallery, rolling over the differences between myself and Lady Stillcloud. Shorter ears. Truly, I wished I had more to cite, but for now, I would cling to that small contrast for dear life as we sought out some pudding.
Being escorted to our rooms by the grand advisor was obviously an important occurrence. I knew that on some level, even if I had no clue what shoes were the fashion in court this week. Why Le’ral was doing so, I couldn’t fathom, but he was seemingly enjoying himself playing chamberlain of the keep. We sailed past two well-armed guards in leather armor, eyes round as dinner plates upon seeing a troll toting a trunk in their corridor.
“This wing was refurbished just forty seasons ago by the previous king as it had been damaged in a typhoon,” he explained, flinging open a wide door with delicate leaves etched into the white wood. I stepped in after Le’ral, the elegance stunning me into silence as I drank it all in. The room was airy,with soft white and pale blue décor and two huge doors that opened onto a balcony. The sound of the sea was loud, and the cries of the gulls even louder. The bed was on a riser, with a blue coverlet and a score of white pillows of various sizes. A wardrobe against one wall that could hold a sea captain and a half troll, an ornate desk with a spindly chair, and a changing screen that blocked off a smaller door I assumed led to a bathing room.
The fireplace was tall enough to stand in, and the metal grate in front of the cold hearth showed the seal of Melowynn. I looked over at Le’ral observing me, arms folded casually, an imperceptible smile on his lips.
“You’ve taken us to the wrong room,” I stated, for surely this was not the sleeping place for a pirate.
“No, the king asked you be given this room, as it has the best view of the sea. He feared you might miss the ocean under your boots while you were visiting, so he wished to make you as comfortable as possible.”
“Hmm,” I murmured, stepping out into the brisk winds, feeling it lift my hair up as the tang of saltwater wet my lips. Yes, the king was astute. From here I could see the port of Celear spread out on the bright blue water. My ship was docked farthest to the west, already being lined up for careening. It would be sailed to a section of the shore on high tide and forced onto her side for repairs. Hyla was right in that once the Cloud’s Shame was out of the water, we were at a large disadvantage. Perhaps the king wished for me to see my ship lying on the rocky shore like a bloated carp out of water. “I think the king has placed far too much credence on the delirious words of an old elf.”
“Time shall bear things out,” he said while Prescott deposited my trunk on the cool stone floor and stretched out, cooing asthe stone touched his back. “I’ll send word to the master of the household to send up a valet and the royal barber.”
I rubbed a hand over my face. Compared to the smooth skin of most elves, I was a hairy beast. My human blood blessed me with some whiskers, a thin spattering of hair on my chest, and a thicket of black curls at my crotch. Nothing in comparison to a dwarf…
Speaking of dwarves. “Where did Beiro and Asdren hare off to?”
“They’re awaiting a meeting with the king, much like you.”
“Ah. Well, I’ve little use for a valet and have been shaving my face for many years, so if we could have some food sent—”
“Plum pudding,” Prescott interjected, patting the floor with open palms.
“Plum pudding for my guardian. Wine and light meat with some vegetables for me.”
“I will have a footman relay that to the kitchens. I would strongly recommend you think about allowing the royal barber to shave your face and trim your hair.”
“Oh? Do you find my human whiskers off-putting?”
“Not at all. Whatwillbe found off-putting by any noble elf is the length of your hair. I know you are not aware of the delicacies of court life or of the rules of comportment of elven society, but—”
“Oh, I amverymuch aware the noble cockers like to dictate to the poor folks how they can dress, speak, and wear their hair. Since I’m not a member of the royal court and answer to none but myself and the sea witches, I’ll wear my hair however I wish.”
I crossed my arms, cocked a brow, and waited.
“We will revisit this later, but I would suggest that you, at the very least, pull your hair into a tail you can tuck into the back of your shirt.”
“Hmm, let me ponder on that.” I stroked my whiskery chin as I pretended to mull over the suggestion. “I’ve decided to tell anyone who comments on my pretty tresses that they may shove their concerns about the hair of others far, far, far, far, far up their puckered poopholes.”
“Poophole.” Prescott tittered. Le’ral did not titter.
“We will come back to this. I am sure you are tired from your journey. Bathe, eat, make yourself presentable to the king, and someone will come for you as soon as His Majesty is available. Until this evening.” He bowed deeply.
