“Vindai oil, elderberry tincture, dried elfroot, sun’s oil, crownmint, feathermint, jade’s hand powder, and butterfly petals—have I forgotten anything?”
Auriel began to shake his head, but upon remembering Mithril’s fingers in his hair, he kept it still and said, “No, I believe that’s all. And even if we have forgotten something, you can always just send for it later.”
“Indeed, I can,” Mithril replied as she secured a large braid at the side of Auriel’s head. “If I may be honest, my prince, I was surprised to hear you wanted to shop in person. How long has it been since you were last in Erridor’s? Three years?”
“Four,” he corrected. “It was in the middle of one of his great ‘creationary phases,’ and he had me sampling so many new scents that I nearly vomited in one of his flower pots. But in those four years, I’ve grown a bit weary of my usual herbs and oils, so an in-person trip is necessary to find new ones. From what I’ve been told, his racing mind is now at rest, so while we will have to contend with his overt enthusiasm, we should at least be able to shop without nausea.”
“I find his enthusiasm charming,” said Mithril. “Especially considering his age.”
“I find it concerning for the very same reason.”
Before either of them could say more, a knock sounded at the door. Auriel bid the knocker enter, expecting it to be Uravil, his traveling guard, but instead an unfamiliar guard entered his room. He was young, much younger than Uravil, with a face more fitting of an artist than a warrior. Nevertheless, his body was strong, and it filled out his gold-and-green plate armor very nicely.
“Forgive my intrusion, Prince Auriel,” said the guard in a voice deep but not necessarily commanding. “But your carriage is in the courtyard and is ready to depart when you are.”
“Excellent,” he said. “And Uravil? Is he ready?”
“Ah, unfortunately no, my prince. Captain Uravil has taken ill. I apologize for the sudden change—he’d only just gone to bed an hour ago, but it’s suspected that he’ll be staying there for at least a week, so I am to act as his replacement until he is well again.”
“I see. And your name, replacement of Uravil?”
“Denovin, my prince.”
“Well, Denovin, you can rest easy knowing that I have no complaints about the change. Uravil has guarded me for many years, but while there is comfort to be had in old things, I find that new things can bring with them some much-needed refreshment. I’m certainly feeling refreshed looking at you—wouldn’t you agree, Mithril?”
“I would, Prince Auriel,” she said and smiled kindly at Denovin. She made one final adjustment to the braid on the left side of his head, then stepped back from the vanity.
Auriel tilted his head in a few different directions, then nodded in approval and stood up from the bench. Mithril draped a fine linen cloak atop his shoulders, and once the clasp had been fastened in the front, he looked to Denovin and said, “Shall we depart?”
The young guard nodded once before lowering his head and allowing both Auriel and Mithril to exit the room. Denovin stood half a head taller than Auriel, but he could still feel the heat radiating from his cheeks as he passed. A smirk played at the corner of Auriel’s lips—at last, it seemed that destiny was smiling upon him; hopefully Erridor would do the same.
***
Although it lay only two miles from the Geletran palace, Rathir felt eons away from the world that Auriel knew. While the palace had been carefully constructed to fit into its arboreous surroundings, the capital made no attempt to be anything but a grand elvish city.
Unlike outland cities, which expanded outward over great surfaces, elvish cities grew upward to great heights, and Rathir was no exception. In fact, it was one of the highest in the Confederation, comprising five tiers that grew smaller and more exclusive the higher up one went. The lowest level was also the most general, offering everything from markets to inns to customs reception for trade shipments. The second and third tiers were both residential, though the residents that dwelled within varied starkly from one another: second-tier housing was for commoners and interspersed with smaller artisan shops and entertainment venues, while the third tier was strictly reserved for nobility and upper-class merchant homes—no businesses were allowed. The fourth tier held governmental offices, as well as the city prison, though the cells on the fourth tier were actually the top of an internal tower that ran down the center of the city’s interior.
And then there was the fifth tier, also called the “Sky Tier,” both for its height and its inaccessibility to those standing beneath it. It offered the finest venues, entertainers, goods, and artisans in all of Geletra, and one could only gain entry via invitation from the royal court and written permission from city officials. Most often, it hosted balls and ceremonies that would include outland visitors, as such a large mixed company was unsuitable for the palace, but there were times where all-elvish events would be held there as well. The entire tier was encased in a shell of woven iron branches filled in with glass both stained and clear, providing attendees with a beautifully-framed view of the landscapes around them, and when it was lit from within on a clear-skied night, it could be seen for miles in all directions, glowing soft overhead like an iridian star.
Jutting out from this spherical star was a covered stone bridge that extended all the way to the great cliff before which Rathir was built—the same cliff upon which the palace stood, recessed back about two or so miles from view of the city. Normally, one would only be able to access the Sky Tier by traveling through the governmental tier, but the bridge provided a more direct connection between the palace and the city, not only as a matter of convenience, but also safety. In a time of conflict, the bridge would act as an emergency escape route, and in the event that a pertinent message required the king’s immediate attention, a messenger could travel by bridge and deliver it with the utmost expediency. Thankfully, Rathir had not seen such conflict nor emergency during Auriel’s lifetime, so he had only ever known the bridge as a private road.
Auriel had never ventured below the city’s third tier, and even those visits were less than twenty in his life, but when they did happen, he always found himself looking down or out, rather than level with his immediate peers. He could see little through the woven iron bars that covered the bridge, but he knew that those lower rings bustled and boomed with a vivacious life he could only feel in dreams. Meanwhile, in spite of the greenery and grand fountain seated in its center, the Sky Tier had all the life of a porcelain figurine, kept polished and sparkling but never truly knowing the world behind its glass enclosure. Many of the Sky dwellers were of a similar composure, but there were some who’d chosen to break free of the glass, and Erridor was one such hammer.
Externally, his shop held all the same trimmings of the buildings that surrounded it: it was tall and clean, with ample windows and carved or wrought branches decorating the stone exterior. Inside, however, was not a grand, brarren showroom with carefully chosen decor, but rather a miniature arboretum of all the finest, rarest, and most sought-after verdure in all the land. There were rows upon rows of ceramic pots, spindly vines weaving a canopy of greenery overhead, and even a few trees standing tall like sentinels over their floral brethren. At the end of the potted rows were wooden shelves holding bottles, jars, vials, and sachets of liquids, oils, powders, and dried herbs, each one carefully packed and labeled in fine text.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Erridor’s collection had grown since last Auriel had paid a visit, but the man himself seemed to have shrunken, as he now stood—or, rather, hunched—just under Auriel’s chin. According to court whispers, Erridor had been a fine-looking man in his younger days, but decades of experimentation had aged him eccentrically and comically, rather than gracefully. There was his hunch, of course, developed from years of bending over a cauldron, but there was also his walk, which was more of a shuffle and unnaturally fast, given his posture. The top of his head was shiny and spotted, but the rest of his hair grew long and full from face and ears-down. Even his eyebrows were thick, but not nearly as thick as the black-rimmed spectacles he relied upon for sight—his actual eyes were pitifully small by comparison, and the ample wrinkles surrounding them only made them look smaller. The air did not smell of burning leaves or bubbling oil, yet Erridor wore a full-length smock and heavy gloves, as well as a big, bright smile that contrasted sharply with the weight of his clothing.
“Prince Auriel!” exclaimed the old man, who splayed his little arms out wide as he took an enthusiastic bow. “What an honor it is to have you here in my shop! Forgive my appearance—I know it’s not the prettiest thing in the world, but I’ve been burned and stung far too many times to walk around unprotected. I can get you some, too, if you’d like. The Scaleroots are starting to yield Scaleblossoms, and they’ve been known to go flying if they get too excited!”
“I’ll pass,” said Auriel with a terse smile.
“You’re sure?” he asked, though he turned away before Auriel could answer. “And you, Miss Mithril? Might I interest you in some protective attire?”
“No, thank you, Master Erridor,” she said, her smile much more earnest and kind than Auriel’s. “I couldn’t wear it half as well as you do.”
“It does suit me, I think,” said Erridor, giving the smock a little pat. “And it keeps me safe, like a kiddie’s blanket. I feel much safer in one of these than I would in this, I can tell you that much.” He chuckled and knocked on the abdomen of Denovin’s armor. Denovin cast a quick glance to Auriel, who gave a little shake of the head to put him at ease.
Erridor continued to laugh even as he stepped away from Denovin and placed his hands behind his crooked back, only stopping as he began to speak. “So, to what do I owe this most esteemed visit, my good prince? It feels like ages since we’ve last met in person.”
“Indeed, it has,” Auriel affirmed. “I’ve compiled a list of usual things to stock up on, but I’m looking for some new items, as well.”
“Oh, certainly!” Erridor exclaimed. “I have so many new things I can show you—shall I do so before or after gathering the rest of the list?”
“During,” Auriel said. “Mithril has the list, and Denovin has ample arms to carry. That leaves you completely free to guide me, Master Erridor.”
“Then guide you, I shall! Come, come, let’s explore!” His gloved hand practically swallowed Auriel’s thin wrist as he yanked him forward into the maze of pots and jars.
Despite his small and crooked frame, Erridor moved and talked with all the speed and ardor of a man in his prime. He spoke of his plants as if they were gifts from the Divines themselves, and he handled his products with the utmost reverence and care. It was exhausting, above all else, but in a way, his feverous ardor was charming. In fact, it was so charming that it managed to spark envy within Auriel’s chest, and so, as they were making their way to the fifth plant on Erridor’s tour, he seized a brief second of silence to finally broach the truth.
“There is…one scent I’ve been searching for,” said Auriel smoothly. “It’s quite rare, though, so I’m unsure if you’d have it.”
“Oh, I’m sure that I do,” said Erridor proudly. “Rarities are my specialty. I have samples and serums here in this shop that would set the keepers of the Anlae Arbor Sanctum oozing with jealousy! Tell me what you seek, sweet prince, and I shall lead you to it.”
Auriel cast his eyes out over Erridor’s head to see Mithril and Denovin at the opposite end of the shop, then leaned down and said in a voice considerably lower than before, “I’m looking for Roseblush mist.”
Erridor’s shuffling came to a staggered halt, and all traces of pleasantry drained from his wrinkled face. “Roseblush?” he asked in a voice unfittingly grave.
“Yes, Roseblush. It’s said that it can—”
“I’m well aware of what it does,” Erridor snapped. “Which is why I am shocked that you would be asking for it.”
Auriel flattened his lips as well as his eyes, the latter of which once more drifted briefly to his companions. After a few moments’ pause, he said, “You know of my upcoming marriage to the High Prince Celethir.”
“Of course I do. It’s the talk of the city—of the whole kingdom, I’m sure! But those talks say that he is madly in love with you, is he not?”
“Oh, he is,” Auriel grumbled. “But his court is not.”
“Because of the Season?”
“Indeed. Many in Sola Anlae regard me with great opprobrium, his advisers in particular. But opprobrium is hardly fitting sentiment for a marriage, especially when the parties are so…enthralled…with one another…as the High Prince and I are. Ideally, all parties should be enthralled by us, and our union, and what better aid in achieving that ideal than one of the most enthralling scents in all of Ealla?”
The shocked apprehension that had tightened Erridor’s otherwise flaccid features had gradually softened the more Auriel spoke. He, too, cast a glance over to Mithril and Denovin, then bid Auriel follow with a sharp flap of a gloved hand.
Hurriedly but quietly, Erridor led Auriel through a small door that led to an even smaller room that contained many small strongboxes. He produced a bundle of keys from a pocket in his smock and opened one of the dark grey boxes, which held another set of keys that he used to open another box, which contained yet another set of keys to yet another box. This second box held many tiny vials of deep, blush pink liquid, one of which Erridor withdrew between his thumb and forefinger.
“I’m not supposed to have this,” Erridor began. “The sale and production of Roseblush has been prohibited within the Confederation for nearly two centuries, and I don’t see it becoming legal again any time soon. These vials were carryovers from the days of my master’s master, when production was still legal, and I just couldn’t bring myself to drain them out—not when such caring hands had been used to make them. That said, this may look like a small quantity, but it is highly potent nonetheless. You need only put a single droplet behind each ear to yield the full effects—any more than that and you risk putting both yourself and others in a very…unsavory state of body and mind. Is that clear?”
“Yes, it is,” said Auriel, smiling genuinely for the first time as Erridor reluctantly handed him the vial. Auriel sloshed the liquid around in its tube, his smile widening as he saw the sliver of his reflection in the glass. He lowered the vial to make eye contact with Erridor once more. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing,” said Erridor. “I’m not supposed to be selling it, so it’s not right for me to collect money for it—especially from the Prince of Geletra. If word were to get out that I had sold it to you…” A shudder ran through the little man’s body, and he shook his half-bald head feverishly to rid himself of it. “…no, no, I won’t even entertain such a thought. You can have it for free, just…please be careful with it. I wouldn’t want any harm to befall you, Prince Auriel.”
“Of course, Master Erridor, and thank you. Rest assured, this is all for a good cause. A very…very good cause.”
