I don’t know much about elven culture.

Not that I’m not curious. I’ve dabbled in the language, though I’m far from fluent. I’ve embraced the elven aesthetic when decorating. Kierra tells me stories about her childhood and the other provinces, mostly warnings. A lot of warnings. Saints, a disturbing number of warnings. It’s the main reason I’m fighting the idea of fleeing to the other side of the Enchanted Forest. But all my knowledge is superficial.

I know they’re violent. I know why, owing to the myth of their creation. They fight to become strong and they seek strength to honor the Great Spirit that made the elves what they are. However, I know nothing of this spirit besides it supposedly lives in a big tree in the middle of their continent. I don’t know what it looks like. What other roles it plays in their society. Anything else regarding their religion. I know their whole lives are an act of worship for the fighters but what about the tradesmen? The merchants? The artisans and performers? They can’t all decorate their walls with skulls.

I know next to nothing about their leadership. Kierra’s aunt, Marjoram Atainna, is the queen of Dusk, called Violet Dusk to honor her. She became queen because Morgene refused the duty on pain of death. Succeeding the crown has less to do with blood than personal strength but both mean Kierra can one day rule her home province.

Except, I have no idea what that means. All it takes is a single glance to know that elven royalty isn’t the same as human royalty. I also have no idea if their duties are the same. A province isn’t a kingdom. I doubt they have the same laws. I don’t know if an elven monarch has the same responsibilities, ergo protection, development of the province, and protection against internal and external threats.

Saints help me, their culture is beyond confusing. Barbarism is just a shroud that obfuscates the deeper, spiritual practices. Like our union. Most people will hear the “stab your partner in the heart” and dismiss the elves as psychos. Having gone through it, I know it’s more about trust and vulnerability, not blood. I want to think everything has more meaning than spilling blood. Even Morgene’s provocations. Unfortunately, I can’t see any.

Fortunately, Kierra’s father, I’m still shocked to have him before me, doesn’t rise to the taunting. He frowns at her words, but all his ire is directed at his wife. Oh, wow. He’s got the same frown as Kierra. “If I’m defying your expectations, then I know it’s the right path.” Ouch. My mirth is short lived, pushed aside by tension as that familiar frown is turned on me. “I will test the one who dares to think she is deserving of my daughter, but it will be done with restraint and respect. These are not the bad times.”

“The bad times?” Morgene scoffs. “Some would call them glorious times.”

“There is nothing glorious about fearing your entire family being slaughtered because you caught the wrong eye!” Orum snaps. “Will you be quiet for a moment?”

“Make me,” Morgene practically purrs. I really hope no one notices how I react to the way she says it but given the monsters in the room, I don’t hold out any hope.

“Mother,” Kierra sighs.

“You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” Orum sighs with the exact same note of exasperation. “She has been trying to goad me into a duel the entire journey.”

“There was little else to do.” During our time in Dusk, I didn’t get to spend much time with Morgene. We spent the first night alone and the ceremony was held the next morning. After that, we returned to Kierra’s tree to celebrate our union. All I know of Morgene, I had to piece together from Kierra’s tense welcome home, our subsequent conversation in her home, and Kierra’s few stories. None of those prepared me for how much of a…brat Morgene is.

Really, I should have expected this. Throwing your daughter in a cage for multiple decades along with the source of a major trauma haunting her is not the action of an understanding, mature woman. She’s no fool, one look into those sharp eyes is enough to know that, but strict to the point of pain? Stubborn to the point that she’ll break you before bending her views? Arrogant to the height that her nose is level with the top of the Bleak Peaks? She’s all that and more.

Worse, she doesn’t have a me to soften her. Kierra listens. She’s willing to change.

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The Abyss will swallow the sun before Morgene changes.

She is a savage, through and through. She wants blood. Being told she will not have it, she’s…saints, I hesitate to call a woman that could be literal centuries old and more powerful than I can imagine petulant. I hesitate, but given her pout, it feels very appropriate.

“I didn’t expect much from humans but somehow, your people have exceeded my incredible expectations for disappointment,” the violet elf huffs. “There is no ingenuity, no beauty, and no creativity to be found. Living in ugly little hovels made of dead wood and mud. So weak that dumb beasts are needed to do their labor. Harvesting cheap crops no different from common grass. Truly, do you all have brains? The world gives you power, you cultivate it, and then do nothing with it?” She scoffs.

“It is a fallacy of the short-lived,” Orum says. “They have so little time, all they can focus on is their own lives. All their power is dedicated to preserving their lives and continuing their bloodline. They don’t have the vision to see their environment.”

“Their kingdom is young,” Kierra says weakly. Inwardly, I thank her for the attempt.

“Ridiculous. I refuse to believe they have no healers capable of extending their lives by a few decades, it is the first great mystery that all with the power over life try to unravel. That frees them from the chain of mortality, but even without it, there are means to motivate progress. That is the purpose of culture. Of tradition.”

“Our traditions are all about screwing ourselves,” I say with a laugh. No one else thinks it’s funny.

“I originally came to watch Orum make a fool of himself, as he always does when Kii is involved, but the more I walked this land, the more I found myself agreeing with him. At least until I saw my spirit daughter do such an interesting trick.” Saints. The way she’s looking at me makes my skin crawl. “It makes far more sense now that I see my daughter did not fall for a human at all. Shame on you, Kii, not sharing such fun information with your mother.”

“That is because I know how you are,” Kierra grumbles.

“I would very much like to know what your lover is.”

I take a step toward Kierra and she obligingly puts herself between me and her mother. Orum also helps by putting a hand on her shoulder. I’m surprised that rather than shrug it off, or something drastic like punching him in the face, Morgene relaxes. Practically leans into it.

Ah, they’re unified. Morgene underwent a ceremony proclaiming she wants to spend the rest of her night with this man. That means something different with the elves, as their idea of settling down is very different from the average citizen of Harvest’s, but that means she must like him. Love him maybe? That’s kind of hard to imagine.

“I have a suggestion.”

Talia speaks her first words since their sudden appearance. Her head remains bowed as the room turns to her, but there is a stillness to her. She’s calm. Relaxed, even. She’s not afraid. Perfect flower that she is, she is trusting in our ability to control the situation and keep her safe.

The thought makes me straighten my shoulders and step out from behind Kierra, putting me at her side and offering another layer of protection for Talia. Morgene unnerves me, for good saints damned reasons, but I’m not going to fail that trust. Not when I’m perfectly capable of living up to it.

“Our clan seeks a deeper understanding of each other. The traditions of our people are different and too deeply rooted to say one is better than the other. It is an impossible decision because we are both. I suggest we proceed with both. First dinner and discussion. Then a respectful bout to satisfy the elders’ curiosity. Combat with rules and stipulations, so it serves to bring the clan closer rather than divide us.”

Orum grunts. “As always, the flowers are the ones who speak the most sense.”

More than he knows. Trying to sway the elves from violence entirely is a losing value, it’s too tightly interwoven to who they are. However, making them fight after a nice dinner and conversation is a masterstroke. No one can be angry with a belly full of good food in them and if Orum talks to me, he’ll see me as a person rather than a strange interloper who stole his daughter. The anger in my belly swirls with discontent but I ignore it in favor of pride. Talia really is amazing. I owe that woman something nice.

“Stay,” I half ask, half order, throwing every ounce of personality and persuasion I have into it. “We’ll give you a proper welcome. Orum, I’m sure you want to talk to your daughter. Morgene, you have questions. We have good drink and better food.”

One thing I will say in their favor. Neither are creatures of hesitation.

“We will commune and then we will do battle.”

“Hmph. It has been too long since I’ve had a decent meal. You know your father is a terrible cook. Still eats his meat raw when he can’t be bothered to prepare it.”

“I’m sure you remember your mother isn’t much of a cook herself. When you asked for a cake to celebrate your tenth birthday, she stole it. You know, before she learned to use her affinity in battle, she skulked around as a lowly thief.”

“Lowly? I held the world in my hand. Better than the man who had to be physically restrained when she asked to go on a solo hunt for her twelfth birthday. They could hear you wailing for your precious daughter the next village over. It took her a week to come home because you scared away all the prey.”

…they really are married.

“Lou.” I turn my head to look at Talia. “I would like to make a request.”

“Go on.”

“I would like to invite my mentor to meet our clan.”

Eh?