A Suitable Bodyguard, page 7
Tahlen’s suspicious, displeased stare did not abate. “Zelli, this is Kat Ryssa.”
“Zelli?” echoed Tahlen’s friend Kat Ryssa. “I thought it was Mizel.”
Kat Ryssa. Zelli made a note to himself for all the good it did him, then shrugged with as much grace as several cups of wine gave him. “Mizel of the Tialttyrin,” he introduced himself although the entire village knew his name and so must she. Playful and bold must be qualities Tahlen liked in a lover. And lovely. Kat was lovely, if not a great beauty any more than Zelli was. “I’m pleased to meet a friend of Tahlen’s.”
“Zelli,” Tahlen said sharply, warning.
Zelli gazed at Tahlen loftily. “Really, don’t worry about me. I’ll stick to my room and lock the door again. You’ll have the whole night free.” He had to break eye contact to say that, but he did at least get it out.
“Zelli,” Tahlen said it again, softer now.
Zelli wondered if Tahlen was sorry. If he could read Zelli and felt bad because he knew that Zelli would go to his room and bury his head under his pillow. He shouldn’t. Tahlen had offered courtship to Zelli out of desperation and loneliness, and Zelli understood loneliness better than anyone else possibly ever would. Kat Ryssa was what Tahlen wanted when he had more choice and Zelli couldn’t blame him for that.
“I’ll be all right,” Zelli told the both of them, told Tahlen’s shoulder, really. He gestured vaguely toward the bar, where Stern Sar was pouring someone a drink. “I’ll ask the mayor to see me to my room so you can enjoy yourself. Good night,” he told, also to Tahlen’s shoulder, then walked slowly and carefully toward the bar, wishing people would not skip out of his way as if afraid to be near him.
Five
Zelli did not sleep well and woke early. Not bothering with relighting the fire in the fireplace, he washed up with cold water and poked his head out of his room in time to catch one of the inn’s employees going past. She brought tea with lein spice and honey, which Zelli had one sip of before his stomach turned.
He had resolved to think only of what must be done today, which had not helped him sleep peacefully and had unsettled his stomach more than two cups too many of wine had. He forced himself to drink more tea, nicely refused the offer of food made through the door a while later, and then sat on his bed to sulk and chew on the leather cord for his necklace. A childish habit that he had tried to train himself out of, mostly by keeping the length of the cord too short for him to do it unless he took the necklace off first.
The fae must lead interesting lives in the other world if biting things soothed them as it soothed Zelli—usually soothed Zelli. There was no calming him today.
He finally decided to get dressed, putting the necklace back around his throat where it belonged. He rewashed his face and combed his hair, swearing to himself, and then put on pants of a stormy dark blue, boots, and a clean shirt and vest of deep purple, although the coat that went over it all hid most everything but his pants from sight.
The coat, also blue, had grape vines in silver embroidered along the cuffs and the hem, but was otherwise fairly simple. The cloth was not even patterned. His ears he decorated again, putting tiny cuffs to the sides of his nose as well and hoping he would not snag the chains that connected them to his ear cuffs and which hopefully hid most of his freckles. He ought to wear the nose cuffs and chains more once he was home to get used to them and not embarrass his future intended. He wore no rings. Zelli’s hands were small even by his family’s standards and most rings fell off.
Mayor Sar knocked on the door to inform him that people were gathering downstairs. The judgments were apparently always held in the inn, being a large building with seating for so many readily available.
Zelli combed his hair again, then wasted a good half an hour trying to get it to do something more than the usual simple braids down his back. He was hot and frustrated when he got another knock on the door.
He stomped to the door, unlocked it so Tahlen would hear the sound, and swung it open.
Tahlen was dressed and in mail again, standing directly in front of the door so that when Zelli opened it, he blinked down in silent surprise at whatever red-faced mess Zelli presented.
Zelli was foolish to wear jewelry to try to make himself sparkle. Foolish to look over Tahlen’s face and neck for signs of… anything. Foolish to turn away from Tahlen without a word and go back to the mirror.
Tahlen’s braid was intricate, the lines of it smooth. Zelli thought of those long, shining strands in Kat Ryssa’s hands and tightened his jaw. He said not a word but Tahlen eventually came in and then shut the door behind him.
Zelli got his hair into two fluffy braids only to realize he had not gotten clasps from his pack. He sighed and let the braids fall. He wouldn’t attempt to wear them up. That was inviting disaster. But he’d wanted to look good in front of everyone. Certain people in particular.
Foolish again.
“No food?” Tahlen asked at last, standing by the bed. “You didn’t finish your tea.”
“I can’t handle food this morning,” Zelli confessed shortly, going to his pack for the clasps so he wouldn’t have to look at Tahlen in the mirror.
He didn’t know what to make of Tahlen’s careful tone. “I didn’t think you drank that much last night.”
Zelli combed his hair yet again, making it crackle and rise upward to the ceiling. “Last night,” he pronounced crisply. But last night was something he was not thinking about today, so he shook his head. “I’m nervous, which must seem silly to you. As if you’ve ever doubted yourself. As if you’ve ever had reason to.”
“What does that mean?” Tahlen deliberately moved so their eyes would meet in the mirror.
Zelli rubbed his cheek, bumping one of the fine chains, then swore in a way that would make Grandmother shake her head. “It means nothing,” he said miserably. “I apologize. I’m sure I’m safe up here, if you wanted to spend time elsewhere. You can wait for me downstairs if you prefer. With whomever you like.”
“You are acting as head of your family and will be responsible for the lives and livelihoods of everyone in this village.” Tahlen undoubtedly meant this to be calming. “Anyone would doubt themselves.”
Zelli harrumphed like Cousin Ona. “Not you.”
Tahlen firmed his voice. “Anyone.”
“It really isn’t your job to listen to me whining yet again,” Zelli whispered in reply, ashamed. “Nor to try to cheer me up, although I suppose it’s in your interest for the Tialttyrin to prosper.”
Tahlen let out a breath. Zelli was beginning to think it was Tahlen’s one indication of irritation.
“Thank you for the attempt, anyway.” Zelli straightened his shoulders and picked up his comb to attack his hair again. “You really can wait downstairs if you want. My hair will take a while. Sometimes I think… sometimes I think it knows when I want to look best and it grows more uncontrollable out of spite. It isn’t as though it rewards my efforts by looking pretty. Perhaps… perhaps I should cut it all off once I am safely hand-fasted away.” He suggested it as lightly as he could. “After my intended has learned I am unsophisticated and will no longer be shocked by my lack of taste or interest in demonstrating my high birth with how elaborately I have styled my hair.”
Tahlen’s reflected glare made him flinch. Tahlen’s words, however, were gentle. “The judgments will take hours, possibly even all day. You need to eat. If… if it would help calm you, I could manage your hair for you. If it lets me,” he added, possibly making a joke, which was even more shocking than his suggestion.
Zelli blinked several times.
“It’s often easier to have someone else do the braiding,” Tahlen went on, stilling when Zelli’s eyes shimmered to a darker green than they’d been the moment before.
Immediately distracted from more thoughts of Kat Ryssa touching Tahlen’s hair, Zelli leaned closer to the mirror, watching his eye color settle to a greenish-brown. “That’s quicker than the last time I noticed. Have my eyes been doing this for long?”
“Yes.” Tahlen glanced down when Zelli looked back at him. “I assumed you knew.”
That they would not stay one color, yes. That they had begun changing so fast, no. Zelli uneasily considered if that was a sign of yet another fae problem, or a sign of an older one that he had never noticed, or something else entirely. Something else to fret over once he was home again.
They shimmered darker and then to a deep blue before Zelli turned around to look at Tahlen directly. “I can’t ask you to braid my hair.”
“I’m offering,” Tahlen insisted.
Zelli snorted with doubtful amusement. “Only because you’ve never dealt with my hair. I’ve already used oil this morning, too much will weigh it down. Although it will absorb it all by this afternoon no matter how much you use.”
Tahlen raised his head. “That is a yes?”
“Your hair is always beautiful.” Zelli sighed it. “I’d be a fool not to let you at least try.”
Tahlen swallowed and stood there, staring, before seeming to spur himself away from the bed. Zelli turned to face the mirror again as Tahlen came up behind him, realizing all at once that Tahlen was going to have to be close to him for this, that Tahlen would be touching him, and that Zelli might not be able to see much of Tahlen’s face in the mirror, but Tahlen could certainly see his.
Tahlen’s hands came into sight in the reflection. Zelli could not feel the touch but avidly watched the slow glide of Tahlen’s fingers through the near-rainbow of his hair—until they snagged on a tangle that hadn’t been there before.
Zelli frowned dejectedly. Tahlen paused, then extracted his hand and pulled the total of Zelli’s hair to the back, gently testing the weight as he arranged it so he could see it. He took the comb from Zelli’s useless hands and then said, hardly to be heard, “Your hair is lovely, Zelli. Have you tried telling it that?”
Zelli’s chest seemed to tighten. “You are suggesting I flatter my hair into submission?” he wondered, no louder than Tahlen had been.
“It doesn’t need to submit.” Tahlen used the comb to make a part and… Zelli’s hair allowed itself to be parted.
Zelli could not even be annoyed. The comb dragged lightly across his scalp as Tahlen created sections to put into clasps while he combed out the remaining tangles, which did not fight him.
“I don’t understand,” Zelli complained breathlessly. “Are you part fae? You aren’t even using extra oil.”
“It’s soft as it is,” Tahlen remarked. Maybe he had forgotten he was whispering. His hand brushed the spot behind Zelli’s ear. Zelli shivered and lowered his gaze. He kept it down, uncertain what color his eyes would be for this or what that might mean.
“It does not lie flat like yours,” Zelli reminded him.
“No, it has more life.” Tahlen undid the first few clasps, apparently satisfied that Zelli’s hair would do what he pleased now. Zelli believed it would.
Tahlen was careful. His hands did not brush Zelli’s skin again, except for a small, light touch across Zelli’s nape that sent another shiver down Zelli’s back, and a final sweep to get the wispy strays around Zelli’s ears and tuck them into the rest of the braiding.
“Sorry,” Tahlen murmured for that.
Zelli felt like Kat Ryssa must have felt with Tahlen’s breath on her neck.
“What?” He had no idea what Tahlen was apologizing for. “It’s well—fine. More than fine.” He wondered if his voice too high.
Tahlen used the clasps again as Zelli generally didn’t bother to do, as though Tahlen didn’t think it was ridiculous for Zelli to have shining silver grape leaves throughout his hair. He stepped back a moment later, apparently finished.
Zelli took a calming breath, then looked at his reflection. Purple, he thought distractedly, caught by his eyes. He hadn’t known purple could seem hot. The freckles across his nose and cheeks seemed darker against his flush. The glinting silver metalwork would not disguise them or the red of Zelli’s lips where he’d bitten them. Then his hair took the rest of his attention.
Tahlen had not braided it tightly, the way Zelli usually tried to do. It would come loose in no time at all, Zelli worried, but then stopped, uncertain. He crept closer to the mirror, turning his head to each side to see the braid Tahlen had started behind each ear and then twisted together at his nape. There were two tiny braids to accent the rest, pulled back into the same twist. With nothing more than clasps to hold it down, the rest of Zelli’s hair was free to shift and shine in the light. The colors were not hidden.
Zelli bit his bottom lip hard.
“Less for it to escape from,” Tahlen explained himself. Maybe he thought Zelli was angry.
Zelli faced him. “It’s better than anything I have ever done,” he told Tahlen honestly. “I love it. But they will think I’m wild.”
Tahlen looked over Zelli’s hair one last time, then Zelli’s face, their eyes not meeting. “I can take it down.”
“No!” Zelli objected immediately, dizzy as he turned back to the mirror. “I look like a beat-of-four for the first time in my life. I look like a Tialttyrin, a real one. Thank you,” he said to Tahlen’s now-scowling reflection. “I even almost feel beautiful.”
Tahlen opened his mouth, then closed it. He coughed. “I’ll go get you some food, unless you want to eat downstairs with the gathering crowd.”
Zelli shook his head forcefully at that idea, then worried he’d damaged Tahlen’s work and leaned toward the mirror again to admire it.
“Tahlen,” he stopped Tahlen before he was out the door, “thank you.”
Tahlen stared out into the hall. “Ask anytime, if you need it.” Then he was gone, except for a low, “Lock the door again, please, Zelli,” once the door was closed behind him.
After honeyed toast and enough tea to keep Tahlen from grumbling, and removing the silver links across one side of his face because he got honey on them, Zelli took a steadying breath and left the room. It would be rude to keep people waiting any longer, even if burying his head beneath a pillow once again seemed appealing.
Tahlen would have been disappointed in him. Grandmother too, who would have also reminded Zelli that he had chosen this so it was now his responsibility.
Nonetheless, Zelli hesitated on the last step down to the main room, catching his breath at the number of people seated on the rearranged chairs or standing in the rest of the available space. A single table remained, in front of the fireplace on one side of the room. Mayor Sar was more than used to hosting these proceedings, judging from the pitcher and cup on the table, and even a few sheets of paper next to a quill and a pot of ink.
The crowd went silent at the sight of him. Zelli tried not to think about that, nodding in greeting and then hurrying to his seat at the table, which Mayor Sar pulled out for him. Seated, Zelli’s feet did not fully touch the floor, which he hoped people would not notice. Tahlen stood behind Zelli on his other side. Zelli suppressed the urge to glance pleadingly at him to stand nearer so Zelli could check his reactions.
He braced himself, then swept a look over the room. In the group by the door, a few held papers. Petitioners, most probably there with straightforward requests, news of which would be passed on to Grandmother. The others who were not in any sort of line must be here to watch and form an opinion of Zelli. By the bar, with several large people obviously standing guard, was a woman perhaps slightly older than Tahlen, her hair once short but now growing out somewhat unevenly. She was thin but not alarmingly so, and her clothing did not seem to fit her; the shirt too big, the pants slightly small. One of her wrists had rope looped around it, the end of which was in the hands of one of the figures guarding her.
Zelli took another steadying breath. The room was quiet save for a bit of coughing and shuffling feet.
“I am very sorry for the missing judgments last year. Grandmother is in poor health but is thinking of all of you. I am equally sorry for the lack of warning about this one. If anyone could not make it in time, messages can always be sent to The Tialttyrin directly. Messengers themselves will be fed and cared for in our house before their return journey.” He cleared his throat to banish a waver, then turned to address the prisoner. “I am also sorry for making you wait.”
The prisoner straightened, startled. Her skin was yellow-brown, her eyes darker, like charred wood. Her eyes flicked from Zelli to the rest of the room, almost questioning. “That’s fine,” she said at last. Though there was little else she could say in response, Zelli supposed, but turned away from her to continue.
“Anyone asking formal permission from The Tialttyrin for land rights or drastic improvements,” permission almost always granted, “I will speak with you last, I think, so I can truly listen to your needs.” He did not glance to Tahlen to see if that was acceptable. “Now, other than the prisoner, who present has an issue that needs the immediate judgment of The Tialttyrin?”
Two people immediately pushed forward. The groan from the others in the crowd signaled a problem. Zelli understood the nature of the problem when both petitioners began to speak at the same time, spilling jumbled details about a dissolved hand-fasting, a shared boundary line, and a walnut tree.
The couple—former couple—were familiar to Zelli from his grandmother’s notations about past judgments. Knowing that did not untie the knot in his stomach, but it did allow him to sit back slightly as he let them both talk.
Two neighbors at the northern edge of the village who had once gone so far as to get hand-fasted, only to sever that tie a few years later. It had not ended well, for reasons no one had ever made clear to Grandmother. The neighbors fought over everything and brought their disputes to nearly every session of judgments.
As they carried on, Zelli twisted to look at Tahlen. Tahlen immediately bent down over him as if Zelli had a request and the two bickering neighbors sputtered to a stop. Zelli gave a slight shake of his head in answer to Tahlen, then turned back to face the room and take advantage of the silence.
