Bladesinger - Keith Francis Strohm [81]
Nardual bent down to retrieve his sword, but Andaerean simply stared at Taenaran, his own weapon still held in battle readiness. Taenaran returned the look, trying not to let his body's trembling, brought on by the rain's chill touch and the strain on his muscles, become too noticeable.
"You performed well, Taenaran," the elf remarked coolly before wiping and sheathing his blade.
Taenaran said nothing, thrown off guard by Andaerean's words. The haughty tael had never spoken a kindly word to him in all the years that they had trained together.
He did not disappoint now.
The elf sniffed the air, as if scenting something foul. "Proof that even an ape, with proper coaching, can imitate his betters," Andaerean said. "Perhaps one day they will teach you to sing and dance as well."
All pleasure that Taenaran had felt at his execution of the water battle shattered beneath the cutting edge of the elf's words. The half-elf felt his anger rise like a river swollen with spring thaw. He wanted to reach out and punch that smug, superior smirk off of Andaerean's face, or at the very least, send the tael back home with a few bruises. He might have done so, had another, lighter voice not broke in to their small circle of conflict.
"Taenaran," the voice called out. "Oh, there you are."
Talaedra stopped in midstride, her face flushed and her breath swirling in gray clouds blown by the rain-laden wind. Her silver hair, rare among the sun elves, danced wildly in the storm, tangling and twisting where the gusts tossed its curling strands. Where in others such an unusual coloring would be a flaw in an otherwise stunning beauty, Talaedra wore it like a crown. The silver-white tint of her hair set off eyes as gray as the mists of the spring-soaked Glades of Araenvae. The effect added to the elf maiden's beauty, making her seem even rarer, like a certain moonrise that occurs but once in a lifetime.
The effect was immediate-and not unexpected. Taenaran felt his breath catch and his tongue stiffen; he stood transfixed, as if caught by the gaze of a basilisk. Andaerean, on the other hand, straightened immediately. The half-elf watched enviously as the haughty, dour lines of the tael's face were replaced by a gracious and open smile. Andaerean bowed low.
"Talaedra," he said, pronouncing the young elf maiden's name with perfect grace, "it is an honor to see you again. How fortunate for us that you chose this day to come and see the alu'dala."
Taenaran felt a surge of jealousy as Talaedra returned the tael's bow.
"Andaerean," she replied. "The water battle is always a delight to watch. You performed well," she said, eliciting another wave of jealousy that suddenly stopped and turned to amazement when Talaedra continued with a sly wink toward Taenaran, "all of you."
The half-elf's heart leaped in his chest. She had noticed his skill today. The thrill of it was almost enough to restore his earlier feeling of contentment.
Almost.
What came next, however, damped Taenaran's enthusiasm like a torrent of freezing water on a fledgling fire.
Andaerean cleared his throat. "Tonight is the Feast of First Planting," the elf said with great formality. "I was wondering if you would grant me the honor of accompanying you to the celebration."
Taenaran winced at the elf's words, despite himself. He knew what was to come, yet even though he saw it, like an arrow speeding toward his heart, it did not hurt any less, which was why he spluttered and choked violently at Talaedra's response.
"Thank you for your offer," the elf maiden said formally, her rich voice lilting and even, "but I already have a companion for the celebration." She reached out a slender, smooth-skinned hand and laid it gently upon Taenaran's shoulder.
The half-elf nearly burst out laughing at the look of consternation and disbelief that passed across Andaerean's face, soon followed by a piercing stare full of hatred. The elf tael bowed low again.
"Well," he said in clipped tones, "since I have done my