Another bowl of stew and two hunks of bread later, Auriel fell asleep, and though the soreness hadn’t left his body, this morning’s waking was much more pleasant than the last two had been. The rain had abated, and the sunlight was refreshing, albeit much duller than the gilded Geletran glow to which he had grown accustomed.

  He was alone when he first woke, but not long after, the door creaked open to reveal one green shoulder and about half of Orin’s head, both of which he promptly withdrew with an almost frightened yelp when their eyes met. About five minutes later, he returned, this time with confidence, as well as a wooden tray. Upon this tray were three slices of toasted bread, each with a different fruit preserve spread atop it, along with some sliced cheese, blueberries, and a ceramic mug filled with a steamy ginger tea. Carefully, he set the tray atop Auriel’s legs, then took his seat in the bedside chair.

  This time, Auriel fed himself, which seemed to sadden Orin a bit—he made to reach for one of the slices of toast after sitting, then drew back with a gentle slump to his shoulders when Auriel got to it first. He spoke no objection, however; he simply folded his hands in his lap as demurely as their size would allow and watched intently as Auriel took his first bite.

  The fare before him was much more familiar than last night’s stew had been, yet somehow everything on the tray still tasted better than anything he remembered having at home. The jams were sweeter; the bread was more robust; the tea was light but had a great depth of flavor. It was nothing short of wonderful, and with each bite and sip, his bodily aches seemed to grow a little quieter—who knew food could be so nourishing?

  When half the bread and berries were gone, Orin asked Auriel how he was; after speaking on his small improvement and sipping on a bit more tea, Auriel asked Orin where he was, as well as when. To the former, Orin replied that they were in the Travna region of Pryktan, which Auriel recalled as being Geletra’s only outland neighbor; more specifically, though, they were about five miles outside of Liloma, a mid-sized town with which Auriel had no familiarity. To his latter inquiry, Orin replied that it was the sixth of the summer month Yulje; this was a full week after Auriel had made his escape, which meant that he’d spent four days in the box and only been conscious for half of one—no wonder the Confederation had outlawed Roseblush.

  Thinking about maps and calendars prompted yet another question, this time about the contents of his bag. Along with the jewelry and embroidery supplies, Auriel had brought with him a book, The Outland Brutes and Bestiary, meant to serve as an introductory guide to the strange and terrifying world he now found himself inhabiting. Unfortunately, the mud puddle he’d fallen into had been a voracious reader, and the book’s pages were so badly soiled that Orin had no choice but to discard it. That was probably for the best, though—the renderings of orcs were not very flattering. Either that, or Orin was exceptionally beautiful for his kind. It wasn’t impossible, Auriel supposed, but he had no means nor any desire to conduct further research on the matter.

  As compensation, Orin promptly offered up his collection of Elvish texts he’d acquired from local markets, all of which he laid out beside Auriel’s breakfast tray with great pride. Unfortunately, their substance was just as meager as their quantity: there were a few leaflets taken from turgid legal decrees, along with a few random excerpts from unimpressive works; the only proper book was one of children’s fairy tales, but while its author, Cyrus Drela, had at one point been well-respected, this work was not. According to court gossip, Drela had a rather odd infatuation with one of his servant girls, and in that infatuation, he had allowed her to publish a book under his name. Unfortunately, the girl had as much skill with a pen as a candlemaker with a fishing pole, thus Drela was ruined and all copies of the book either burned or purged from the Confederation—evidently, this is where they had ended up after the purge.

  Politely, Auriel declined his offerings, and instead made an offer of his own: to answer any questions Orin had about the elves he so deeply admired. Orin’s entire body seemed to light up at the prospect, and he wasted no time in proceeding with his questions.

  They were…not what Auriel had expected.

  “So you don’t catch sunlight in glass jars to weave into strings to put into your hair?” Orin asked with the utmost sincerity.

  “No. We do not.”

  “And you can’t talk to animals and make them sing little songs for you? Even though humans have multiple songs about it?”

  “No. All of those accounts are strictly metaphorical.”

  “And you’re absolutely certain that the forest spirits won’t turn you into a stump for eating meat?”

  Auriel couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes, nor scoffing. “Yes, I’m sure!”

  “But what about—?”

  “All right, what if,” Auriel interrupted, leaning as far forward as he could without pain. “What if…rather than answering questions about my people…I just tell you about my people instead? Does that sound favorable to you?”

  “Very!” Orin exclaimed, and he also leaned forward, albeit from a place of enthusiasm, rather than patronization. Realizing his own posture and tone, Auriel leaned back and relaxed his shoulders.

  “Very well…let’s start with—”

  “Wait!” Orin cried. He fumbled around on his belt—the same one he’d worn last night—and retrieved the same beaten leather journal from which he’d read his broken Elvish. He flipped to what Auriel assumed was a clean page, took the tiny writing stick clipped to the journal’s side in hand, and leaned forward once again. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  Slowly, Auriel nodded, then continued, “Let’s start with some basic geography. The Confederation takes up the entire eastern portion of Ealla from north-to-south and consists of five kingdoms: Nevirin to the east, Sessyn to the north, Geletra to the west, Melliflua to the south, and Sola Anlae at the center. For most of history, these kingdoms were fully independent of one another, but about four hundred years ago, they unified into the Confederation. Originally this was supposed to be a temporary alliance meant to fend off the then-hostile outland forces threatening the borders of Geletra and Nevirin, but upon realizing the benefits of unification for trade, education, and future wars, the kingdoms remained united. Each kingdom has its own monarch, and then the entire Confederation is headed by the so-called ‘High Seat,’ the exact title of which varies based on the person sitting within it—High Prince, High King, High Queen, et cetera. With every reign, the High Seat’s location moves to a different kingdom to prevent one from gaining too much dominance over the others. Even so, most elves still identify themselves with their individual kingdom, rather than the Confederation on the whole. For example, I would call myself Geletran, not just Elvish; likewise, I would feel greater kinship with a fellow Geletran than I would a Neviranian or Sessynian, even if we’re all Elvish by broadest definition.”

  Orin wrote furiously as he spoke and went even faster when he stopped. “Five kingdoms…” he muttered into the page. “…unified in war…High Seat ruler…cultural divisions…and Geletra is the one with the golden tree people, right? The…the, the, the…” Orin tapped a fist on his leg, then pointed his pencil to Auriel and said with a grin, “The Venday-is!”

  “Vindai,” Auriel corrected gently, and Orin lowered his pencil. “And they’re just trees, not tree people. Though some of our ceremonial costumes do feature Vindai leaves from head to toe, which can leave one looking like a golden tree idol. But apart from that, the leaves are primarily used as space decorations, rather than personal adornment—save for headdresses or hairpieces, and maybe a shoulder mantle, but an excess of the leaves is considered tawdry. They’re not only used for decorations, though; they have some medicinal properties as well. Vindai oil both strengthens the hair and leaves it with a lovely golden sheen, while Vindai balm helps to heal dry skin, moisten lips, and strengthen nails. Some groups even grind up the leaves and smoke them in pipes, claiming it can improve everything from breathing to singing, but most physicians agree that all it does is leave gold dust in the lungs.”

  “I didn’t know elves smoked pipes,” Orin said.

  “It’s not very common,” Auriel replied. “In fact, most consider it dirty and unrefined, so it’s frowned upon by most of society.”

  “You would look rather silly with a big pipe in your mouth, Reylin,” Orin chuckled. “Now tell me more about your society. I know that elves are very refined, and they place great value in their arts, but how else would you describe them?”

  Constricting, he thought. Oppressive, unfair, unforgiving, unrelenting…

  “I’ve heard outlanders refer to our social structure as a…classist meritocracy.”

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  Not a single spark of comprehension shone in Orin’s eyes. Then again, those were rather big words for someone like him.

  “Meaning,” Auriel continued, “that while we do have a very, very rigid class structure, unlike the outlanders, there is no such concept as inheritance by birth. Just because one is born into a certain class does not mean they shall stay in that class forever, nor inherit a title or an occupation or a fortune held by their parents upon their death—everyone must prove their worth, including royalty. The incumbent monarchs can choose whomever they please to succeed them, regardless of whether they have children; a fisherman could become king if they proved themselves worthy of it—though said fisherman would need to be evaluated by a special council led by the High Seat, given how radical such a shift would be.”

  “That’s amazing,” Orin murmured. “What a wonderful system to allow for such upward mobility.”

  Auriel couldn’t repress a spiteful scoff. “Oh, it’s far from wonderful. Quite the opposite, in fact. The system may be based on merit, but said merit is very hard to achieve and even harder to maintain, yet at the same time, it’s all so very easy to lose. From the moment you’re born, there are eyes on you, and they only grow more numerous with each passing year. Everything you do, everything you say, everything you think is under scrutiny, and all your life, you’re constantly proving yourself, constantly putting on airs, for even the smallest bit of thread is enough to unravel someone completely, and then you’ll be…”

  He could have gone on, and a great part of him wanted to—but his knuckles had gone white from gripping the sheets through his rant, and he’d begun to grit his teeth toward the end of it. He forced both to relax, then exhaled to release the venom from his voice.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cast such a pall over your glittering Elvish idyll, but…you know.”

  “I do,” Orin said, and rather unexpectedly. His voice held a sort of detached sympathy, and on his face was very much the same emotion, but then he flipped to a new page and said in a normal tone, “Tell me about you.”

  Auriel furrowed his brow. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Something like…your interests—apart from embroidery, that is. I assume that’s your main one, but I’m sure there are others.”

  Were there? He’d never really thought about it before. Looking back, his primary pastimes in the palace had been…moping, seething, sulking, and casting mental aspersions on those around him. In fact, Auriel couldn’t recall the last time he’d actively taken pleasure in something—save for bathing and sleeping, but those weren’t interests so much as treasured respites. Really, his primary interest these past however-many-years was life beyond palace walls, but that was still only a theoretical musing, rather than a tangible action. So not only was he lacking in life skills and world knowledge, but also in basic self-knowledge—could he be any more pitiful? How long would it take for Orin to see that, he wondered? How long would it take for the shining Elvish mystique to crumble and reveal the boring, hollow shell beneath? How long would it take for Orin to see how little he was worth and cast him out into the—?

  “Reylin?”

  “Nature,” he blurted, then winced as he felt warm pink dust settling on his cheeks. “I like…I like nature. That is, observing nature, on walks and on…sits, I suppose. I like sitting in gardens and looking at flowers and birds and whatnot—it’s very calming. A-And I like reading, too.”

  “What kind of books do you like?” Orin asked practically right after Auriel had said the word.

  “Um…all kinds. But if I had to choose…I guess…folklore? Like…myths and legends and ruins of long gone pasts—anything not from the present, as a means of escaping my current reality.”

  He realized how suspicious that sounded, but Orin seemingly did not, for he simply wrote in his book, though he did nod with some conviction after he finished. “Do you have any family?”

  “I have…a father,” Auriel said. “But no siblings, and my mother died in my infancy.” As he spoke, Auriel removed the ring from his left hand. “This…” He held up the ring for Orin to see. “…is all I have of her. The word, aevilta, was her last. It means ‘forever.’ My father loved her deeply, and she loved him the same, so he has me wear it to remember her by—or, rather, to remind me of her. I never knew her, but…he says that we look alike.”

  “I see. And how do you spell eyvilt…the forever word?”

  Auriel did so, and Orin copied each letter with great care.

  “Thank you. Do you like your father?”

  Auriel flinched at the directness of the question. “Do I like my—what do you mean?”

  “Well, you hesitated when you mentioned him,” Orin said matter-of-factly. “Usually people do that when they’re upset about something. Or when they don’t know about something. Or when they’re hiding something.”

  The last option almost felt accusatory, but considering the stump debacle from earlier, Auriel doubted Orin was bright enough to see through him so easily. “I wouldn’t say that I…dislike him, per se. It’s just…well…he and I haven’t exactly seen eye-to-eye on a lot of things. I know that he loves me, and very deeply—far more than Elvish parents usually love their children. But even so…” His shoulders sagged, and he rubbed a finger across the ring’s engraving. “…too much love…can be just as hurtful as not enough of it…”

  Orin frowned, and that look of detached sympathy came back for a moment. “Did I upset you? I didn’t mean to.”

  “I know you didn’t,” said Auriel. “And I know he didn’t mean to, either. But ultimately, my father wanted something different for me, and I just…could not agree with him on what that was. And look at me now! Gravely injured after a bandit attack and being nursed back to health by an orc—an orc, of all people! It’s too terrible to even think about, let alone…” He widened his eyes and looked up at Orin. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me, I—”

  “Why are you apologizing?”

  “I…because I said something rude.”

  “You did? When?”

  “Just now, when I…I said…” He let out a little sigh and shook his head. “Never mind. The point is, I left home, and I left him, and I just…I hope that it was the right decision. That’s all.”

  “Well, Marigold is very pretty. Much prettier than the embroidered birds I see in Liloma. I think you’ll be successful finding work here.”

  Work was the very least of his concerns, but still, he supposed it was nice to hear.

  “I hope so,” Auriel repeated. He rubbed his left eye in hopes of quelling any potential tears.

  “Are you tired?” Orin put away his book and stood from his chair. “You must be—I made you do a lot of talking just now.”

  “I’m fine,” he assured. “And I don’t mind talking. In fact, it’s…kind of nice. Especially when I know that someone is listening.”

  “Why wouldn’t someone listen when another person is talking? That’s how conversation works, isn’t it?”

  Auriel’s face broke into a smile, and he covered his mouth to repress a little chuckle. He didn’t think anything could be more ridiculous than “the Elvish stump curse,” and yet there it was, something totally asinine said so very plainly. Still, idiotically simple as Orin may have sounded, there was something refreshing about his naivety.

  “Oh, no, are you feeling nauseous? I can get a bucket.”

  Auriel waved the hand previously covering his mouth and shook his head. “No…no, I’m not nauseous. Quite the opposite, in fact.” He coughed to hide a chuckle.

  “Oh, good. Still, I’ll bring you some more tea. And fruit. And bread. And I think there’s still some cheese left, too. I have some work to do before lunch, but that should be enough to hold you over in the meantime.”

  “Before…what?”

  “Lunch.”

  “What…What is that? What does that mean?”

  “It’s…the midday meal. The one between breakfast and dinner.”

  “I…see….”

  They stared at each other.

  Slowly, wordlessly, Orin took Auriel’s tray from him, and when he brought it back, it was full again. He then reiterated his plans, told Auriel to call for him if he needed anything, and exited the room in a daze.

  Auriel stared down at the tray in very much the same state when he left. A midday meal—who had ever heard of such a thing? Some tea and biscuits after a few particularly arduous hours, maybe, but a full meal in the middle of the day…so what was all of this called? “To hold you over,” Orin had said—to hold what over? His hunger? But why? Auriel had eaten practically all of his breakfast, save for the crusts of his toasts; that was more than enough food to last him until the evening, let alone whenever this “lunch” was set to occur. Besides, he’d gone far longer with far less before—surely this wouldn’t be any different?

  Although, now that he thought about it…there was something different about last night. After he’d finished his second bowl of stew—the very notion of a second bowl still baffled him a bit—there had been this…tightness in his stomach. It was an odd sensation, and certainly unfamiliar—but not unpleasant. In fact, it was…satisfying, in a way. And it helped him sleep better, too. But even so, it still seemed…wrong somehow to want to achieve that feeling, like it was breaking all sorts of the social mores he’d been brought up with. Then again, he’d also just ranted to Orin about the ills of said social mores not fifteen minutes prior, and fleeing from those social mores was the whole reason he was here in the first place, so perhaps they weren’t a good metric for weighing right and wrong anymore.

  No. No, they definitely weren’t a good metric; in fact, they never had been. They had only ever brought him emptiness and suffering, but Orin’s food had brought him warmth and satisfaction, two of the feelings for which he’d so long been yearning. Surely that meant that he was on the right path, didn’t it? Or, at the very least, that he had the right idea.

  Either way, it felt rude to leave Orin’s offerings completely untouched, given the effort he’d clearly put into assembling them this morning. So Auriel took a piece of toast topped with apricot jam, chomped down hard, and was satisfied by how warm and sweet it tasted.