The elf falls back on memories

The elf swore he would not be too lazy to go to open the door again, no matter how exhausted he was, no matter how many children he had saved that day.

“Kiv!”

He stopped short. “Don’t call me that!” he bleated.

His mind was whirling, and not only from the fever. He had started to run because he had heard Lena’s face smacked and her body tumble to the floor, accompanied by a yelp of surprise. But before he had reached the door, he had heard her being reprimanded in his own language, and in a voice so familiar that he could not believe it had been over a year since he had heard it last.

“Lena!” he called. “Where are you?”

A whisper came up from the level of his knees. “Lord…”

“Lena?” Miria gasped in outrage.

“Lena, get up,” he whimpered.

“No!” Miria cried. “Will you so insult me as to let this kisór stand in my presence?”

“Where’s the baby?” he asked, fearing that Miria had knocked her down with Benedict still in her arms.

“In bed,” Lena squeaked. She had made no attempt to rise.

“The baby!” Miria cried. “You have it here? It is not Vash’s, you know, Kiv.”

The elf threw up his arms in exasperation. “I know that! And don’t call me Kiv!”

“But… my love…” she murmured.

“Oh, no!” he groaned. “How did you get in here?”

“My mother helped me through the wall. If you would – ”

“My aunt is here?” he gasped.

“Outside the wall. Listen to me, Kiv – ”

“Don’t call me that!”

“My love – ”

“Don’t call me that either!”

“Kiv!” she wailed.

The elf turned away and turned back to her again. There was no point in arguing over names. He would rather be called Kiv than the other thing. His betrothed had been only twelve when he had seen her last, but she was nearly fourteen now, and he feared the words might have some weight by that age.

“What are you doing here, Miria? You can’t speak to me!”

“Vash did.”

“Vash is the only elf who could permit himself such a thing! You’re only a girl!”

“I am not only a girl! And Shus and Nush are planning to come with him the next time he comes, so that makes four elves who dare.”

“They are?”

He was distracted enough by the thought of seeing his friends again that she was able to step uncomfortably close to him before she spoke again.

“And perhaps they will bring me, too. But tonight we are alone.”

“Miria!” he gasped.

“Kiv!” she laughed. “You look like you’ve grown shorter, but it’s only because I’ve grown so tall! I can’t believe it’s you!”

Her hands slid up onto his shoulders, and he leapt away.

“Miria! Didn’t Vash tell you anything? I have a wife!”

He held out his scarred palm to prove it, but Miria only pushed it away.

“A woman! That won’t bind you.”

“It does!”

“It needn’t. No one would blame you. Anyway, Vash said she doesn’t even like you.”

“No!” he sobbed. His head was reeling. “He never would have said such a thing to you! I don’t believe it!”

“Something like that. Where is she, then, if she likes you so much?”

“She’s…”

“Kiv,” she said gently. “You don’t have to do this. Only be patient for a while. Sorin can’t live forever – ”

“Miria!”

“And when Vash may do as he likes, he will welcome you back. You may be certain. You needn’t stay with the men.”

“I want to stay with my wife!”

“I shall be your wife.”

“I shall have only one. You don’t understand, Miria,” he pleaded. “You won’t understand until you are bound. You will see. You will never think of me again then.”

“As you never think of me!” she cried. “And when I am bound to what? Some síkhón creature? Some male I shan’t even be able to take before the Khór? Some son of a half-​​blood kisór concubine like this one? There are no husbands of my caste for me but you!”

“I’m sorry, Miria.”

He held up both hands in a gesture of apology, but she seemed to think it was another attempt to show her his scar, for she smacked his hand aside.

“You want to stay with your wife!” she sneered. “She doesn’t even want you! I don’t even know what to call you! What creature is so low it wants to follow a dog around?”

“Silence!” he roared. “This elf shall not insult my wife!”

Never in his life had he spoken to Miria as an inferior. He decided, however, that if she was so passionate about shades of rank even among the khírrón, he needn’t have scruples about holding his own over her.

He heard her staggering away from him. “Kiv…”

“There is no Kiv! This elf shall address me as Lord.”

She gasped. Then there fell such a silence that he could hear Benedict grunting softly in the loft, in the throes of some dream of milk or loving arms.

“Have you forgotten everything? Everything?” she whimpered. “All of us, who miss you so? Your father and your sister? Vash and all our friends? Me?”

“I haven’t forgotten anything, Miria.”

“You have forgotten what you are.”

He held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness, and this time she did not shove them away.

“I am no longer what I was,” he said.

“You are. Vash says so. Whom will Vash’s son take to wife now, if you have no daughter?”

“How will Vash have a son at all, Miria? That is your true problem.”

“The man Malcolm won’t live forever.”

“Miria…”

“He could have an accident. He could fall from his horse.”

“Miria!”

“That’s what you should have done, Kiv. Even if you had failed to kill him, you would still be with us.”

“This elf shall address me as Lord!” he snarled. “This elf shall not – even – speak – of such things!”

“Your woman-​​wife could have an accident, too,” she said coolly.

He closed his blind eyes and tried to bring up old memories of her, to remind himself who she was, to distract himself from the longing to sear her flesh from her bones and blast her ashes across the room.

There was the tiny, pink-​​faced baby Miria, whom he had gone sneaking into the birthing chamber to see when he had been told that his wife had been born. There was the little toddler Miria with her untamable hair, who used sit on his lap and smash berries into his mouth. There was the small, gangly-​​legged girl Miria who would run after him when he only wanted to go off with Vash and his friends.

And there was the pretty young lady that had only just begun to bloom out in her when he had been sent away. He had met her in the hall outside the Khor’s chamber, and he had spent his last moments of sight on her face. He had closed his eyes when they had led him away, and he had not opened them again until he had been blinded. Her beauty would always remain the last thing he ever saw.

He had sworn he would love her forever, and his burnished loyalty to her had been some cold comfort to him through that first winter. He had spent hours every day lying beside his fire and thinking of her, doing her honor as he thought a banished lover ought. But he had not even known what love was.

“You don’t even know what love is,” he said painfully, “if you can say such a thing to me.”

“I love you. And I say it again. Much can happen in two years. She could have an accident.”

He fought down another surge of fire and growled, “So could you. Be careful with yourself, Miria.”

He heard nothing more out of her than the padding of her slippered feet across the flagstones and the creaking of the door. It was not a reassuring reply.

Then he remembered Lena.

“Lena? Where are you?” he called softly.

“Here, Lord,” she murmured from the floor.

“You may stand, Lena.”

He put out his hand as she stood, and the backs of his fingers found her cheek. It was a relief to touch something that could take some of the fire away from him.

“Did she hurt you?” he asked.

“Only a little.” She hesitated, turning her face away from his hand and then back again. “Did she hurt you?”

He let his arm drop. He wondered suddenly what “only a little” meant to an elf who was accustomed to insults and blows, or who would have been if she were not naturally such a sweet and docile creature.

“Only a little,” he said.