D’Argen did not drink nearly enough to feel the effects of the alcohol so he only nudged the plate in front of him away instead of throwing it. It was not the staff’s fault. Since D’Argen had returned to the city, he had not gone anywhere near the kitchens and this was the first time the serving or kitchen staff probably saw him. So it was not the mortal’s fault that D’Argen wanted to gag just at the sight of the fried chicken in front of him.
D’Argen was one of a few Never Born that did not need to consume any food or drink for his body to function. He was, however, the only one dramatic enough to outright refuse to put anything in his mouth that was once alive. Honey. He liked honey, though it was usually too sweet for more than a single spoonful, and mead.
When the second staff member passed behind him holding a large silver pitcher, D’Argen placed a hand on top of his glass to prevent them from pouring the wine. The woman moved on without a word and topped off Cana’s glass right beside him.
Cana, like D’Argen, did not need to consume food or drink. She, however, enjoyed it.
D’Argen was a little peeved to note that the plate in front of her was piled with intricately cut and perfectly seasoned vegetables rather than the meat on all other plates.
It was not the staff’s fault that Cana’s dislike for meat was better known than D’Argen’s dislike of all food in general. Acela probably remembered Cana’s tastes but not D’Argen’s. When D’Argen chanced a look at the queen, he caught her eyes for barely a moment before she broke contact first. And he caught something else. It was strange. There was something on her face, her expression, that he did not recognize at all. He was either more intoxicated than he thought, or she had never once made that face before him.
Once all the plates were set and both the white and red wine had gone along the long table, D’Argen flagged one of the staff to ask for mead.
He did not have nearly enough alcohol in him to survive this dinner without snapping. Not when Lilian was sitting diagonally from him, their jacket covering only one arm and the other bare to the room. The skin was smooth and unblemished as Lilian wrapped that arm around Abbot with a wide grin and whispered something into his ear. The artist stifled a laugh. D’Argen held back a grimace.
The entire time they had been drinking earlier, D’Argen felt a tension in his body that he could not explain. Not when Lilian was joking and laughing with both Abbot and Yaling as if nothing had happened. Not when he remembered seeing Acela leave their rooms.
D’Argen downed the entire glass of mead as soon as it was poured and the man, who had barely taken a step back, topped it up. He hesitated, waiting, but D’Argen stopped himself from downing the second glass. It would not do to lose sense of himself completely.
Then one set of the dining hall doors opened and no matter how little or how much he had drank, nothing would have been able to keep his mouth from dropping open in shock.
Olov, God of Passage, apologized for being late before he had even stepped fully into the large dining hall. The silence from his entrance was awkward not because he was late but because of his appearance. He ignored it as he passed one of the staff and then pointed to an empty seat at the long table.
D’Argen snapped his mouth closed when the two met eyes and chanced a quick look around the table. He was glad to note he was not the only one surprised.
Olov’s long silvery hair, a shimmering cascade of straight lines, was almost completely gone. The man looked like he had taken a dull spoon to his scalp and had cut most of it off and shaved the rest. It left half of his head completely bare and the rest were strands so short they barely reached his chin.
D’Argen had never seen one of them with such short hair.
There were others that shaved parts of their head, but the length always remained. It was an unspoken rule: Never Born kept their hair long. It was a symbol of who they were and their status.
Acela had only once made a direct comment to that when she was addressing a visiting delegation of mortals whose staff were completely bald. The mortal king had said it was a way to easily recognize their slaves. Acela could not hide her displeasure at the time. The day the delegation left, she signed a trading agreement with one of the villages near the coast and had a steady supply of hair oils and accessories for all of Evadia.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Olov took a seat further down the table, as far as possible from Acela. There were almost two dozen of them sitting in the giant dining hall on the long table. There were enough bodies between him and Acela’s glare for the man to ignore it. He thanked the staff once they put a plate in front of him and he chose white wine.
Acela cleared her throat and all eyes fell on her at the head of the table. “Your delay?” she asked, obviously wanting to reprimand him otherwise, visible by the way her eyes could not stay focused on a single point on his face.
“That was my fault,” Cana spoke up from right beside D’Argen. “I had asked Olov to do something for me and that must have delayed him in getting dressed.”
Acele was glaring at Cana now and D’Argen leaned back in his seat to avoid being in her direct sight. Her eyes jumped to him for just a moment, squinted back into that unreadable expression, then turned to Olov.
“I am glad you are here,” she said. “I did not know you had even arrived.”
D’Argen downed half his glass to steady his nerves.
“I just arrived a few hours prior. We have been talking with Cana about changes to the summer harvest for the life crops when she told me about the dinner. I know I am without an invitation—”
“Invitations are only a formality,” Acela interrupted with a wave of her hand but her eyes turned back to Cana. “Now that you mentioned it though, that is one topic I wished for us to discuss. We heard that there was unrest in your region?” Somehow, she was able to make the statement sound like a question.
Zetha, sitting on her right at the head of the table, hid his expression behind a glass as he drank. D’Argen was not sure if he was trying to hide discomfort or a grin. He did, however, know that the glass was a good excuse and sitting beside Cana, he needed the excuse. He drank from his glass to hide his grimace and leaned back, trying to become one with the soft backing of his chair. A glance in front of him revealed Lilian trying to hide a grin behind their hand. He noticed the pale, unmarked skin of their arm and quickly looked away.
Twenty of them were sitting there and though D’Argen had seen most of them over the last few weeks, there was one familiar face that was missing.
Thar was not invited to the dinner. And even if the invitations were only a formality, he had either not known about it at all or had refused to come. D’Argen wished he followed the man’s example and avoided this event altogether. He was not needed here.
“—a misunderstanding. It has been cleared.”
D’Argen tuned into Cana’s words only to catch the end as she cut up one of the browned stems of broccoli on her plate and then took the bite. She was slow and deliberate about it and the crunch was loud in the silent hall. D’Argen tried to search his subconscious for what she said even though he had not been paying attention. A scrape distracted him and he looked down the table. Acela was using her knife and fork with force to cut chunks of moist meat off the bone. D’Argen looked away when he felt the alcohol in his stomach churn and try to rise at the small ooze of blood and juices on her plate.
The silence stretched on as the queen chewed her bite. Finally, she swallowed and said, “Please, explain more about this misunderstanding.”
“The people did not see the benefit of harvesting the Rainbow Forest in winter, especially with the spring reaping still scheduled as usual. I reached out to Kenin, he intervened, and all was resolved.” Cana’s answers were prompt as if she did not want to discuss the topic at all.
“And Olov?”
“As one of the other two sentries of life crops in Trace, I thought it would be beneficial to learn from him how he deals with it.”
“But the situation is quite different,” Olov added in, looking up from his plate to face Acela. “The citizens of Tormdale are rarely involved and my city only serves as a border. I suggested she ask Darania for advice since the Rainbow Forest is more alike to the Reefs she watches over.”
“Then we both thought maybe Kiri would be a good option to ask as well, since he is the one that takes care of organizing the spring and autumn reapings of the Rainbow Fields.”
Acela hummed and made a show of looking down both sides of the long table. Neither Darania nor Kiri was there. She returned to looking at Olov.
“I was drafting a letter to Darania while the staff looked for something appropriate for me to wear.”
“A letter?” Someone at the table asked as if writing it down on paper and sending it off was so archaic that it deserved disbelief.
“I was unaware that D’Argen was back,” Olov replied, looking right at the runner rather than the person who had asked. “It is good to see you.”
“And you,” D’Argen replied out of habit and raised his glass in a greeting toast. Olov returned the gesture and D’Argen finished off the rest of his drink. He looked down the table over the rim of his glass and noticed that Acela was now glaring at him.
“It is good to have D’Argen back. We will definitely be needing his help in the coming months,” Zetha finally joined the conversation and raised his own glass towards D’Argen. The runner already finished his drink but mirrored the motion and faked a sip. “And you too, Olov. It has been a while since you have been back. After dinner, come to my study. We have new spells for all aspects of the mahee, focused on long-distance communication.”
“Of course, my king,” Olov replied and raised his chin high in the air.
D’Argen motioned to the mortal staff member that had poured him the mead and the man quickly refilled his glass.