Page 44 of The Last Dragon

“I’ve heard that elves are gourmets… Please excuse these simple offerings—they’re just fruits. But you need to regain your strength.”

“Please, there’s no need to apologize. I’m infinitely grateful to you for offering me something to eat.”

Tariel bowed respectfully once more as he took the tray, then slid nimbly to the floor, crossing his legs. Sitting there, he blended into the quiet shadows to observe his surroundings.

The elf always behaved this way with people, unless he found himself in an extreme situation: polite, formal, keeping the world at a distance while remaining respectful. He sought neither to learn more nor to make small talk. Well, at least, always—except in Morgraves, apparently.

He removed, layer by layer, the few leather pouches he was wearing, placing them carefully beside him so he could more easily access his skin, without, however, undressing completely.

Night was about to fall, and they needed some peace and quiet—but above all, they needed to regain their strength.

He and Cassian were both off to the side inside the tent, in plain view of everyone. But the Olyar had their sense of modesty: little by little, the clan members left the area to return to their own accommodations. Only the fire remained, still crackling in the silence.

How were they supposed to keep up at this pace? Tariel wondered.

“Master,” Brynjar’s voice finally echoed in his mind. “Here is my answer: I sensed the Shadow just as I sense you. I think we’re being followed.”

“Thank you, Brynjar. I… You can rest,” he thought.

Silence. His familiar had withdrawn, and the elf said nothing.

He had time to wash up as best he could, despite the lack of privacy, to let his hair down and brush it, and then to finish his meal.

And, in this newfound solitude, a hoarse voice—one he’d recognize anywhere—rasped nearby.

“How… was that lesson… on friendship?”

12 - Rest and Magic

Cassian

A sigh. A few steps.

He felt a sudden coolness on his forehead—a clean, lukewarm cloth—and easily recognized Tariel’s presence. The elf was sitting beside him, silent for a moment, focused. Then, calmly, he spoke. “Excessive and disproportionate.”

Cassian opened his eyes slightly, his muscles still sore, but a faint, amused smile played on his lips. He watched the elf press two fingers against his skin in careful assessment before replacing the cloth.

“What you describe as friendship,” the elf continued, “I see as loyalty from a people who owe you their lives… But I can understand where you’re coming from. Our upbringings obviously differ. What I consider a service rendered in the hope of future protection, you see as an exchange that forms the basis of a mutually supportive relationship. All these people seem to adore you, though, so you should be proud of that.”

Cassian rolled his eyes, offering a barely visible smile.

“A debt isn’t the only thing that binds us. Pacts, promises, oaths… all of that is, deep down, of little consequence. You know nothing about me or my upbringing, and I don’t hold that against you, but don’t think I take any pride in it.”

He paused before continuing, studying the elf’s drawn features, “And sure, it’s something you can be afraid of. You’re afraid, Tariel. And that’s your right.”

He gently grabbed the glass of water the elf held out to him and tried to sit up, his muscles protesting painfully. A groan escaped him as he braced himself, his eyebrows furrowed, and Tariel placed a hand on his back to help him.

“When you fell,” Tariel started, “you erected that impenetrable barrier again. I had to modify it so the ladies could tend to you. I don’t yet know how to dispel it. Would you let me study it?”

“Go ahead,” he simply whispered, his tone neutral, his breathing still a little ragged. “I wasn’t planning on going for a late-night hike anyway.”

He let himself sink back onto the furs, closing his eyes for a moment. He winced at the bitter taste on his tongue.

“Seris has a knack for smearing filth on my lips. And don’t laugh. You did the same thing earlier.”

He pulled the blanket up to his navel, an amused smile on his lips.

“Tell me… were Rhazek’s girls the ones who washed me? Because I’m naked under this damn blanket, and it’s not the first time it happened. So if you could at least put a pair of socks on me, I’d appreciate it.”