Elfhome

Once he was sure his cousins were under Cattail Reeds’ artistic supervision, Tommy slipped unnoticed upstairs to the third floor and moved cautiously down the hall to the end room where he knew Jewel Tear was staying. The door stood open, seeming to welcome all comers, but he had heard that Jewel Tear had been quiet and withdrawn. The elves were giving her space to put her ordeal behind her.

He wasn’t sure of how she would react to him, but he wanted to see her again. He told himself that he was a fool — that she made herself clear days ago — but want was eating at him.

She was at the window, looking down into the backyard. She wore a dress obviously by Cattail Reeds. It was a flirty splash of bright yellow that only came to mid-thigh in the front, but trained down in the back to nearly to her bare feet. Seeing her there in the light did all sorts of strange and painful things to his insides.

She put her hand to the glass and smiled radiantly at someone in the backyard. Tommy’s insides twisted hard with jealous anger. He ghosted forward, needing to know whom she was waving at.

Spot was in the backyard with Baby Duck. The little elf female had crowned him with dandelions that were as brilliant yellow as Jewel Tear’s dress against his black fur. They had the chickens in their lap and was hand feeding them while Baby Duck talked earnestly to Spot.

Tommy breathed out as surprise and relief punched him hard in the gut.

Jewel Tear turned and saw him. Her eyes went wide. She glanced to the door standing open.

“It was open.” He really hoped she wasn’t going to scream. Things could get messy if she did. He tried not to think of all the sekasha down on the first floor.

Jewel Tear ran to the door and shut it.

He had expected her to run out into the hall and stood there confused as she locked the door quietly.

“Stupid,” she hissed as she hurried back to him and pulled him away from the window. “We have to be careful not be seen together.”

“Gods forbid we be seen.” Tommy sneered.

“They kill us both if they catch us.” She caught his head and pulled him down to a hard desperate kiss.

For several minutes Tommy couldn’t think coherently as his hands discovered that the dress rode up when she wrapped her arms about his shoulders and his fingers had access to bare skin.

“Who — who will kill us?” He finally managed.

“The sekasha. The domana are forbidden to take lovers outside of their Hands.”

At the faire grounds they had been surrounded by nearly fifty Wyverns. She had acted so distant and dismissive that even he believed there was nothing between them. He breathed out a laugh at his own naivety.

His fingertips brushed higher and his brain stopped working again. “You’re not wearing any…”

“They said your cousins were coming to help. I knew you would be brave enough to seek me out.”

“Oh,” he said and then realized what that meant. “Oh! We’ll have to be quiet.”

She smothered her laughter against his mouth.

49: Elf Princess

The meeting was Tinker’s first real official planned function as an elf princess. Everything else really didn’t count because she had charged ahead without a full thought of the political implications. This time she calculated out maximum strategic impact of every possible detail. She decided on a causal afternoon tea in the courtyard under the peach trees. She would wear the new yellow baby doll shirt that Cattail Reeds had made her with the shorts she permanently borrowed off Stormsong. She drilled all morning on the etiquette of pouring tea, not so much so she could do it exactly right, but so she could humanize the activity without delivering any grave insult. She talked Lemonseed into creating finger sandwiches using human condiments such as mayonnaise, bread and butter pickles, and Dijon mustard. She wanted to deliver a strong message of “This is Pittsburgh, not the Easternlands.”

And then there was nothing to do but wait on the elfin vagueness of time for “afternoon” to roll around. She should have made it “morning” tea. Luckily, her guest was impossibly early by elf standards.

Apparently Forge’s Hand was taking their unintentional complicity with the Skin Clan hard. His First bowed slightly to Pony without the normal cold stare down. Forge echoed the humility in his bow to Tinker. It made it a little easier to bow back.

Forge settled uneasy on the cushion. He had the invition she had sent up the road to him. She had spent an entire hour crafting it. He turned it over and over, as if confused by it.

“You sent this?” He held it out reluctantly, as if he didn’t want her to take it from him. After great deliberation, she had written: Grandpa Forge, come see me this afternoon, your granddaughter, Beloved Tinker of Wind.