"Then maybe I'll be too old."
"You won't be too old." She spoke with stubborn force, her lower lip puckered, tears threatening like the thunderclouds overhead. "I asked Porthios how long half-elves live, and he told me. We'll have plenty of time."
Tanis turned. "Did you tell Porthios you wanted to marry me?"
She brightened. "Of course."
No wonder the Speaker's heir had grown especially chilly of late. Didn't want the Speaker's daughter running around telling people she wanted to marry the palace's bastard half-elf, Tanis thought bitterly. He released the arrow without thinking, and it thunked into the canvas-covered bales mere inches from the dragonseye. Another arrow bit into the cloth between the first arrow and the dragonseye.
Laurana had been watching carefully. "Pretty good, Tanis. So, will you marry me? Someday?"
Tanis walked forward to gather his arrows. When he came back, he'd made up his mind. "Sure, Laurana," he said. "I'll marry you someday."
She clapped her hands. "Oh, hurray!" she chattered. "I'll go tell everybody." She scurried out of the courtyard.
The half-elf watched her go. That's right, Lauralanthalasa, he thought; tell everybody. Especially Porthios.
Later that morning, as rain still threatened, Tanis encountered his "future bride" again as he neared the Hall of the Sky, seeking to clear his head after four hours of archery practice. "There you are!" the small, breathless voice said, interrupting his reverie. The half-elf turned with a start to see Laurana scurrying across the square, hiking up her green-gold dress about her knees so that she could run toward him. The shiny material contrasted with the grayness of the midday light.
Laurana had taken to dressing less like a child lately and more like an elven woman, abandoning the soft, gathered playsuits that elven children wore. Perhaps her new mode of dress reflected the strictures of court decorum, though Laurana, to be honest, seemed to be less concerned with the intricacies of etiquette and social protocol than were elves of lesser birth. She'd probably lose that naturalness as she grew up, he thought with a sigh, feeling terribly old all of a sudden.
"We've got to go," she chirped. "Gilthanas said he saw him heading for the square!"
"Saw who?" Tanis asked.
"Master Fireforge!" Laurana said, as if this should have been terribly plain.
Tanis groaned inwardly. Watching another session of the children and the toymaker was not what he wished to do right now, but Laurana's grip on his hand was firm, and he had no choice but to stumble along beside her.
Sure enough, the dwarven smith was there when they reached the square, surrounded by laughing children; Laurana promptly dove into the fray. Tanis sighed and hung back among the trees as usual. Soon the crowd began to break up as children ran off to experiment with their new toys. Laurana was caught up in the gift the dwarf had given her, a small, paper-winged bird that really glided. Tanis shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to leave.
"All right, lad, hold it right there!" a gruff voice said behind Tanis, and he jumped, startled, as a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. "You're not getting away this time."
Tanis spun around and found himself looking at the dwarf. Master Fireforge's eyes glimmered like brightly polished steel. Tanis didn't know what to say, so he remained silent, though he felt his heart jump.
"Now," the dwarf began carefully, "I know that-for a few folks, anyway-a simple toy isn't enough to make them forget their cares." He cast a wistful glance back at the merry children. "I wish it was that easy for everyone." His eyes met Tanis's again. "But be that as it may, I want you to have this all the same." He held a small parcel forth, and Tanis found himself taking it with uncertain hands.
Not knowing what else to do, he fumbled with the string, but finally the knot loosened and the parchment fell away. He gazed at the object in his hand, and his throat grew tight. It was a pair of wooden fish, carved in perfect detail. Each hung by a tiny golden thread from a small crossbar mounted over a wooden base that was carved to resemble the rocky bed of a brook.
"Here," the dwarf said softly, "let me show you." He touched the crossbar gently with a stubby fingertip and it began to spin. The fish traveled round and round the base, bobbing gently on their strings. It looked as though they were swimming, graceful and free, there on the palm of Tanis's hand.
"If you're embarrassed at receiving a toy, perhaps you can call it a 'wooden sculpture,' " the dwarf suggested, and winked.
"It's wonderful," Tanis whispered, and a smile crossed his face.
Tanis was waiting at the courtyard, the fish sculpture perched on a stone sidewall, when Tyresian arrived that afternoon, once again trailed by Selena, Ulthen, and Litanas. Porthios stepped through the double doors a few moments later. Just at that moment, a drop of rain splattered on one of the paths that crisscrossed the area, and Tyresian, wearing a knee-length tunic the color of storm clouds, glanced irritatedly at the leaden sky.
"I think we'd best cancel today's lesson," the elf lord said, and his companions-minus Porthios-groaned. The Speaker's heir merely looked somberly at the group, his light eyebrows drawn together, his face wearing its characteristic frown.
"Now what'll we do for entertainment?" Tanis heard Litanas mutter, and Selena covered her mouth with one gloved hand and trilled. Tanis cringed.
But he hadn't spent most of the morning slinging arrows into hay bales to be put off now. He nocked an arrow and drew aim on the target. His tone was intentionally mild. "I'm not too frail to stand a little dampness, Lord Tyresian. If you are, you're welcome to retreat inside. Perhaps one of the servants will light a fire for you. As for myself, I will remain."
The short-haired elf lord flushed from his square chin to his hairline. "We will continue," he said flatly.
The rain held off as Tanis sent arrow after arrow toward the target, blue feathers, then red, flashing as they sped across the courtyard. A few arrows clattered against the wall, but more and more consistently he hit the hay bale. He even struck the round target itself once in four or five tries – but never the dragonseye at the center. Tyresian offered his usual litany of criticism. "Hold that shoulder steady. Keep that elbow back! You shoot like a gully dwarf, half-elf. Keep both eyes open. You want to be able to tell how far away the target is, don't you?"
Finally, Tanis, his face damp with sweat in the heavy air, placed one arrow only two inches from the dragonseye. He turned triumphantly to Tyresian and the chattering crowd of commentators. Selena, dark smudges visible under her violet eyes, was draped like a cloak against Ulthen, giggling helplessly. Ulthen's medium-length, light brown hair swept against her shoulder as he attempted to stifle her laughter by placing one hand over her mouth. Litanas's brown eyes crinkled into slits as he snickered. By contrast, Lord Xenoth, the Speaker's adviser, stood by the door, his face impassive. Off to one side, Porthios looked unimpressed; he picked up Flint's toy and idly twirled the crossbar, sending the pair of fish whirling.
"There!" Tanis cried desperately. "What's wrong with that? It's almost a dragonseye!" He found himself fighting off tears, to his horror. If I cry now, I might as well move to Caergoth, he said to himself.
Porthios set the fish carving on a deserted bench and moved forward to take Tanis's smooth ash longbow. Pride battled with unease in his face, and for a short moment Tanis thought his cousin was embarrassed by the turn of events.