Bridge

Pomp Square was home to many a fine dining establishment, and Aerlin had been to them all, most of them several times over. There was Forest's Finest, where one might enjoy refined elven cuisine, which was almost exclusively vegetarian. There was Steel Skewer, a dwarven restaurant replete with meats smoked and barbecued in every way imaginable. But the finest of all was Rift's Repletion, a place renowned for not catering to the tastes of any one race, but instead fusing the best of the world's cuisine into an irresistible menu. That was where Altena took Prince Garin Alacra the night he arrived.

Aerlin had to hand it to Altena, she couldn't have made a better choice. Of course, Rift's Repletion had a price to match its excellence.

Just glad I'm not the one paying,

thought Aerlin. They had quite a large company for dining, with Altena, Garin, and Aerlin herself, as well as Garin's steward and his four soldiers. Even Captain Harvish and Yudeca the arbiter had accompanied them to the restaurant, much to Aerlin's surprise.

Why are they even here?

she wondered.

Soldiers and arbiters aren't usually much for social functions.

They'd walked there from the East Gate. Garin and his retinue had left their horses at the stables, after much dithering from the Prince and his steward over whether they'd be properly cared for or not. It wasn't far to Pomp Square, and when they got to Rift's Repletion, a small, understated building, they were met by a ludicrous human man with hair dyed a blinding white and pulled into dozens of short spikes that stuck up from his head. There were garish earrings in either lobe, and he had on a loud yellow and purple doublet that seemed at odds with any notion of fine fashion. He had chin beard and mustache died the same color as his hair, the mustache twirled in a tight spiral. This was Algo Afir, the owner and proprietor of Rift's Repletion.

"Ah, Altena Peregrin, Maire of Bridge!" exclaimed Algo, throwing his arms to either side. "You are most welcome, as always. I've had your regular table prepared, and I've engaged some of the best musicians in Bridge for the evening."

"Thoughtful as ever, Algo," said the Maire. "May I present Prince Garin Alacra, third in line to the throne of Langelia?"

She gestured to the Prince, who looked briefly at Algo before sniffing and finding something on a neighboring building to look at, as if it was much more interesting that meeting the restaurateur.

Algo was momentarily taken aback, but an indefatigable smile cracked his round face. "I am sure the Prince is tired from his journey. Let us dispense with the pleasantries and get to the food."

"Wonderful idea," said Aerlin. "We're all famished."

"Fantastic," said Algo. "We've some excellent fare on offer this evening." He frowned slightly, as if deciding what to say next before forging onward. "But before we go in, I must respectfully ask that His Grace Prince Garin and his companions surrender their weapons at the door."

At this Garin rounded on Algo, at last deigning to take notice. His pretty features twisted in a wrathful frown.

"What?" said the Prince. "Leave our weapons? In foreign territory? Do you think me some kind of fool?"

Algo stammered, but it was Altena who replied, her tone calm and even.

"Prince Garin, in Bridge it is customary not to wear weapons in a restaurant. You will notice that I do not carry a sword. We are a peaceful city, and you have my assurance as to your safety."

Garin looked over at his men, who were getting a bit edgy, one of them even fingering the hilt of his sword. Harvish and Yudeca each took a step forward. The Captain was wearing a greatsword, which Aerlin could personally attest that he knew how to use, having seen the man in various messy scrapes over the years. Yudeca wore no weapon, as was customary among the arbiters, but she knew his training included extensive hand-to-hand combat, and though she'd never seen him fight, she recognized the stance he settled into as one ready to spring into action if necessary.

Not good

, thought Aerlin. She Willed a bit of calm their way, hoping to diffuse the situation before it got ugly.

Easy does it

, she thought, twisting her staff in her hands to concentrate.

No need for violence

. The man took his hand off his blade's pommel, and Aerlin sighed with relief.

"May I make a suggestion?" said Yudeca, his mellow tenor voice surprising everyone. "Why don't Captain Harvish and I see your men to their quarters at the embassy, Your Grace? I am sure they wish to relax before a roaring hearth with their fellow fighting men. I would even venture to say that some of them might prefer the relaxed atmosphere of barracks common room to that of a stuffy restaurant." That got a knowing chuckle from a couple of the soldiers.

Yudeca continued. "Perhaps one man could stay behind, as a bodyguard, if you wish it. The swords must stay at the front, of course, but I'm sure Algo wouldn't begrudge you a belt knife. We want you to feel at ease, Your Grace, and welcome."

Aerlin watched Garin's reaction as Yudeca spoke, seeing his expression soften, until by the end he was nodding a bit.

Amazing

, she thought. Yudeca wasn't even using magic and yet he'd won over the stubborn, paranoid Prince.

She was beginning to see the soft-spoken Arbiter in a new light.

"Very well," said Garin. He turned to his steward and began issuing orders like it had all been his idea. "Go with them, Kern, and then return to the East Gate to await the gnomish porters with the rest of my luggage. You." He jabbed a finger at one of the guards. "With me. The rest of you are dismissed."

The guard he'd indicated removed his helmet, giving them all a good look at him. He had a fearsome whip-vine scar across the left side of his face, dark brown eyes, and a firm jaw set grimly.

He looks like a real charmer,

thought Aerlin.

Algo led the way inside. A well-dressed man at the door took their weapons: Garin's sword in a white-gold scabbard and his man-at-arms' blade in a well-worn leather sheath. Aerlin gave up her sceptre as well -- not that it made a difference, but she thought it might make the Prince feel less vulnerable. Their items were stored in a back room for them to retrieve when they left.

Rift's Repletion wasn't a large establishment, but it was a full one. They passed a table of goblins who leaned forward over cups of rich, dark spirits and spoke softly to one another. A family of water elementals was nearby, delightedly ahh-ing as a waiter unveiled platters of baked fish and seaweed salad. The social elite of Bridge and wealthy visitors from both sides of the Rift gathered about each of Algo's tables. A good many more were waiting in the lobby for their own table to open up. One man, a portly human wearing Orezzan clothes, was practically foaming at the mouth as he demanded the manager seat his party immediately. The manager, a reedy man with an extremely thin mustache, was explaining firmly and with no small amount of sarcasm that such a thing was impossible.

"Business is good, I see," remarked Altena as they passed the arguing pair.

"Droll as ever," replied Algo. "Yes, we're doing quite well, though if demand is this high, perhaps I should raise my prices. Denby says I should take advance reservations. Imagine! People Willing me their dinner plans months in advance! He does have a point, of course. Ah, but for you, Maire, the best table shall always be available!"

Their table was in a private room curtained off from the main dining area, with candelabras on the wall casting a low light. Garin's man sat alert in a chair at the room's edge, casting a watchful eye about the room. Algo ordered dishes brought in, one after another, a creamy Langelian soup, fish and venison flavored with Gnomish spices, honeyed fruit from Maridel and Eorn, and a fine, dark red wine from the vineyards near Rondelac. Garin's mood brightened considerably as the food was brought steaming from the kitchens.

"I hope you enjoy this modest fare, Your Grace," said Algo, standing with hands clasped behind his back at the edge of the table. "If anything is not to your liking, please do not hesitate to say so."

But the Prince had already cut into a slice of hot venison and popped it into his mouth. Algo practically held his breath while the Prince chewed and swallowed.

"Wonderful," said Garin. "As fine as anything back home. You must forgive my earlier hesitance. I am unused to dining... out. We do not have many places such as this in Langelia. I did not know what to expect."

"No apology necessary, You Grace," said Algo. "Here in Bridge, we have more travelers than any place in the world, and all of them hungry. We have perfected the art of feeding them. Trade from both sides of the Rift centers in Bridge, and thus I have access to the finest ingredients from Mount Orn to Maridel." He was beaming now, which made his absurd mustache curl comically. Algo clapped his hands twice and a troupe of musicians streamed into the room. Their leader, a lutest with an enormous red feather in his hat, made a complicated bow before launching into an upbeat piece.

Aerlin studied the Maire's reaction as they ate, sensing relief despite Altena's hard expression. She was starting to see what Altena had meant about Garin being different from Urien. The Prince of Hegg was affable, polite, and unassuming, while the Prince of Langelia was brusque, rude, and demanding.

How can two people of such high birth be so different?

she thought.

Still, she could tell why they called Garin the Golden Prince in Langelia. He was one of the most beautiful men she'd ever seen, with refined, aquiline features, his ears slightly pointed, a testament to the intermingling of the House of Alacra and the elves of Eorn Forest. His imperious attitude had softened with the food and music, and he relaxed and crossed his legs as he watched the players work through one of the absurdly complicated string pieces so popular in Hegg these days.

Altena caught Aerlin admiring the Prince and kicked her under the table, the toe of the Marie's boot digging painfully into Aerlin's shin. Altena flicked her eyes at Garin and mouthed the word "talk" at Aerlin. The wizard shot back a sullen frown.

She might be paying me to be a good conversation partner, but she doesn't have to kick me.

Altena had a point though. They were halfway through dinner now and barely a word had been said.

"So, Prince Garin," said Aerlin, "I'm told you're third in line to the throne of Langelia."

Garin nodded somewhat absently. "Fourth now, actually," he said. "My uncle Regulon's young wife gave birth yesterday. I've been edged out by a squealing infant boy."

"Congratulations, Your Grace," said Altena. "Let us drink to the new prince."

"Hear, hear," said Aerlin.

Garin raised his glass in a half-hearted toast and took a gulp of wine. "Yes, yes," he said. "It's not like there was much hope of me ever being king anyway."

"Lord Regulon is King Sudra's younger brother, right?" asked Aerlin. "And your mother, Lady Elora, is their younger sister?" Being from the East herself, Aerlin knew a bit about the Langelian royal family, and hoped to pique his interest with a familiar topic.

"That's right," said Garin. He turned his attention from the musicians to Aerlin and finished the last swallow of wine in his cup. A server refilled it as the Prince continued. "The King has one son, and until yesterday, so did my Lord Uncle."

"But shouldn't that make you fifth in line, Your Grace?" asked Aerlin. "The King's son, then Lord Regulon, then his own two sons, and then you?"

"You've forgotten my mother," said Garin. "Women can inherit the throne since the Holy Church of Langel's Reformation. But no, my uncle and mother both renounced any claim to the throne when younger heirs were assured."

"Wait," said Aerlin. "If women can inherit, what about your sister Narya?"

"Also fourth in line. We're twins, and under the Equal Inheritance Act, our claims are equivalent." He grinned, evidently greatly amused at this unusual circumstance. "No doubt the Hierophant regrets writing the Act that way now. At the time it seemed necessary to include women so as to check the power of men in the royal house. How could the Reformers have known my mother would bear twins, let alone one boy and one girl?"

"So what would happen if both your claims vested?"

Garin shrugged. "Who can say? It's never happened before. Probably never will. I expect there'd be some sort of joint protectorate until one of us died or abdicated. But an awful lot of people would need to die for that to happen. Besides, everyone knows the Hierophant's the real power anyway, the King is just a figurehead. Don't tell my Uncle Sudra I said that, of course."

Aerlin gave a genuine laugh as Garin winked at her conspiratorially. Now that they'd gotten some food and wine in him, and got him discussing royal succession, his mood had improved greatly. She was actually starting to forget his earlier boorish behavior.

"No, princes like me are best used for diplomatic missions to far-flung lands. Narya and I spend most of our time traveling between the Elven Kingdom in Eorn Forest, the water elemental city on Lake Turan, and the Gnomish Protectorate, negotiating treaties and that sort of thing."

"Is that what brings you to Bridge, Your Grace?" asked Aerlin. "Are you negotiating a treaty?"

"Of a sort," said Garin. He took a bite of a lemon square as the waiters brought sweets to the table. "Terribly drab business, I'm afraid."

"I'm sure nothing about you is drab," said Aerlin.

Garin chuckled. "Good answer," he said. "But in this case it's true. Nothing will come of this waste of a visit. It's just a formality, one of those things protocol dictates. The settlements at New Langelia have already begun, so there's no going back now."

"Settlements?" asked Aerlin. That word piqued her interest. Neither Urien nor Altena had said anything about settlements. The Maire flashed a warning glance, but Aerlin sensed she was close to an answer to the riddle of why Urien and Garin had arrived in Bridge at the same time. "Langelia is expanding then?"

"Not much choice, really," said Garin. "No place else for us to go East of Bridge. The land's been completely divvied up between Langel, Maridel, the watermen, and the elves. But the Holy Church of Langel demands expansion and new converts, so unless the Hierophant wants another open war with the elves or the watermen, which he doesn't, it's west of Bridge for us. Plenty of land there that the Heggish have left undeveloped, thus, New Langelia. Not that the bastards will just give it to us, of course."

"I didn't know Langelite settlers had crossed through Bridge," said Aerlin. She was genuinely confused. Settlements in Hegg? Why hadn't Altena mentioned it? Why hadn't Urien?

"They weren't noticeable," said Garin. "The Hierophant sent a few families at first, then a few more, and so on until a few hundred were across. Get a foothold in the unsettled countryside with some solid homesteads, that was the idea. And it was working until those bloody savages from Hegg started slaughtering them."

"Slaughter?" asked Aerlin. She was picturing Urien's amiable smile and humble demeanor, and wondering how he could participate in that kind of violence. "Surely you exaggerate, my Prince."

"I assure you I do not," said Garin tartly. "We have had reports from our wizards in New Langelia of homes burned to the ground with entire families locked inside. The Heggish plan to cleanse the land, it seems, but of course that won't do."

"So you're here to negotiate a compromise with Prince Urien," concluded Aerlin.

"Compromise," said Garin with a derisive snort. "There will be no compromise. More Langelite settlers are on the way. The only question is what the Heggish intend to do about it." Garin opened his mouth to speak, but then his jaw snapped shut and a sly smile spread across his face. "Hold on. I never mentioned Prince Urien." He paused before continuing. "You know, you're about the most curious whore I've ever met, and I fear this wine has made my tongue loose." He turned to the Maire. "Did you hire this one to spy on me, Altena?"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, broken only by the soft music filling the room. Altena's mouth had gone about as tight as Aerlin had ever seen it, and Garin was smirking triumphantly. Aerlin had her fists clenched beneath the table, and it was all she could do not to punch the man.

"What did you call me?" asked Aerlin, at last composing herself enough to speak.

"A spy," said Garin. "And a good one, don't get me wrong."

"No," said Aerlin. "The other word."

He thought for a moment. "Whore?"

"Yes. That one." Her tone was as icy as she could make it without using magic.

Garin scrunched his brow. "I'm confused. You're offended by 'whore?' You know what it means, don't you?"

"Why don't you tell us what it means?"

The Prince scratched his head, taken aback. "You know. Someone who fucks for money. And you're a beautiful one, naturally, much more well-spoken than most. I shall relish taking you to bed later, though you aren't my usual type. I generally prefer them a bit less buxom, Altena, you might take note for later."

He looked back and forth at his silent companions, seeming genuinely baffled.

"What, you didn't think I believed that line about her being a wizard, did you? I've known wizards all my life. Maridel is but a stone's throw away from Val Langel. I've taken courses at the Academy, for god's sake. Wizards don't dress like..." He waved his hand in Aerlin's direction, encompassing her staff and dress. "...this. I mean, really, the tight-fitting silver dress, the pink crystal staff ornament, that's not the kind of thing stodgy wizards wear."

Aerlin sighed.

He'd been doing so well, too.

"Well, I suppose you're the expert, Garin."

Aerlin directed her Will at the leg of Garin's chair. A second later it cracked in half, sending the Prince sprawling to the floor with an undignified squawk, spilling his wine all over himself. The soldier with the whip-vine scar was on his feet instantly, glowering at Aerlin, but hesitated, sizing her up, evidently realizing he had little chance unarmed against a wizard. Meanwhile Garin began cursing steadily and trying to stand up, only to trip over his chair and stick his hand in a pot of gravy. Aerlin allowed herself a moment to savor the Prince's humiliation before gliding out of the room.

Altena caught up to her when she was halfway out of the restaurant and grabbed Aerlin by the arm.

"Where are you going?" hissed the Maire. "You have to come back and help me fix this."

"You know I don't like that word," said Aerlin. "Men use it when they think women are things to be owned."

"Well, we can have him call you a scarlet woman, or a courtesan if you like, but you have to get back in there!"

"I'm a wizard trained in Maridel," Aerlin shot back. "And I will not be treated like property by an uncouth lout like Garin Alacra."

Altena hissed back venomously, "Don't get prudish with me, Aerlin, you fucked the Prince of Hegg last night!" She'd said it louder than she meant to, and the family of water elementals was staring at them, forks paused on their way to mouths. Altena continued more quietly. "Look, you probed too deep, too fast, and Garin caught you. He's got his guard up, and you have to go back in that room and bring it back down. I need him calm. I need to know his mind."

"If you'd told me the truth about the settlements in the first place, I wouldn't have had to push."

Altena pursed her lips. "This is a complex situation, Aerlin, with many variables, and I did not want you leaping to conclusions or pre-judging our distinguished visitors."