Tales of Fire and Ruin - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

When I sped to the staircase with Endris right behind me, Valda was already on the steps. Her dark curls bounced as she descended towards the ground floor, and despite her casual way of walking, I knew she'd been eavesdropping. It was a bad habit she'd picked up ever since I came of age and our parents started involving me in 'secret meetings' but not her. It didn't seem to matter I told her what we'd discussed afterward, if she asked, most of the time.
I ignored my sister for now and passed her without saying a word. The stables would have to make do as a safe place to talk. They were too open to provide good hiding spots for furtive family members, and the horses wouldn't gossip.
As I entered the stables, the scent of sweet hay and manure filled my nose. Like any other Montbow building, the stables were picked clean of anything that had value on the market. All that was left were hooks to hold reins and saddles mounted on the wall in an orderly row, and dust floating in the sunlight.
"No, we're not going for a ride, love," I told the speckled mare, which came up to the fence and tickled my cheek with her hairy nose. I patted her neck and turned to Endris. "You need to leave tomorrow," I ordered. "I don't want to lie to my family about what he is."
Endris arched a brow at my urgent tone. "Is that why you dragged me outside? Aside from Lady Montbow insisting we stay in the mansion overnight and have Oleander perform a small task for her, I see no reason we would've changed plans."
"Great to hear," I replied through gritted teeth. "And does everyone understand this plan? Because your good friend, Oleander, doesn't seem to want to go."
Endris blinked. He didn't seem surprised at my words, and I wondered if Oleander had said the same to Endris as to me. I wasn't so arrogant as to assume the only reason Oleander didn't want to leave the mansion was to win my favour. After all, what did he stand to gain from that? It was likely the other way around: he wanted my favour because he felt alone and wanted a roof over his head.
I sighed. "I suppose I understand his fear of traveling to the Starcross woods. What if there are no others like him out there anymore? If he had a loving family, he wouldn't have been wandering around in human territory alone and left for dead in the vall—"
"He's not the only one left," Endris stated firmly. "There are others."
"How do you know?"
Endris' eyes narrowed, and he frowned. "All Oleander needs to do is cross the Starcross woods so he is no longer in the queen's domain," he said eventually. "He'll be safe there."
I didn't like how Endris stalled and kept sidestepping questions, but that was a minor concern compared to getting the elf out of here. At least we still seemed to be on the same page regarding that.
I raised and dropped my arms. "Oleander knows how dangerous it is for him to be here. I know he knows. Why would he not be eager to leave the Thundercoast?"
"Because he's taken a liking to you and wishes to stay at your side."
I opened and closed my mouth. "... What?"
Endris crossed his arms and glared at me, showing me there was no way he would reiterate his words. I'm glad he didn't. I felt embarrassment burning in my cheeks.
"Why?"
Endris shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"He told you that?"
"Yes."
"Literally, in those words?"
"I will not repeat myself," Endris bit.
I was at a loss for words. No jokes came to me like normal when I found myself in awkward situations, and it wasn't like I could've delivered them regardless with my tongue tied in knots.
It wasn't like two men together never happened, or couldn't happen. Heirs didn't pair up for love, however. We chose partners for political gain. Oleander would only have a future being sneered at by my arranged marriage wife. To be at the Thundercoast, he would have to hide who he really was and fear for his life constantly.
I was taking this too far.
Staying at my side didn't mean he wanted to be in my bed, I sternly reminded myself. I shouldn't have perverted thoughts about an innocent man who was in a vulnerable position. An elf without memories who clearly didn't know what he was asking for, and desperately clamped to any ties he had left in this world.
I was dragged out of my thoughts by a horse's hooves clopping on the ground outside. That had to be Gisela and Fynn coming home. I glanced over my shoulder and grimaced as dread tightened my chest.
"Make him leave tomorrow," I gritted out to Endris. "I don't care if you have to tie him up and drag him out of here. I'll arrange things with my mother."
Without awaiting Endris' response, I walked outside to greet my other sister and brother. Gisela had already dismounted and had her hands on little Fynn's waist to lift him off the horse.
"Hello, I called out, making Gisela look up as she put our little brother on the ground. Her eyes had a honey-brown soft color, but otherwise, nothing was soft about Gisela. From her prominent bone structure to her dark brown hair tied in a tight ponytail and taut muscles, she was all sharp edges.
"Laurence," she greeted me with a nod.
"Laurence!" Fynn called out. Spreading his arms, he shot past Gisela towards me, swift as an arrow. Unlike Gisela, my little brother had a friendly, round face and messy, dark hair.
I chuckled at the sight of Fynn's rosy cheeks and the sparkle dancing in his eye as he leapt into my arms. "Hey, there little man," I said, before groaning exaggeratedly as I scooped him up. "Not that little anymore. You've been gaining weight."
Fynn grinned like I didn't tell him that joke every time I picked him up. He reached into my shirt, grabbing at my necklace with his chubby fingers. "Laurence, Laurence, did you kill the dragon?" he called out.
Gisela's gaze burned on my neck as Fynn pulled out the black chain, which was painfully lacking a dragon's tooth.
"Yeah, I didn't quite get to the killing part," I pressed out. "I found the dragon, I took a shot, a landslide happened, and I lost the dragon."
The corners of Gisela's mouth turned down. She briefly covered her face with her hand. "How did you lose the dragon if you only had to fire one arrow between the eyes to kill it?"
"I had hoped you wouldn't ask that," I sheepishly replied. "I missed. It was the wind."
"That's alright," Fynn said, tugging on my necklace. "I'll play in the woods and get a mark from the thunder god just like you, and then I will kill the dragon for you."
"You don't want to go to those mountains, kid," I muttered as I lowered Fynn down. "Trust me."
"Yes, I do!" Fynn protested. "I shot an arrow, and it hit the target today. I can kill a dragon. Tell him, Gisela!"
Gisela didn't respond to Fynn. Her accusing eyes stayed fixed on my face. "You missed your shot because of the wind?" she repeated incredulously.
"And I will practice on the windy cliffs to remedy that mistake before my next attempt," I offered. "But not right now. Now, it's getting late, and we need to prepare dinner."
I forced a smile for my little brother. "Race to the kitchen!" I told him. "The one who peels the least potatoes loses!"
Fynn squealed with joy and started running, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to reach the kitchen first.
"I will practice more in windy weather," I promised Gisela one more time. Then I spun around and ran after Fynn, eager to be away from the disappointed faces and accusative glares, which I knew I wouldn't find in the kitchen.
After the servants left, we had divided the tasks in the mansion. When we made dinner, everyone did their part—some with more reluctance than others. Conrad and Gisela wouldn't be found dead peeling potatoes or other root vegetables, but I didn't mind. Every once in a while, Mother peeked into the kitchen and lamented the heir of the Montbow family performing a servant's task. I always countered by saying she shouldn't be out fishing or learning how to fight with a sword as the Lady of the house, either.
Our kitchen was elaborate and large; a whole tower devoted to storing a variety of metal and clay pans, a giant stone hearth, and countless of herbs and spices stored in pots. I entered through the double doors, expecting to find Valda cursing at the stone hearth while trying to light a fire all alone, despite knowing I could do it with a snap of my fingers (I didn't—she didn't want me to help), and Fynn running out of the pantry with a pile of potatoes in his little arms.
I was almost right. Valda was standing at the hearth, fanning the starting flames. Fynn had carried a pile of potatoes out of the pantry and was already peeling them as if his life depended on it, the tip of his tongue sticking out.
What I didn't expect, however, was Oleander sitting beside him with a small knife in his one hand, and a potato in the other. Seeing my younger brother sitting next to the elf who had a weapon made the blood drain from my face. I crossed the room in a couple of hasty strides and wedged myself between Oleander and Fynn, taking a seat on a barrel.
Oleander smiled brightly at me. Endris' words fresh in mind. My cheeks tingled, and I turned away.
"Laurence! You're slow!" Fynn complained. "It's no fun winning if you don't make it a challenge!"
"I know, my bad," I replied stiffly, while staunchly avoiding looking at Oleander.
I fetched a potato from the pile. I'd only made a small incision when I spotted Oleander trying to follow my example, but poorly. He had the knife aimed at himself, slicing dangerously close to his face.
"Wait, not like that!" I warned him.
Being used to Fynn and his impulsive ways, I reached out without thinking and clasped my fingers around the hand holding the knife, pushing the sharp edge away from Oleander's face. Oleander looked up at me, flares of magic dancing in his green eyes. For a brief moment, time stopped. Then I yanked my hand away like he'd burned me, despite his hand being cold.
Oleander's gaze darted to the floor. "Uh, not like what, lord Montbow?" he asked quietly.
Lord Montbow. 'That is my father,' I wanted to say. But I had told Oleander to call me that, and I should be glad he had listened to me.
"Just look at Fynn. Cut away from yourself, not towards yourself," I replied curtly.
Fynn preened himself. He sat up straighter, feet drumming against the barrel he was perched on in glee. He put even more effort into his cutting work, visibly proud at being named the paragon of potato peeling.
Oleander did as I asked, studied Fynn, and mimicked his movements. I kept an eye on the elf and his clumsy movements for a little while longer, but then returned to my own work.
"Mother wasted no time putting you to work too, did she, Oleander?" Valda called out from the other side of the room.
"Not at all, Lady Montbow. I'm very grateful you will have me here, and happy to help," Oleander replied kindly.
I swore Valda was melting a little in front of us. If Oleander didn't leave soon, I'd have two of the Montbows pleading for me to consider keeping him. Three if Fynn joined in too because his mother and sister did.
"I think I'm not a good peeler, however," Oleander apologised. "But I seem to know about herbs and spices. I recognised a few in the pantry, and it seems to help me with my memory. May I be so bold to suggest I make a blend for the potatoes?"
"Yes," I immediately replied. Anything to increase the distance between us. "Go on."
Oleander stood and actually curtsied for us before leaving. I had no idea where he'd picked that up, but he made the gesture look more graceful and natural than even our most experienced servants. Did Endris teach him?
I stared at the door through which Oleander had disappeared until I felt eyes on me. Valda had gone back to tending to the fire, but Fynn was staring at me, a twinkle of curiosity in his gaze. He'd even stopped peeling potatoes, while he usually let nothing distract him from winning our competition.
"Laurence," he whisper-shouted. "Who is that man?"
"He is a guest," I said, purposely keeping my answer vague. "He'll be gone in the morning."
Fynn bobbed his head, seemingly accepting that response. But if I thought that meant he was done asking questions, I'd be sorely mistaken.
Fynn's brow furrowed. "Why does he have long hair like a woman?"
"Because that's part of his culture, I suppose. It's not that strange, is it?"
I would've named Endris as an example of another man with long hair, but before I could open my mouth, Fynn had leaned forward, resting his palms on my knees to whisper in my ear. "Is his long hair why you held his hand and looked at him like he was a woman you wanted to court?"
I nearly choked on my own spit. "I did not!"
"Yes, you did!"
Catching a hold of Fynn's wrists, I playfully wrestled him to the kitchen floor. "No, I didn't, and I'm stronger and older than you, so I'm right. You, shush!"
Fynn squealed and wiggled as I tickled his sides. I gladly took advantage of his short attention span, knowing for certain that Fynn's thoughts about Oleander and the way I had looked at him were long forgotten when I pressed a potato peel to my lip and called myself Lord Peeler Potatokins. But while Fynn easily forgot, I swore under my breath, wishing I could forget just as easily.