Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries

chapter Ten





Word of the Progress had been sent around to all the homesteaders - a celebration of Geric’s coming of age, of his naming as Heir to the Kingdom of Riverford and Delae’s holding wasn’t to be neglected. She’d done well over the years.

The courtyard was abustle with the preparations. Baskets of flowers hung from the posts of the archways of the east and west wings.

Delae had had Kort’s rooms cleared and prepared for the arrival of the King and Queen, the guest chamber for the newly named Heir.

Word had come only the year before that Kort had been found dead in an alley. Oddly some part of Delae grieved for him… more for the fact and manner of his death. She actually mourned for Kort himself very little and grieved because she felt so little for his passing. Any more than she’d grieved at the loss of his parents. She’d wept more and harder when Petra had died and then Hallis had followed her shortly after.

The homestead seemed far emptier for the loss of those two than it did for the loss of those whose blood had once owned it.

Even so, she never slept in Kort’s rooms and never would.

Sighing, she put those thoughts aside, smiling as she watched Selah gently instruct sweet Lucie and Lucie’s daughter Keran in the preparations.

The great room had been swept clean of every grain of the old rushes, the wood floor had been washed, oiled and new rushes put down over it before the precious carpets had been restored to their proper places. All the shutters were open to allow fresh air inside, the light falling brilliantly over the chairs Delae had made, each seat cushion carefully decorated in her own tapestry.

All of the bedrooms and bed linens had been aired and freshened - the straw ticking replaced and the straps on the beds tightened.

Tables had been set out under the trees of the courtyard for feasting in the open - in the air and sun. A great pit had been dug, a side of beef and another of mutton roasted over a fire. There were platters of roasted vegetables and all manner of delicacies.

Delae looked over it all with satisfaction.

Out in the fields horses and cattle roamed with the sheep, cropping the rich green grass. The homestead had become much more prosperous, more settled as the years passed.

She shook then smoothed out her skirts.

“They’re coming,” Morlis’s son Alen called, racing in through the gates.

Selah stepped to her side and Delae threaded her fingers through those of her daughter’s, feeling Selah’s other hand close over hers.

It always astonished Delae that now she had to look up into Selah’s eyes.

More, how truly lovely she was.

There was only a trace of red in Selah’s rich brown hair and hers waved more than it curled, but it was lovely. Slender and less curved than Delae, she was graceful and beautiful in her serene and quiet way. Delae well knew she was a doting mother but she didn’t think she was deceived in this.

She raised her daughter’s hand to her lips and kissed it as Selah’s shoulder brushed hers in return.

Pride washed through her as her people took up their places, Dan at his forge, Morlis and Alen waiting to hold the horses. Lucie and Keran were there, with Bara, Morlis’s wife, at their back. Some of the smallholders were scattered around the courtyard. It made a pretty and welcoming picture.

The King and Queen rode in with their son Geric at their side and they made a pretty picture as well.

Hastan had always been a big and comely man, nearly as broad as a Dwarf, but he’d also been a very fair man, if occasionally too strong-willed and independent for the prospective High King, Daran. That was to be expected from Riverford, though. It had always been an independent-minded Kingdom, if not so much so as Marakis.

His close-cropped hair curled just slightly around his head and his strongly-boned face. It was easy to see why Telerach had fallen in love with him but more so for the look in his eyes when he reached a hand to his Lady-wife as they rode between the gates.

As it was easy to see why he’d fallen in love with her.

There was a merry warmth to Telerach that reached out to touch everyone around her. While not quite as curly as Delae’s, Telerach’s honey-colored hair tumbled nearly to her waist, framing an apple-cheeked face that was more pretty than beautiful but the kindness in it shone.

The love between King and Queen was clear and deep.

No other hand but the King’s would lift his Queen down from her saddle and Delae felt a small gush of sorrow for what she would never truly know. Then she put it aside as Hastan gestured for his son to join them.

Geric was a pleasant mix of both his parents, his father’s strong features softened a little by his mother’s gentler ones, with his mother’s slate-colored eyes and her hair. He was as tall as his father, and as broad through the shoulders and chest. He was a handsome young man.

Both Delae and Selah sank into small curtseys before the King and Queen.

“Your Highnesses,” Delae said, “I am Delae, widow of Kort, and landowner here.”

“Mistress Delae,” Hastan said, for he couldn’t name her Lady because of her common birth, “we would present our son, Geric, who would be our Heir.”

Delae gestured Selah up.

“And my daughter Selah…”

Turning her head, she caught Geric’s expression as Selah rose, his slate-blue eyes startled as Selah looked up at him, her own eyes widening.

Wisely, Delae made no mention of it, merely smiling graciously. “Your rooms await, your Highnesses. Baths too so you may refresh yourselves.”

There was food aplenty, Hastan noticed as they sat at table in the courtyard, cloth wound through the arbor to provide shade and cover.

Once this had been one of his poorest landholds, ever and always on the edge of poverty. They’d never failed to pay their rightful taxes and tithes although it stretched them as some years they’d paid in kind rather than coin. That had clearly changed.

There had been rumors, of course, and tales, but Delae had never complained of them herself, always gracious far beyond her station.

Now, though, now it was one of his most prosperous, a jewel in the crown of his landholdings.

He looked out at the verdant fields, at the livestock grazing there, at the vines - thick with grapes - that twined above his head, the barrels of mead, wine and beer and could find no fault.

Nor, he thought, could he find fault with anything other.

Smothering a smile, he watched Geric as he spoke in a corner of the courtyard with pretty young Selah, her head bowed gracefully; a shy smile curved her lips.

Hastan glanced at his own beloved Telerach and caught her glance as it met his.

A tremor went through him, a shiver of warmth that was the bond between them. Few of her people understood their love, not knowing that Telerach named it a true soul-bond. All he knew was that he couldn’t live without her. He raised her fingers to his lips and she smiled, all the warmth and love he could want there in her eyes.

She nodded and then glanced over at their son, too.

Hastan sighed.

It had been difficult to find him a bride among those of the other lesser Kingdoms, as much for his mother’s blood as for Riverford’s location among the outermost of the lesser Kingdoms. Many were offended by the idea he had the blood of Dwarves in his veins, as if there was something to be ashamed of in being a part of that long-lived and strong race.

To some extent Telerach’s people felt the same about men.

In the end, then, they’d had only each other. And then Geric.

Softly, Telerach said, a smile beginning to light her eyes, “It will be a good match.”

And so Delae found herself guesting and being guested by the Heir to Riverford now and again.



From a distance, Dorovan watched Selah marry the only son and Heir to the King of Riverford, having watched the love grow between them in the same way as he did now, with his arms around Delae’s shoulders as she leaned back against him. The two of them stood unseen in their copse within the trees while Geric and Selah rode together across the fields.

Daran was now High King of all men. He and the Elf Elon of Aerilann had forged an Agreement that made peace at last between Men, Elves and Dwarves. It was easier now for Dorovan to travel as fewer remarked on it, although he still had to be careful. Not all men were reconciled to parity with the long-lived Elves - who they thought of as arrogant and cold - or the Dwarves - who they considered stolid and stupid.

“So,” Delae asked, shortly after the Agreement was signed, her head in Dorovan’s lap, “Elon of Aerilann is First among equals, like a lesser King among your people?”

Amused, Dorovan nodded as he played with her hair as he was wont to do. He loved the living feel of it, the way it curled around his fingers.

“Of a sort, yes.”

Waving it away, she said with an answering smile, “Less formal, yes, yes, I know. And he is a master swordsman but you are a Swordmaster.”

He nodded.

“I am good - Elon is better,” he said equably, but searched for a better explanation. “Elon teaches the teachers.”

“Ah,” Delae said, then shook her head. “But this means it will be easier for you to come here?”

“Fewer will take note of it,” he said, lowering his lips to her forehead. “We’ll still have to be careful.”

She was still and always would be a balm to his soul.

Then suddenly she shot up to look at him. “Dorovan, I almost forgot to tell you, Selah is pregnant!”

Children and grandchildren and still most people of men took them for granted.

He didn’t. Excitement rushed through him.

“When is she due?” he asked.

“In the deep of summer,” Delae said, smiling. “Geric is thrilled and Selah simply glows.”

To Dorovan’s pleasure, Selah came for a visit and let her beloved friend Dorovan touch her swelling belly, her sweet gentle face full of love and wonder. He held his hand against her and felt the baby kick as he looked at Selah.

She smiled, radiantly.