RUIN

By all accounts, it doesn't make sense. I can remember everything clearly. Miguel feeling me up, me ignoring it, Lord Vestergaard sweeping in and giving him no room to say no, Vestergaard taking me away to my tower and then him… leaving. He just left me there without any expectation of sex or company or explanations. Somehow, he knew.

Does everyone know?

The servants are up early this morning, packing my things, and, bizarrely, I've had the most restful night of sleep I've had in months. Vestergaard and His Resplendence met for an early breakfast that I wasn't privy to and I've avoided Miguel so thoroughly that we don't even say goodbye. He's off "fencing" with someone. He did, however, leave me a note, which I have no intention of even reading.

The carriage is packed, and my six guards are ready. Pennbrooke is at his usual station of manning the carriage and Greentree, in all of her pale blond, pale skinned, pale blue-eyed glory, sits next to him, checking her bow. Shatterjaw is readying her horse, a massive white stallion named Axal. Corporal Huffington, who has a large frame with walnut skin, dark-eyes and pristine cornrows, is checking the trunks carefully. He's a very methodical person and I admire that. He's not as big as Pennbrooke—no one is—but he's bigger than everyone else. But, then again, everyone else is bigger than me. I've always been short, something that rubs me the wrong way on occasion. Sergent Riverton has a large bow on their back—they're our sniper and is also readying their horse. They don't identify as man or woman, just as something in between. Their hair is a brilliant lavender, and they have a singular focus that they apply to everything. It's interesting talking to them because they seem to pay the utmost attention to what you're saying. It's refreshing.

And my last guard, Kingston, is tawny skinned, copper-haired and dark-eyed. He's probably my most suspicious guard and leans against the carriage as he watches Vestergaard. I straighten up and head towards the elf and can feel Kingston watching intently, ready for anything. He's also the youngest guard—younger than me by about four years, which would explain a lot of his behavior. Everyone seems ready to go. Well. Except for our elven guest.

Vestergaard is at the back of the line, adjusting the foot straps of his magnificent mare. She's at least seventeen hands tall with a golden mane and coat that's dotted with white circles. She's a rare golden pinto. Well, rare here, anyway.

His sharp blue eyes are focused on her as he murmurs to her in what I assume is elvish and there's something oddly endearing about it. I still think he's hiding something, but… I am cautiously optimistic now.

"Hello," I manage, coming up to him and looking him over in his leather armor. "Expecting trouble? Don't you know you have me and Shatterjaw to protect you?"

He looks down at me and laughs softly.

"Thank you, Grand Maestro, but I am used to traveling alone. Forgive me if I am abundantly cautious."

"I thought elves stuck together like bees to honey," I say flippantly and then realize that's a bit ruder than I intended. I cringe. "I mean…"

He snorts and shakes his head.

"No. You are correct. They usually do."

He doesn't elaborate and I find that curious.

"Ah," I shift. "You joining me in the carriage?"

He blinks at that and looks at me again, puzzled.

"Oh. I see. I… usually people prefer their own company over my own," he says seriously and I scowl at that .

"Sounds like you hang out with assholes, your lordship," I say dryly and he snorts at that.

"Maybe," he looks a little distant. "I am sure Daffodil can manage on her own."

His horse nudges him and he murmurs to her softly, stroking her nose. I find his hesitation odd and suddenly feel like maybe I dreamt up last night and Miguel has finally broken my hold on reality.

"If you don't want to, it's fine, my lord," I say stiffly, trying to curb my tone and his head snaps to me, eyes wide.

"I mean no offense," he says quickly. "I… it… has been some time since I… had the company of another who was not, uh…" He frowns. "It does not matter. My apologies. Of course I will join you."

Putting that weirdness aside, and failing, I nod and smile before climbing into the carriage. I had thought perhaps he'd be more assertive. All I've ever heard about are overbearing elves. But he seems shy and hesitant for reasons I don't quite understand. I want to see more, ask more, know more about him. I want to unravel him until I understand why he's doing this and why he walked me away from Miguel last night. Part of me is excited. It's been a long time since someone didn't see me as a novelty or piece of ass. Though… maybe he does and he's just hiding it well.

After Daffodil is tethered to the carriage, he opens the door and somehow fits his tall frame into the coach, taking the bench across from me. It's a gaudy thing, this carriage. It's used for traveling by royal guests and the family crest blooms in a pattern on the wall, gilded and loud, reminding us just who's in charge. It's a seagull against waves for the Archketh Isles. The interior is sage green and the benches are purple. Vestergaard's rapier drags on the floor and he stretches out his legs as politely as he can. He's wearing red silk under his leathers and the brown and crimson tones fit him beautifully. He's still shining that rainbow aura and it's hard not to stare.

The carriage lurches forward and I relax a bit. We've managed to leave without running into Miguel and I'm leaving. I'm leaving.

I realize maybe I should've stayed alone because I want to cry with relief. I allow myself to sag a bit and watch through the windows as we enter the city below and people scurry out of the way. Avaughn is stunning. It's in the mountains with steep streets, stone roads and buildings, and a population that thrives off well-stocked lakes, crawling mountain flowers, and fields that breed the healthiest grains and vegetables in the region. That's partially due to magic and partially due to me. They're so full and thriving because I till the land with magic as they till with tractors. That's actually my main job as the Grand Maestro—keep the harvests coming.

"It is profoundly incredible," Vestergaard suddenly says as we pass the precariously positioned wheat fields. "Elves would never dare settle this high, yet you humans do it without a second thought."

I snort and shake off my relief and anxiety.

"We're stubborn motherfuckers," I say with a shrug and fiddle anxiously with my hands.

"No," he shakes his head. "Stubborn and ingenious. The elves are complacent, swollen into sloth from their blessings and riches. It is you who do the hard work, the bold work, the challenging work. They are pathetic in comparison."

I gape at him. I've never heard anyone say anything about the elves besides their genius and unfortunate bigotry. For him to be so bold about his own people is beyond rare.

"I… guess I wouldn't know," I say with a small smile. "It's not like I've been to O'trana or O'stax to see. None of us has."

"Yes," Vestergaard sighs softly. "A pity. Beauty and knowledge are meant to be shared, not locked away by a bunch of pious nobles to be only used when they deem someone worthy."

I look at him curiously.

"I'm beginning to see why people don't like you," I say bluntly and he eyes me warily. "That type of talk will get you killed anywhere."

He flashes a delicate smile.

"Do you want me to stop? I did not take you to be a bootlicker."

I smile back.

"No. Do continue. A list of your flaws should be next. You are, after all, a lord yourself."

I'm teasing him, of course, and I've never found it so easy to flirt with someone before. Maybe I'm high on power, on the fact that Miguel is further and further away from me. Maybe his sapphire eyes are too sincere, too gentle, too alluring. Or maybe, just maybe, he is what he seems—kind and shy.

I can only hope.

He smiles wryly and shakes his head.

"No," he says plainly. "I cannot. The list would blot out the sun and then your lovely fields would wither and die."

He says it as a joke, but I'm pretty sure he's serious.

"Ah, well," I say dismissively. "We have time for that."

He snorts and eyes me.

"You are a feisty one," he says and shakes his head. For some reason, he looks sad about it.

I shrug, filing that information away for later.

"Only a little," I say and before we can start an awkward line of questioning, I change the subject. "What do you want to know about the Immortal Plains?"

He looks less morose at that and straightens, pulling out a journal and quill from his pack. The journal is dark leather and the quill is black with sapphires in the spine of the feather. He murmurs something and releases them and, to my amazement, they float in the air next to him, the quill hovering as if to take notes. Such a casual display of magic is incredible, especially when he's not bound to a patron like humans must be in order to use it. Elves really are something else.

"In O'trana, we measure the health of magic by the magical particles detected per cubic foot," he says and the quill starts moving. "I assume you do something similar?"

"Yeah," I nod and focus, trying to ignore the bizarre magic. "We do. Three years ago, it dropped from 100,000 to 98,000 with no real reason and has continued to decline. It does fluctuate, like anything would, but it shouldn't stay at 98,000, which it did for a little bit before declining even further. It's never a huge difference but it has been having an effect on the weather. The Immortal Plains are usually Summer year round, but last Fall, some of the trees died. It was…" I search for the right word. Academics usually like things presented in a disconnected manner. Elves, at least. I think. "… unprecedented."

I look back at him and somehow, he's even paler.

"You…" he clears his throat. "How many trees?"

I shrug.

"About fifty. It was 0.2% of the forest population."

"I see," he frowns deeply. "Obviously, this stays between us, but O'trana has had the same thing happen. I am here to see if it is related."

I frown at that.

"What about the Fae? What do they say?"

He snorts.

"Only the gods know. They are more tight-lipped than an adulterating man."

He sounds disgusted and I get the sense that he doesn't care for them.

"You don't like them," I say, confused. "I thought elves and fae were friends."

"I imagine you believe a lot about elves that is inaccurate," he says with a soft sigh. "And they like to keep it that way."

I cock my head.

"You don't agree?"

"What?" He blinks at me and shakes his head. "I absolutely do not agree at all. Controlling information is just another way to abuse power. I think all races would benefit from a steady exchange of information and emissaries. As it is, the humans hold one continent, the elves another, and the fae the last. Our communication is woefully limited and disconnected and if these draining instances are connected as I believe, it is going to be twice as hard to find a solution and coordinate a—" He suddenly stops and the most adorable blush creeps its way into his high, delicate cheeks. "I am so sorry. I get carried away."

I can't hide my smile.

"You're passionate. It's okay. Let's compare notes."

We work until lunch, swapping data and theories and by the time we stop to stretch our legs and eat, we are much more friendly with each other. He is nothing short of brilliant and sees things I didn't see at all. He's able to draw solid conclusions from the data without spending hours working it out. I like to watch him think, hunched over and serious, as he looks at my measurements and math.

And, unfortunately, I agree with him—these magical events are somehow related.

The guards set up a blanket under a beautiful maple tree by the side of the road. They set out food and he and I sit while Shatterjaw and the others rotate watch and eat. The wind plays with Vestergaard's wisps of hair and his blue eyes search the sky.

"I think you should call me Tobiah," he says, halfway through his berry bowl.

I blink.

"Tobiah?"

He smiles and nods gently.

"Yes. That is my name. All my colleagues call me that."

I put down my cheese to gape at him.

"But… I'm not…" Smart enough? Old enough? Perhaps just… no?

He laughs.

"You are one of the smartest mages I have ever met, Ruin," he says with an easy smile. "Do not think less of yourself because of your youth or race. You would put many of my people to shame."

My blush is ragingly heated and I manage a quick nod, looking away from his enchanting features and that unforgettable rainbow.

But I still see his quick, kind smile out of the corner of my eye and my heart flutters.