The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (45 page)

 Celedorn sitting in mental
agony by the tree, heard her gasp of shock.

 “I should have known,”
she declared in a bitter voice. “I’ve been such a fool, mistaking kindness for
love. I should have known that there is too big a gulf between us. The Prince
and the nobody! I should have known that such things are only for story books.”

 As she spoke, she
turned from the Prince and fled down the steps of the terrace, past Celedorn,
whom she did not notice, and into the darkness of the park.

 “Elorin!” Andarion
called after her, clearly in great distress. “Elorin, come back!”

 Celedorn sat rigid,
unsure what to do.

 “Oh no,” he heard
Andarion groan. “What am I to do?” The Prince took a couple of steps towards
the garden, then halted. “I’m only going to make things worse if I follow her.
I have done enough harm tonight.”

 He turned and slowly,
with his head bowed, returned to the hall.

 Celedorn rose to his
feet, and looked into the darkness in the direction in which Elorin had
disappeared. He felt for her hurt, and wanted to help her but was unsure what
to do. However, he could no more walk off into the night without attempting to
comfort her, than he could have refused to take his next breath. He also
realised that his good intentions had indirectly led to her predicament, so he
began to search the parkland for her.

 At last he found her,
sitting on a bench by a small fountain. She had her face buried in her hands
and was quietly crying. The trickle of the fountain masked the sound of his
footsteps and consequently, when he called her name, she leaped startled to her
feet.

 “I didn’t mean to
frighten you,” he said hastily. “Elorin, I’m so sorry. I know such words seem
totally inadequate but I don’t know what else to say, except that it is
Andarion who is to be pitied this evening. He has lost more than he realises.”

 
“What
!”

 “I know that it
seems.....”

 “You overheard our
conversation!” she cried, enunciating each word in a dangerous manner.

 He should have been
warned. “Well, yes, I did inadvertently but......”

 “You
listened!”

 “Not intentionally
but....”

 She made a violent
gesture with her hand to cut him short. “So now you’ve come to gloat, is that
it? Now you’ve come to tell me that you were right all along. You once said to
me that he would never feel anything for me. You always knew that happy endings
were just for story books.  Are you pleased that you have been proved
right?”

 “No! I just wanted to
offer....”

 But she was in the grip
of an explosive mixture of hurt, anger and rejection, and once more overrode
him. “I don’t want anything you have to offer! You told me he would never look
at a nobody like me! So now enjoy your triumph!”

 Her unfairness stung
him despite himself. “It’s not like that,” he snapped.

 “It’s always like that!
You always have to be right!”

 “If you’d just for one
moment use your head and stop behaving like a damned fool.....”

 He got no further,
because fired by humiliation and injured pride, she flung back her hand and
slapped him across the face.

 The next instant she
gasped in horror, suddenly realising that she had struck him on his injured
cheek.

 There was a shocked
silence for a moment, then he stepped back from her, deeply hurt, and bowed
ironically. “You owed me that from long ago,” he said quietly, and turned on
his heel and left.

 Elorin awoke the next
morning heavy-eyed, and even more tired and miserable than when she had gone to
bed the night before. She had sat by the fountain a long time, her pride in the
dust, her conscience seared by what she had done to Celedorn. Finally she had
arisen and returned to their quarters in the palace. She had knocked gently on
his door, determined to beg his forgiveness, but there had been no reply. On
opening the door, she had found that the room was empty, the bed unslept in.
Wearily she had returned to her own room, and taking off the dress that she had
put on with such pleasure earlier in the evening, fell into bed to be haunted
in her dreams by the reproachful look on the Prince’s face and the even worse
look on the face of the man she had struck.

 It was late in the
morning when she awoke and she dressed quickly, aware that at all costs she
must speak to Celedorn. When she headed down the stairs to the dining hall, she
encountered Triana coming up.

 “Where did you go to
last night, Elorin?” she asked in great concern. “You did not return to the
banquet and the Prince was so upset that he hardly spoke a word for the rest of
the evening. What happened?”

 But Elorin brushed
aside the question. “Have you seen Celedorn?”

 “Yes, he came down to
breakfast looking as if he hadn’t slept all night. He has now gone down to the stables
to attend to the horses.”

 “Thanks,” Elorin
replied briefly and hurried down the stairs.

 Triana leaned over the
banisters and called after her: “Elorin, wait!”

 But she had already
gone.

 As Elorin passed under
the arch into the city, the difficulties of what she was about to attempt
struck her for the first time. She felt her behaviour had been unforgivable,
particularly in view of the fact that she had known all along that he had not
come to mock her, but her pride had been lacerated both by her rejection by the
Prince and the fact that her humiliation had been witnessed. The dangerously
volatile mixture of rejection, blighted hopes and a sense of unworthiness had
found expression in the worst possible way. Again and again she remembered the
look on his face when she had struck him. The memory tortured her, bringing her
as close to hating herself as she had ever come. He had come to offer her
comfort and instead she had hit him on his injured cheek. Nervously, she began
to rehearse what she would say to him, what explanation she could offer, and
became so involved in her difficult thoughts that twice she lost her way
amongst the maze of narrow streets.

 At last she arrived at
the inn, half hoping he wouldn’t be there. She went round to the back and quietly
entered the stables. He did not hear her come in and continued with his task of
grooming the grey horse. The brush travelled in firm, rhythmic strokes down the
horse’s flank.

 Elorin stood rooted to
the spot, utterly confounded as to how to proceed. Before her fragile courage
could desert her entirely, she called his name. The brush froze on the horse’s
flank and he slowly turned to face her. He was never a man whose expression was
easy to read but she made the mistake of looking into his eyes, and with
uncanny perception, read in them the hurt that he would have hidden from her.
Her resolve broke. Her carefully constructed sentences collapsed in ruins.
Tears sprang into her eyes and she took an impulsive step towards him.

 “Forgive me, Celedorn,”
she managed to blurt out, before her throat closed. “Please forgive me.”

 Neither of them
afterwards knew quite how it happened, but somehow she was in his arms. His
brush slipped from his grasp and fell unheeded to the floor. She buried her
face against his shoulder, her tears choking her, and said disjointedly: “It
was the cruellest thing I have ever done in my life. I knew you had come to
comfort me and I just lashed out at you. I took out on you, all the hurt and
anger I really felt against myself. Can you ever forgive me?”

 He tightened his arms
around her and leaned his cheek against the top of her head.

 “There’s nothing to
forgive,” he said constrictedly.

 “You said that I owed
you such a blow from long ago, but it’s not true. That was long before I knew
you, when we were both two different people. All that has been forgotten.
Yet....yet of all the cruel things I could have done, I had to pick the worst
and actually strike you on your injured cheek. How could I have done such a
thing!”

 “That injury healed a
long time ago,” he reassured her.

 “Did it?” she asked
quietly. “Sometimes I think it never did.”

 He did not reply but
stood in silence holding her tightly. Her tears had gone and she stood at peace
in his embrace, her cheek resting on his shoulder, but as she stood, a strange
and mysterious feeling stole over her. He had put his arm around her many times
before during the course of their travels - to support her when she was tired,
or protect her, but for the first time, she became acutely aware of him as a
man. She could hear the steady beating of his heart, feel the strength in his
arms and the warmth of him through his shirt. The peace that his forgiveness
had brought her, began to become vaguely frayed by a nebulous, yet deeply
disturbing feeling that she did not understand.

 She felt his head turn,
and briefly, so briefly that she could not be certain, she thought she felt his
lips brush her hair.

 Gently she made a move
to disengage herself and he instantly released her. She found herself avoiding
his eyes, unwilling to let him see her confusion.

 With his usual
disconcerting instinct, he had sensed her unease but had mistaken the cause,
assuming that her thoughts had returned to her encounter with the Prince. He
had stood holding her closely, hoping that his heart was not beating as fast as
it seemed and fighting an almost overwhelming urge to tell her the truth. But
she had turned to him for comfort, not love, moreover her emotions were very
raw, still wounded by the Prince’s rejection, so he had stood utterly still,
absorbing every moment, realising that he might never have the opportunity to
hold her thus again.

 “I meant what I said
last night,” he remarked, his voice low. “It is the Prince who has lost. I
almost pity him.” She smiled a little disbelievingly and he continued: “I
didn’t mean to listen, I swear I didn’t. I wasn’t in that garden to
deliberately eavesdrop.”

 “I know that. Injured
pride is a strange thing, utterly irrational. I just don’t know how I am going
to face the Prince. I made such a fool of myself.”

 “If Andarion’s
expression this morning at breakfast is anything to go by, he is blaming
himself. He looked positively haggard. In fact,” he added, a gleam creeping
into his eyes, “the only happy person was Relisar, because he was on the point
of disappearing off to his beloved library again. Even Triana was a bit
subdued.”

 She groaned. “I have
done all that!”

 He shook his head. “It
was a misunderstanding. It was no one’s fault. I give the Prince credit for
blaming himself. He would do anything to avoid hurting you. He may not care for
you in the way you wish, but care for you he certainly does, and he is now in
misery at the thought that he has caused you harm.”

 She was thoughtful.
“You knew this was how it would end, didn’t you?”

 He looked at the floor
and slowly bent to pick up his brush. “I only wish I had been wrong.” But even
as he said the words, he realised that they were not entirely true. He was
heart sore for her pain, but being only human, he felt that the Prince’s rejection
had somehow brought her closer to him. The rational part of his mind told him
it was an illusion, but his heart refused to listen.

 As it turned out,
Elorin’s next meeting with the Prince proved not to be as difficult as she had
anticipated.

 She spent the rest of
the day with Celedorn, succumbing to a rather cowardly desire to avoid the
others, and ended by putting her troubles to the back of her mind and quite
enjoying herself. They mounted two of the horses and leading the rest, repaired
beyond the city gates to enjoy a canter in the open countryside. A little
village tavern supplied them with a pleasant meal and her companion, anxious to
distract her thoughts, was entertaining company.   

  Twilight was just
beginning to fall as they wended their way along the tortuous streets back to
their quarters in the palace. Elorin’s conversation faltered and died as the
gateway approached, conscious that they were likely to meet the Prince.

 Her surmise was correct.
When they entered the dining hall, they found him seated alone at the long,
polished table. He looked up, his expression a little strained, as they came
in.

 Elorin experienced a
craven impulse to retreat but she felt Celedorn’s hand on her back, giving her
a little push forward. She turned to him, her eyes begging him to stay, but he
shook his head and murmured quietly: “You must face this alone. You owe him
that,” and with a friendly nod to Andarion, he withdrew.

 “Elorin,” said the
Prince tensely, “we must talk.”

 She stood by the door
for a moment longer, reluctant to get involved, then slowly came to him and sat
beside him on the bench.

 “We didn’t part on the
best of terms last night, did we?” she remarked a little uncertainly. “It was
my fault. I read more into your actions than you intended. You must not blame
yourself.”

 His eyes were very
troubled. “But I do, Elorin. How could I have been so blind? So
insensitive?  I......I genuinely didn’t know. I know I handled things
badly last night but I just didn’t know what to do. Perhaps I should have
followed you into the gardens, instead of returning to the banquet.”

 She bowed her head.
“Celedorn followed me. He was in the garden and inadvertently overheard our
conversation. I behaved very badly towards him but he has forgiven me. All I
need to do now is ask
your
forgiveness and also ask you to try to forget
what I said.”

 “My forgiveness?” he
repeated incredulously. “Elorin, I am deeply honoured by what you said to me -
but I think you will find as time goes on, that I am not the right person for
you. As Relisar would say, fate takes some strange twists and turns. All I know
is that you will not always regret what happened last night. What I want you to
do now, is to reassure me that you don’t hate me, that we are still the good
friends we have always been.”

 She smiled suddenly,
unable to resist his frank charm. “We will always be friends,” she confirmed.

 “That means more to me
than I can ever tell you.” He paused for a moment, then ventured: “All this has
not been the cause of a rift between you and Celedorn, has it?”

 She shook her head but
her voice sunk low with shame. “He followed me to comfort me last night and I
was so.......well, so overwrought that I ended up by slapping his face.”

 The Prince drew in his
breath sharply.

 “He did nothing to
deserve it,” she said quickly. “He only wanted to help me. I was the one who
was totally in the wrong. I found him this morning and begged his forgiveness
and he gave it without hesitation. I had not expected that.”

 “Did you not? I think
there is nothing that you could do, that Celedorn would not forgive,” said
Andarion a little rashly, then feeling that he had said too much, he hastily
changed the subject.

 “We have been summoned
tonight to dine with the King, and I, for one, intend to take the opportunity
to thank him for his hospitality and inform him that we are departing
tomorrow.”

 At that point, the door
opened to admit Triana and Celedorn. The latter directed a look of enquiry at
Elorin and was reassured by her smile.

 “Andarion is going to
tell the King that we are preparing to leave tomorrow,” she informed him.

 He seated himself
facing her. “His reaction should be interesting.”

 Triana, feeling brave,
sat beside him. “He seems very keen for us to remain.”

 “Too keen,” replied
Andarion sardonically. “I wonder what excuse he will now offer to delay our
departure? Captain Naldian will be along shortly to escort us to the King’s
private apartments but before he comes, we must agree amongst ourselves to
stand firm and not be persuaded to consent to yet another delay.” He glanced
round the table and received unanimous nods of assent.

 “We appear to be
missing one fifth of our company,” Celedorn observed. “Where is Relisar? Or
need I ask?”

 “No, you need not ask.
He spends every waking hour in that library up to his eyes in old manuscripts,
dust and paper mites. He has made a crony of the librarian and they are now
practically inseparable. Naldian called in earlier, and knowing the problems we
have with Relisar, has gone to fetch him. The King, although pleasant enough,
is touchy about his dignity and if Relisar simply failed to respond to a diner
invitation - as he is well capable of doing - we would all be in trouble.”

 As he spoke, the door
opened to admit Naldian and the truant. Relisar’s gown was liberally smudged
with dust and ink and he bore the long-suffering expression of someone who had
been dragged away from something interesting much against his will.