The Chronicles of Krarshe: The Hearts of Men, Volume 1

“Do people really wear this?” Krarshe shifted uncomfortably in his formal dress. “This is awful. I’m pretty sure it’s choking me too. And why does it have so many layers?!” Krarshe groaned. “And I thought the school uniforms were formal. This feels excessive.”

Tibault tugged at the neck of his shirt before fixing the ruffled bit of cloth tied around it. “I’ve never been fond of these cravats either. But it’s part of being a noble, suffering through it,” he said, running his hand through his slicked back hair. He must have done it a hundred times since they left Tibault’s house, as though it were habit. “At least, that’s what my dad says.”

“Seems silly.”

“Well, yeah, it is.”

Krarshe waited a moment, expecting Tibault to continue his response, but he never did.

“I’m glad to see my brother’s clothes worked out so well.”

“I did try them on when Bri and I visited, remember?”

“I know. I’m just saying.”

“Personally, I’m glad I could figure out how to put this on. There’s so many layers!” Krarshe gestured, pulling the outer coat aside to show the vest and shirt.

“At least we won’t be cold.”

“I suppose, but this is ridiculous.” Krarshe sighed. He knew he was just complaining with no hope of resolution. At least it was only a single night he had to put up with it.

“At least you don’t have to wear this regularly...” Tibault said, as if reading Krarshe’s thoughts. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

“Fairly certain this is the way we went,” Krarshe said, thinking back to a few nights ago when he walked Bri home.

“Only fairly?”

Krarshe stopped to look at Tibault. “Look, I know my sense of direction may not be the best...”

“Uhh...” Tibault looked away uncomfortably.

“... But I’m... It’s this way.” Krarshe started walking again, more confidently. “... I think.”

“I knew I should have asked Bri where she lived.” Tibault covered his face with his hand, sighing. “This is going to be like that time you tried to bring us to the Golden Flagon, isn’t it?” He continued to follow Krarshe down the twisting streets of Castle Ward.

“I got us there, didn’t I?”

“Only took you until it got dark...”

“Not my fault the sun sets earlier this time of year,” Krarshe said with an indifferent wave. “And the food was good, right?”

“It was okay. The beer was better.”

“After having tasted rum, everything tastes too bitter.”

“You’ve had rum?”

Krarshe nodded. “Was right after that bruising I got.”

“Huh.” Tibault turned forward again and walked in silence. Despite the nonchalant response, Krarshe could read the jealousy on Tibault’s face. He was always bad at hiding his emotions, but that made it easier to interact with him.

Countless carriages clattered down the stone streets, ferrying nameless nobles to their festivities. The harvest festival was at its peak, and even in the usually quiet Castle Ward district, there was music and revelry. Not quite as unruly as it was in Feyfaire, however; Krarshe had to avoid countless drunks stumbling through the streets to get here, dodging all manner of drink and fare that seemed determined to dirty his borrowed attire. Despite the hassles, he was slightly excited to take part in his first festival. And a great deal nervous.

“Tibault.”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever been to a gala like this?”

Tibault shook his head. “No. Well, no, that’s not true. I’ve been to one. Years ago. But never like this.”

“Like what?”

“The Bullieres are a very powerful and established noble family. They’ve held their authority since Remonnet laid their claim to the empire.”

“So you’re nervous too?” Krarshe asked.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.” He took a deep breath. “Not only for myself, but my family. Our honor hinges on my conduct here.”

Krarshe raised an eyebrow. “That seems exaggerated.”

“It’s not. Public appearances are... They can determine your success as a noble. Your whole family’s success...” Krarshe could see Tibault shake nervously. He swallowed hard. “Must be nice to not be a noble. Though I suppose you’ll have your own struggles tonight.”

“Struggles? How so? I mean, I know I need to behave appropriately to not embarrass Bri as her guest but-”

Tibault pointed to his ear. Krarshe looked at him for a moment, puzzled. He reached up and touched his own, pointed ear. Only then did it occur to him what Tibault meant.

“You’re an elf. Those struggles.”

“Oh. Right.” Krarshe laughed awkwardly. “I almost forgot...”

“That you’re an elf? Karshe, are you drunk already?”

Krarshe shook his head and raised his hand. “No, no. I meant I forgot some people might take issue with that. I guess I’ve been around you and Bri so long that I forgot.”

“Just remember, Bri and I aren’t like most nobles. Unlike them, we’re friends.” Tibault turned to face Krarshe and smiled.

Krarshe noticed a few carriages lining up in front of a gate, slowly being guided inside. “Oh. I think it’s that house.”

“Think?!”

“At least, I’m fairly sure...”

Tibault groaned, exasperated. “Sure, fine. Let’s just go ask one of the- Whoa...” Tibault’s eyes widened as he stared up at the massive house. “Y-you’re sure it’s this one?”

Krarshe looked through the bars of the gate at the huge structure. It wouldn’t be too much of an exaggeration to call it a castle in its own right. It must have been nearly twice or thrice the size of the entire academy grounds, and that was without including the estate’s auxiliary buildings and gardens. “I’m sure. I remember the fountain over there,” Krarshe said, pointing toward an elaborate, multi-tiered fountain just before the gardens.

Tibault stumbled a bit, grabbing into Krarshe suddenly to catch himself. “Okay. Okay... Right. Well, le-” Tibault’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat before trying again. “Let’s go, shall we?”

Krarshe and Tibault approached the gate. As carriage after carriage stopped and let off their guests, Tibault tried to guide Krarshe to arrive between them. Krarshe watched men and women, young and old, be let out of their carriage by their footman. The garb seemed as stuffy and convoluted as what Krarshe and Tibault wore. Guess we look the part, at least.

As a carriage left, Tibault pulled Krarshe with a yank. “Come on!” They came before the foremost guard just as the next carriage started to move.

The guard looked at them as they approached, his eyes resting upon Tibault but a moment before falling heavily on Krarshe. “Names?” he asked after a few seconds, his gaze shifting to a scroll of parchment he had.

“Ti-” Tibault’s voice cracked again. “Ahem. Tibault Dumont.”

The guard inspected his parchment a minute before looking at Krarshe. “And you?”

“Krarshe.”

The guard looked up from his list, his eyes narrowing.

“That’s it. Krarshe,” Krarshe clarified.

His eyes returned to the list, skimming through the names as quickly as he could. The carriage behind the two boys was already letting out their noble passengers. “Kurarussh?” He looked up at the elf boy.

Tibault and Krarshe exchanged glances. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Just as the boys had done, the guards exchanged looks. He shrugged. “Elves...” he said with a hint of disgust. He nodded to the other guard manning the gate, who opened it and gestured them inside. “Just don’t cause any trouble.”

That seemed unnecessary... Krarshe thought, nodding and smiling his practiced smile.

“And I’m sure you’ll keep an eye on the sprite,” the guard added as Tibault passed by him. Tibault gave an awkward smile without really responding.

When they were a distance from the gate, Tibault leaned in toward Krarshe and whispered, “Don’t mind that shit-eater.”

“What?”

“Calling you a... a sprite.”

“What of it?”

Tibault put a hand on Krarshe’s shoulder and stopped. “That... doesn’t bother you?”

“I don’t even know what it means,” Krarshe admitted. Krarshe had heard the word tossed around a couple times, but he was never able to deduce its meaning.

Tibault gave him a confused look. “It’s... Umm... You know...” He leaned in closer to Krarshe again. “It’s a rude way to refer to an elf. You’ve really never been called that here?”

Krarshe thought for a moment. In his few cycles in this form, he couldn’t recall any instances of being called it directly. Maybe a couple times, but he never took it personally. Krarshe shrugged and shook his head.

Tibault breathed deep. “Well,” he started, glancing around at some of the other guests entering the estate. “Just don’t let it bother you if someone does that here.”

“Honestly, I can’t see it being an issue. Words are just that: words. They only have what power you grant them.”

Tibault chuckled. “Where’d that come from?”

“My grandfather used to say it.”

“Your grandfather again, eh? You like to pass off his wisdom as your own, don’t you?”

“What would wisdom be if it couldn’t be passed on?”

“Okay, okay. That’s enough words of wisdom from Karshe,” Tibault laughed. He faced the entrance of the mansion. “Well,” he took a deliberate breath. “Let’s go face this gala then.”

“We face it together,” Krarshe said with a reassuring smile. “At least until I find a pretty girl to chase after.” His smile grew wider.

“Pssh. Sure you will,” Tibault retorted. “You have the tact of a toad.”

“I’m moving up in the world, I see.”

The two continued joking and laughing as they entered, the tense air all but dissipated.

Krarshe and Tibault walked through the wide double doors into the light of the grand hall. Spheres of light held motionless at each pillar of the room, with a larger orb near the center of the ceiling two stories up; the brilliance of it all was such a sudden change from the dark of the evening streets that they both had to shield their eyes. As his eyes adjusted, Krarshe was awestruck by the countless guests scattered throughout the first floor and along the curved staircases and balcony of the second floor.

Krarshe couldn’t make out if there was anyone up on the third floor balcony from the ground, but it seemed to be more dimly lit. The floor had an ornate silver and bronze design whose sheen reflected the numerous glowing orbs, giving the space an even brighter aura and sense of elegance and affluence. Countless tapestries and portraits lined the walls, paired with elaborate furnishings and adornments. Just what Krarshe could see here on the first floor of the grand hall was probably worth more than all the money that had ever passed through his hands.

Krarshe and Tibault both moved off to the side just past the entrance and continued to study the room. Most of the guests were older, though there were a few children clinging to their parents. The men all wore formal vests and coats like their own, though some wore more elaborate garments. The women all had some variation of the same dress, overflowing with ruffles and frills. There were a few who wore more revealing gowns, exposing their shoulders, their hair covering the exposed part of their backs. It took a moment, but Krarshe noticed those women were usually younger and didn’t appear to be accompanied by a man. Rather, they seemed to be accompanied by SEVERAL men, for the moment at least.

All of the guests seemed to be mingling in a reserved way, talking or flirting, as servants brought glasses around to guests. Under one of the balconies, there were minstrels playing, though they seemed to serve as mere background noise for the social gathering. The floor looked prepared for dancing, but everyone was busy with their conversations. Seeing it reminded Krarshe of his conversation with Burmir. I could see how he’d find this a bit dull, especially compared to a tavern. As Krarshe and Tibault slowly made their way deeper into the room, they could see banquet tables filled with food set along the wall opposing the musicians. A few people were clustering there, eating small servings of food while enjoying the company of other guests.

“Well, at least there’s food,” Krarshe commented, nodding toward the tables.

“I’m not particularly hungry...” Tibault groaned. “Rather, I feel like I’m going to vomit.”

“You were fine a second ago.”

“I wasn’t actually inside a second ago. Let alone surrounded by all these nobles.”

“You’re a noble too, you know?”

Tibault turned away, hunching for a moment before audibly swallowing. “I should go outside.”

“You’ll be fine. Come, let’s go sit down over there.”

Krarshe guided Tibault over to the steps leading up to the balcony. Tibault sat on the steps, trying to regain his composure.

“You don’t have to be so nervous,” Krarshe said, shielding Tibault from view of most of the hall.

“I-” Tibault swallowed again. “-can’t help it. I don’t do well in formal gatherings. I feel so... out of place here.”

“How do you think I feel? I’m not even a noble. The clothes I’m wearing aren’t even mine!”

A couple coming down the stairs must have heard him, as they both looked over at him before wrinkling their noses and edging toward the far end of the steps.

“Look. We’ll just hang out here, out of the way, until we find Bri. Then it’ll be the three of us, like usual. You’ll be okay.”

Tibault breathed deeply. “Yeah, okay. I can do this.”

“You can do this, Tibby.”

Tibault glowered at Krarshe. “I swear to Teva, if you call me that again...”

Krarshe laughed, harder than he probably should have at a formal gathering. It seemed a couple people by the food took notice, but they didn’t seem to mind. “I’m going to go see what food there is, then I’ll be back.”

Tibault rolled his eyes. “You and food.”

“What can I say? I like to sample new foods.”

“For what good that’ll do. Your sense of taste must have died years ago.”

“I didn’t say I was a GOOD cook, just that I was capable of it.”

“I’m not starting this debate again. Just go look,” Tibault said, rubbing his brow with his thumb and forefinger. “And tell me if there’s anything good. In case my stomach settles.”

Krarshe nodded and headed for the tables. He slid past a few gatherings, more clumsily than usual due to the uncomfortable clothes he was wearing. When he arrived, his eagerness quickly vanished. The table seemed to be filled with small starter dishes and samplers. A few cooked vegetables, some fruit, mostly things Krarshe had eaten countless times before. As he reached the end of the row of tables, his spirits picked up again. There seemed to be some sort of pastry, one he wasn’t familiar with. They were small and seemed to contain a golden filling. And there was a whole mountain of them. With the current price of wheat, he couldn’t even fathom how much these all cost. Looking around briefly, he quickly grabbed one and took a bite. The flaky casing crumbled as he bit into the slightly warm, syrupy filling. The sweet taste of warm apples filled his mouth as he let out an involuntary “Mmmm”. He hurriedly finished his pastry and grabbed another, stuffing it into his mouth. Each bite was followed by the involuntary sound of satisfaction.

As he reached for another, he heard someone click their tongue and mutter, “Dirty sprite. Who, in Teva’s name, invited such a disgusting creature?”

Krarshe’s hand froze before slowly falling to his side. He forgot where he was. Forgot who was around him. He wasn’t back at The Easy Lute, or at lunch with his friends. He was at a formal gathering for nobles. At Bri’s invitation. Accompanied by a lesser noble. Krarshe didn’t have a name to uphold, but Bri and Tibault did. I get it now, Tibault, he thought. He saw a stack of small plates at the very end of the table. Calmly, he grabbed two and put a pastry on each, and slowly maneuvered his way back to where he left Tibault.

Tibault was still resting his face in his hands. He didn’t look as ill as before. “How are you feeling, Tibby?”

Tibault’s posture didn’t change as a swift kick caught Krarshe in the shin. “I told you not to call me that.” Tibault picked up his head. “A bit better. Find anything good?”

Krarshe handed him a plate. “It’s delicious.”

“A hand pie?” Tibault asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Delicious,” Krarshe repeated more insistently.

“I mean, yeah, it’s a pie. I feel like this is more of a dessert. Was there no dinner food?”

“Delicious,” Krarshe repeated yet again, enunciating each syllable.

“You’re such a child.” Tibault took the plate and bit into it. “Oh wow...”

“Right?!”

“... Okay. You win. Delicious.” Tibault took another bite.

Krarshe sat down next to Tibault on the step, biting into his third hand pie. “I get it now, I think,” Krarshe said, muffled by a mouth full of food.

Tibault turned to Krarshe, cocking his head to the side slightly. “Get what?”

Krarshe swallowed. “Nothing.”

“That’s probably the most true statement you’ve ever made,” Tibault said with a smile before returning to his hand pie.

“They let vermin into this gathering? Bit embarrassing for House Bulliere.” Krarshe and Tibault turned to see Armand talking to two other boys while gesturing.

“I didn’t think you’d be invited,” Tibault mocked, uncharacteristically. “Who did you have to bribe?”

“Tch! Please. A rag-noble like you wouldn’t even pass for a servant here,” Armand said, walking down the stairs to the main floor. He turned to Krarshe. “I’m surprised a sprite like him wasn’t arrested for just stepping foot on the premises.”

Tibault stood up, fist clenched. Thinking quickly, Krarshe stood and put a hand on his shoulder, stopping Tibault from taking unsightly action. “Let me show you something I learned,” Krarshe whispered in Tibault’s ear. Krarshe stepped forward. “Oh, my apologies, Lord Armand! I realize I must have slighted you in some way by not greeting you sooner! This lowly elf, Krarshe, bids you fair greetings,” Krarshe made a grandiose bow. As he righted himself, he took note of a few other nobles who had turned to watch the exchange. He stepped forward with a smile and extended his hand. “May I have the blessing of shaking your lordly hand? It would mean the sky and heavens to me.”

Armand and his two friends laughed. Krarshe could see Armand’s eyes dance around the room, taking note of those watching as Krarshe had just done. He was cornered, Krarshe knew. “Of course, I am not so haughty as to deny such a courteous request.” Armand stepped forward and shook Krarshe’s hand.

Bzzzt.

Armand released Krarshe’s hand. “There, I pray that lived up to your hopes,” he said.

There were a few snickers. More than a few. From some of the onlookers. After a short moment, Tibault joined in, stifling a laugh. Krarshe smiled. “Of course.” His eyes looked up slightly, to the top of Armand’s head.

Armand’s facade fell as his gaze turned more serious. “What are you-” He was interrupted by the frantic touch of one of his friends. “What?”

His friend leaned in and whispered. “Your hair, Armand.”

“My hair?” Armand asked, confused. He reached up to his head. “What’s wrong wi-” He stopped mid-sentence as he felt his wavy blond hair standing on end. There were slight flickers of static electricity tagging his fingers as his hand traced each strand.

The snickers in the crowd turned to laughter as Armand’s face went from shock to horror. Krarshe couldn’t contain his amusement as his smile grew even wider. A few other nobles were taking notice of the events by the stairs now, joining in either laughter or whispered gossiping.

“Y-Y-Y-YOU! FILTHY FUCKING SPRITE!” Armand howled. “You did this, didn’t you?! DIDN’T YOU?!?!” He stepped up to Krarshe aggressively, getting face to face with him. Krarshe expected a fist to catch him in the face, but he couldn’t help but keep smiling.

“What do you mean? How could I have done... that?” Krarshe asked, glancing up at Armand’s hair again. “All I did was shake your hand, after all.”

“You...” Armand snarled. “You dreg! You vile sprite! Hungerer find you and your whole sprite family!” He turned sharply and fled toward the entrance, head down as he tried to flatten his hair. Every time his hand ran through it, flicks of electricity followed, pulling the hair up again.

The laughter continued for a few minutes before it gradually dwindled and people returned to their conversations. Krarshe could tell by some of the gesturing that a few discussions were centered on Armand’s accident, giving him a sense of accomplishment.

“What was that?!” Tibault asked after he settled down.

“Hmm?”

“You did something, didn’t you?”

Krarshe smiled. “Maybe.”

“No getting out of this, Karshe. What did you do?”

“Oh, you know, just something I picked up during class,” he said with a shrug. “Or, with Professor Landry, specifically.”

“Oh... Wait. But, I didn’t hear you say anything.”

“Hmm?”

“Karshe,” Tibault started before leaning in. “Was that... a spell?”

Krarshe looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Stop avoiding the question!”

“I mean, you didn’t hear me cast anything, right?” Krarshe asked. Tibault nodded. “Then how could it be?”

Tibault sighed. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out, but you keep AVOIDING it.”

Krarshe turned back to the steps. His hand pie was still on the steps where he left it. “Oh. Right.” He picked up the plate and took a bite of his pie. “Mmmmm... Still warm,” he managed to say, mouth full.

Tibault sighed again. “Fine. I give up.” Accepting that he’d never receive a straight answer, he followed Krarshe’s example and resumed eating his hand pie.

The next hour or so was largely uneventful, aside from Krarshe’s second visit to the food tables. The music continued to fill the hall with a cheerful energy. As more guests drank their fill, a few gathered the courage to dance. Krarshe watched from his seat on the stairs, catching glimpses of fluttering dresses in the gaps between other guests as men and women twirled and spun on the grand hall floor. It seemed complicated, and Krarshe was more than content to just watch.

Suddenly, there was a commotion by the staircase in the far corner of the room from where they sat. Krarshe and Tibault turned to see a beautiful young woman coming down the steps, more elegantly than either had ever seen. Her rich violet gown billowed gracefully with each step, the silver embellishment glittering in the light.

“Whoa. She’s beautiful...” Tibault said, his vision captured by the allure of the young woman.

“Yeah...” Krarshe said, too captivated to articulate himself better. “Wait...” Krarshe regained his senses after studying her a moment longer. “Tibault, that’s Bri!”

“What? No way...” he said, trailing off. “Maddener take me, you’re right!”

Both of them stood up. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like this.”

“Me neither,” Tibault admitted. “I know she’s high nobility, but this... I didn’t expect this.”

A crowd of young men surrounded her at the bottom of the stairs. It was hard to see what was happening behind the wall of men, but eventually she emerged, daintily offering her hand to each man as she passed. Each took her hand with a bow and a brief exchange of words which Krarshe couldn’t make out. Introductions were his guess.

She made her way across the room, the beautiful, delicate daughter of a noble, but Krarshe could see the truth. Her gentle gaze wasn’t that of delicacy, but of displeasure. She was doing the dance she practiced, but there wasn’t a hint of sincerity in her greetings. Until her eyes fell upon Krarshe and Tibault. Bri’s eyes lit up and a big smile crossed her face. She turned to the throng of young men and exchanged some words while pointing toward her two friends. She then gave a deep curtsy before turning and hurrying over to Krarshe and Tibault, garnering the two boys a dozen scornful gazes.

“Thank Teva you two are here,” she said. Her exposed collarbone heaved with her chest as she breathed heavily, more out of breath than Krarshe would have guessed from that distance. “I wasn’t sure how much more I could put up with.”

“Just that brief exchange?” Krarshe asked.

“Teva, no. I’ve been putting up with this all evening. Those are just the new arrivals.”

“Who were they?”

“Suitors, I’d guess,” Tibault said, looking over at the crowd of disgruntled men. “Based on the looks they’re giving us.”

“Mostly,” Bri admitted. “A couple were just looking to cozy up to me for political clout.”

“Why does it feel like they’re out for blood now?” Krarshe asked.

“What?” Bri turned to look back. “Oh. Them. I wouldn’t worry about it. They’re not dumb enough to start an incident.”

“An incident?”

“Told them Tibault was the son of a duke, and Krarshe was foreign royalty.”

“You what?” Tibault and Krarshe asked in unison.

“It’s fine. They won’t question my word. Though...” Bri looked Krarshe up and down. “Maybe it’s a bit difficult to believe him, with those clothes.” She paused. “You two look good, though.”

“Thanks,” Tibault said. “You... You too.”

“You were just looking at my chest, weren’t you?”

“W-what? N-no, no.”

“You’re the worst.” Bri turned to Krarshe. “Right?”

“Huh?” Krarshe’s eyes shot up to meet Bri’s. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. Sure. That.”

Bri punched Krarshe square in the shoulder. “Teva spare me these idiots. I swear, you boys are all the same.”

“Sorry...” Krarshe said, rubbing his bruised arm. “I- You just- You look...”

“Incredible,” Tibault finished Krarshe’s sentence.

“That.”

Bri gave a hollow smile. “Thanks.”

“No, no. We mean it. The dress looks beautiful on you, and the way your hair is done is very pretty,” Krarshe said, trying to keep his eyes above her shoulders, away from danger.

Bri sighed. “Thank you. Genuinely this time. Can’t say I agree with the hair comment though. Having it in a bun is kind of annoying. I don’t like that I had to do it to expose my back either.”

“You really don’t like the formal dress, do you?” Tibault asked.

“I love the dress. I just don’t like being paraded around like some toy to attract attention for my family.” Bri tried to put a stray strand of hair back up into the neat arrangement, but it just fell in her face again. She groaned. “This stupid hair.”

“You should leave it. I never fuss with my hair,” Krarshe said. “Admittedly, it’s cute too.”

Krarshe could see Bri blush slightly. “Fine. I’ll just leave it. I’m tired of trying to get it to cooperate.”

“That’s the point I’m at too, and we only got here not too long ago,” Tibault said. Krarshe hadn’t noticed, but the slicked back hair had slowly come undone, having almost returned to the mess it usually was.

“Your hair is clearly in charge of itself,” Krarshe joked.

“It’s impossible to win,” Tibault laughed.

“Lady Bridgette,” an older noble said, halting the conversation. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“O-oh. N-no. Not at all,” she said.

Krarshe watched as Bri shrunk back. Seeing it sparked a memory, his first encounter with her in the academy’s store. He hadn’t seen this timid side of her in a long time.

“I just wanted to convey my thanks and appreciation to your family, for this wonderful gala and for the assistance your father gave me.”

“Y-yes. Of c-course. I will l-let him know,” Bri stuttered with a curtsy.

The man smiled before returning a slight bow. As he left, Krarshe asked, “What was that?”

“What was what?”

Krarshe paused. “Nevermind.”

The three returned to their talk. Tibault told Bri about their interaction with Armand an hour earlier. Krarshe was subjected to Bri’s interrogation, and, much like Tibault’s, he avoided a direct answer. Krarshe talked about the hand pies, which led to them talking about their cooking competition some days ago. Rather, about the charred meat Krarshe had produced. Their conversation drifted from one topic to another, from Bri bringing them up to the balcony to explain the layout of her house, to pointing out who a multitude of nobles were. All of the names were new to Krarshe, but Tibault seemed to recognize a few of them. Eventually, Krarshe convinced them to move the conversation back downstairs next to the hand pies for entirely personal reasons. Hungry reasons.

As they talked, joked, and laughed, the events with the older noble repeated themselves time and again. Someone would approach Bri to discuss something with her family, and she would shrink back into the little mouse from the school store. At first, he dismissed it, but as it happened time and again, Krarshe felt that curiosity gnawing at him.

“Bri, do you notice that your personality changes?”

“Changes? When?”

“Any time one of these old men come talk to you.”

“Old men? Oh, the other nobles. I guess I do change a bit.”

“A bit?” Tibault pressed. Apparently, he had noticed the change in her too.

Bri nodded. “You could blame my upbringing, I suppose. All of the etiquette my father forced upon me.”

“What do you-”

“Pardon me, Milady Bridgette,” a young nobleman said, yet another interruption. “Might I have this dance?”

The disruption gave Krarshe a moment to notice the music had become more prominent. Or, rather, a lot of the chatter had stopped. More people were dancing than there was not too long ago.

“Oh. Umm... Sorry, I was just about to...” She turned to Tibault.

“Absolutely not. I’d definitely vomit out there,” Tibault said.

Bri’s face contorted in disgust. She quickly grabbed Krarshe by the hand. “I just promised a dance with this man, so I must apologize,” she said to the young noble. Krarshe caught the boy sneering at him before Bri pulled him onto the dance floor.

“Wait,” Krarshe tried to protest. “I don’t know how to dance.”

After taking a central place amongst the dancing guests, Bri stopped and whipped Krarshe to face her. “It’s easy. Just put your hand here...” she said as she guided his free hand to the small of her back, “and then just follow my lead. And try not to step on me.”

Krarshe looked down at his feet, trying to measure distance before the gap between his and Bri’s body quickly disappeared. “Easier said than don~~~e!” His words were drawn out as Bri quickly took Krarshe in a twirl, pulling him along with her movements.

Krarshe could feel his heart begin to race as they danced, there in the center of all these nobles. The world around them was a blur of blues, reds, and golds; the light that lit the room glowed brightly, and the reflection off the floor added to the disorienting chaos. There were a few times where he could feel himself step on something. The music seemed distant now, engulfed in the confusion. He wished she didn’t drag him out here. He wished Tibault was suffering this instead of himself, as cruel as it was to think.

He was about to release his grasp of Bri when he heard her speak softly to him. “Relax. Just listen to the music and I’ll do the rest.” Krarshe’s vision focused in front of him, meeting Bri’s clear, dark brown eyes. It was the first time he noticed their height difference, as he looked down at her. This small girl, with such a confident gaze. “You trust me, right?”

Krarshe breathed deeply, calming himself, and smiled. “Wholeheartedly.” He stopped worrying about the rest of the room and just felt her movements, listened to the music, and trusted her guidance. The chaos that entrapped him a mere moment ago disappeared. The room still whirled around him, but the image of Bri’s poise and composure remained his steadfast anchor. So this is dancing, he thought. It’s... actually kind of fun.

This continued for a few minutes before Krarshe noticed a shift in the music, seamlessly changing to a new song. Krarshe panicked for a moment and looked at Bri, but her calm demeanor didn’t change. Rather, her dancing changed as seamlessly as the music. This might have been the first time Bri ever revealed her experience as a noblewoman. Content to continue following her lead, Krarshe relaxed and danced along with her.

About half way through the song, Krarshe began to notice a few nobles watching them. He turned his attention away from Bri to look around the dance floor. The number of guests dancing had dwindled. Before being pulled around in a twist, Krarshe could make out even more people watching the two of them, several of which were the men Bri had abandoned earlier for the company of himself and Tibault. A few were whispering something to each other, sneering at him as they did it. Krarshe could feel his nervousness rise again. Trying to remain calm, he turned his focus back to Bri. Unfortunately, it had the adverse effect, as he noticed her allure again. This further exacerbated the issue as he could hear a few of the young men mutter insults of jealousy.

It wasn’t long before it felt like the two of them were the only pair dancing, everyone’s eyes falling upon them. Krarshe tried to push the thought out of his mind, but it lingered, smoldered, and eventually engulfed him.

Not a moment after the song began to change, Krarshe stopped abruptly, catching Bri off guard as she was yanked back by the suddenness of it. Krarshe released her hand and waist, and gave a deep bow, trying to make it look planned. Bri luckily followed up with a curtsy of her own as they made their way off the dance floor. Sure enough, as they left, Krarshe was able to see clearly that there was no one left dancing. Instead, everyone was just watching the two of them. Krarshe was never a fan of being the center of attention, but especially so here, where he was both the only elf and commoner and in the company of a young lord and lady. That incident with the hand pies affected him more than he realized.

“Krarshe, what was that?” Bri asked, catching him by the shoulder as he made for the safety of the staircase. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just... I wasn’t feeling comfortable out there.”

“You did fine, there was nothing to worry about. And you only stepped on my foot a few times.”

“It’s... I don’t know. It felt like people were watching us,” Krarshe said. He wasn’t sure how to put it into words, exactly. It was just a feeling.

“What in the world was that out there?!” Tibault came hurrying over through the crowd.

“Tibault!” Bri rebuked. “You did fine, Krarshe. Don’t worry abo-”

“No, not the dancing! The glowing!” Tibault explained in as hushed a voice as he could manage with his hysteria.

“Glow?” Bri asked. “What glow?”

“Yeah, what do you mean?”

Tibault pulled them over to the side. “You two didn’t notice?” Bri and Krarshe shook their heads. “You two looked to have some sort of blue glow emanating from you.”

Krarshe and Bri both exchanged puzzled looks before turning back to Tibault. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bri said.

“Same,” Krarshe said.

“You sure?” Tibault pressed, looking sharply at Krarshe. “Especially after what you did to Armand...”

“Wait, you did that?” Bri asked, turning to Krarshe. Her face said she was wanting an explanation, but Krarshe wasn’t about to give her one.

“I hold that what happened to Armand was divine justice. But... even if I did have something to do with Armand, this wasn’t me.” At least, I don’t think so... thought Krarshe.

“Well, it got everyone’s attention regardless.” Tibault sighed. “I thought we were trying to remain inconspicuous...”

“Here,” Bri started, cutting past the two boys. “Let’s just go up on the balcony. There’s a spot where we can avoid most of the guests.”

Without a word, both Tibault and Krarshe followed her upstairs. Krarshe had enough of this party, he just wanted to spend some time with his friends away from all the looks. Annoying Armand was fun, but whatever the anomaly was with the dancing was beyond his understanding. He was content to spend the rest of the night with as little attention as possible.

Fortunately, the rest of the evening was quiet. Krarshe and his friends managed to avoid interacting with guests, aside from a few nobles paying their respects to Bri. They talked about a multitude of things, and Bri was able to get a maid she was friendly with to bring them some food directly up on the balcony. None of it compared to the hand pie for Krarshe, but it was all still good. It was several hours before any of them realized how late it was.

“Oh, I think the party is coming to an end,” Tibault noted. “There’s only a few guests still downstairs.”

“Guess you’re right,” Krarshe said, peering over the edge to get a better look. “This was fun. Or, well, the latter half, I guess.”

Bri smiled and nodded. “Probably the only fun gala I’ve been to. Come, I’ll see you out. The guards might give you trouble this late.”

As they reached the bottom of the balcony steps, a man called out to them. “Bridgette. There you are. I was wondering where you ran off to.” The man nodded a goodbye to two other, older men and walked over to the three of them. Krarshe noticed Bri seemed to seize up, almost as if she’d been caught by city guards while picking someone’s pocket. The man stood before them, taller than either Krarshe or Tibault. He didn’t seem to be particularly old, even with Krarshe’s difficulty guessing one’s age, but the lines in his forehead and around his mouth made him appear so. The lines, combined with his solemn expression and humorless eyes, gave him an unnerving sternness. His light brown hair was slicked back, his face clean-shaven; the whole visage reminded Krarshe of Professor Owyn. “It’s unladylike to not introduce your guests.”

Bri flinched. Krarshe saw her try to right her posture and turned toward the man. “T-Tibault, Ka-Ka... Krarshe. T-this is m-my f-father, Gaspard Bulliere.”

“Bridgette. Stop stuttering.”

Bri flinched again. She breathed deeply and repeated, “This... is my father, Gaspard... Bulliere.”

“And they?” her father asked in a slow, monotonous tone.

“This... i-” she stopped and cleared her throat. “This is... Tibault Dumont.”

Tibault gave a frantic, rigid bow. Bri’s father gave a slight nod. “Ah, yes. The Dumont family. Your father just received his title not a decade ago, yes?”

“That-” Tibault’s voice cracked. “That’s correct, sir.”

“Mmm, yes...” Gaspard turned to wave at another guest as they left and continued without turning back to face Tibault, “I suppose your parents will continue to serve admirably in... whatever it is that they do.” As the other guest exited the front door, he turned back to Bri. “And this... other young man?”

Bri swallowed hard before the second introduction. “This is Krarshe,” she said, saying Krarshe’s name slowly to avoid stumbling. After her father continued to stare at her for a moment, she added, “Just Krarshe.”

Krarshe bowed as Tibault had and said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord.” When he righted himself, he saw Gaspard hadn’t moved. Rather, he just stared intently at Krarshe, his eyes silently filled with scorn.

Without removing his gaze, he said, “To think, my own daughter would befriend a peasant. And an ELF, no less... Perhaps I raised her without teaching her how to properly evaluate people.”

“T-they’re both great mages!” Bri retorted. “Krarshe is probably the most powerful mage in the school! Including the teachers!”

“Silence!” her father shot back, turning back to her swiftly enough to send a few strands of hair into disarray. Bri immediately shrunk back like a scolded dog. “You dare to talk back to me in such a tone? After you’ve been traipsing around instead of studying? Off playing with...” Gaspard gave Krarshe and Tibault a sideways glance, “... Miscreants... like these? Need I remind you of your place, as a Bulliere? You have a name to uphold, as my daughter. And I WILL have you uphold it, if you wish to keep this name...” With each scathing word out of his mouth, Bri flinched and cowered more and more.

By the time he finished his tirade, Bri looked to be on the verge of tears, her exposed shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Krarshe turned to Tibault. He was frozen with fear, and trembling not unlike Bri. The few guests and staff around the room had stopped as well, watching the commotion.

Gaspard took a deep breath, calming himself. A vein clearly bulged on his forehead, exposing his anger despite his calm visage. As he guided the stray hairs back into place, he said, “I cannot believe you’d invite these people to this estate. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you would do something like that.”

Krarshe heard a small hiccup from Bri. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew what was coming. And he wasn’t going to just watch this scene anymore. “I’m most sorry, sir,” he said, drawing her father’s attention. “It seems that my presence has inconvenienced you. But rest assured, we were just leaving. Thank you for the hand pies, they were quite delicious.” Without giving Gaspard the chance to respond, Krarshe grabbed Tibault and Bri and dragged them out the front door. As he left, he thought he heard something about a sprite.

Once out the door, he pulled them off next to the fountain and sat them both on one of the stone benches that encircled it. Bri immediately broke out into tears. Tibault retched a few times but, to Krarshe’s surprise, managed to hold on to the contents of his stomach. Krarshe didn’t say anything to either of them, and instead just stood off to the side, trying to act as a barricade to hide them from the vacating guests.

After a minute, Bri croaked out, “I hate him...” She hiccuped a couple times before repeating, “I fucking hate him.”

“Your father?”

Bri just nodded slowly, her lower lip still quivering. “Teva, why am I such a failure...” she sobbed, the tears cascading down her cheeks again.

Krarshe had heard these words from Bri before. At the time, he wasn’t sure what to do but offer empty words of encouragement. But this was different. He knew Bri now. He walked over and sat down next to her, throwing a comforting arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his embrace as she continued to cry. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again,” Krarshe said. “You’re not a failure.” Her crying grew louder for a moment before subsiding back to muffled noises. He let her settle down for a minute before continuing. “Your spells are incredible. You’re one of the kindest, most caring people I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a lot of people.” He rocked her side to side a bit, trying to draw her attention away from her thoughts. “You’re one of the strongest people I know, Bri. Both mentally and physically... I should know, with how many times you’ve hit me.”

He heard Bri choke on a giggle before snorting back some of her mucus. “And you always deserved it,” she muttered quietly before snorting again.

“Every time,” Tibault added. It seemed he’d recovered.

Krarshe laughed. “You okay now, Tibault?”

“Yeah. Still feel a bit queasy, but better than before.”

Bri sat upright, sniffing still. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with her palms a few times before Tibault pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. She took a shaky breath as she dabbed her eyes before saying, “I hate when this happens.”

“Your dad?” Tibault asked.

“We almost got through the night without seeing him, but of course he’d come find me,” she said, about to break into tears again. Bri continued, her voice starting to shake again, “The night was going so well... And then he HAD to ruin it for me. Again!” She fell into sobbing again.

“Is this what you meant when I escorted you home the other day?” Krarshe asked.

Bri nodded. “It’s like he just wants to ruin my life!” she cried. “He always does this!”

“Should I go punch him for you?” Krarshe asked. “Though, last time I did that, I broke my hand...”

Bri calmed down for a moment. She hiccuped again, then said, “Thanks, but that’d probably make it worse.”

“Yeah, a broken hand isn’t fun, let me tell you,” Krarshe joked. Bri elbowed him, causing him to let out a grunt. “Add another hit to the tally.”

“You’re awful at cheering people up, you know that?” Bri croaked, smiling at him.

“Truthfully though, your father is... pretty disagreeable,” Tibault said.

“I would have said abhorrent,” Krarshe replied. “Honestly, Wild Brow is downright jovial compared to him.”

“Why do you think I moved into the dormitory?” Bri asked, wiping her tears with the handkerchief again. She let out a shiver, prompting Tibault to start taking off his coat.

“Wait, let me,” Krarshe said. Tibault sat back down on the bench. “I’m too warm with all this clothing anyway.” He removed his coat and offered it to Bri.

“Thanks, both of you. These dresses aren’t really made for the cold.” She draped it over her exposed shoulders and pulled it tight around her.

Krarshe sat back down next to her, turned to face her as best he could. “Bri. Listen... Don’t pay your father any mind.” He put his hand on her shoulder. Her dark brown eyes, still glistening with tears, looked deep into his brilliant blue ones. “You ARE a great mage. And an even better person. Better than he’ll ever be at either. Okay? So disregard that dreg.”

Tibault shuffled closer to Bri. He bumped his shoulder against hers and nodded. “What he said.”

Bri’s sullen look slowly turned into a smile as she looked away. She hid her face with one hand as she pulled the coat tighter with the other. “Thank you...” she said, practically a whisper. She quickly broke free from Krarshe’s grasp and stood up. She stretched and walked away, tracing the edge of the fountain with one hand. “The stars really are beautiful, aren’t they?”

Krarshe and Tibault exchanged confused glances at the sudden change of topic. They both shrugged and leaned back to look at the sky. “They really are,” Tibault said. Krarshe just sat there quietly.

“I really hope I pass this time.”

Krarshe and Tibault both looked at Bri again. She was still gazing at the sky.

“I’m tired of my only value to him being a marriage asset,” she continued.

“You’ll pass,” Krarshe said. “I know it.”

“Yeah, no doubt. You’re the best mage in class,” Tibault added.

Bri’s eyes sank. She stared at the ground quietly for several seconds before speaking softly. “... I hope you’re both right.”