Page 1 of Twenty-One Arrow Salute

SEINNÉS

The jab to my chin came from nowhere, snapping my head to one side. It hurt, damn it. Tears stained my vision. I staggered, jumping away from the window of the bathhouse and down onto the gritty path beneath it.

“Verhan Tŭrryés, you sick bastard.”

I sighed. If I had a silver for every time I found myself at the receiving end of that phrase, I’d be the richest Dark Elf in the Highlands. I moved my jaw experimentally, relieved to ascertain that its hinges held fine, and faced my squad’s leader, Achiah.

Considering the thin press of her lips and the black slits of her eyes, she didn’t stand there to propose I be her date to the Archers’ Fete. More was the pity, as I still didn’t have a partner and would hardly refuse her. The girl had mighty sweet lips on her, shaped like a ripe, freshly-peeled fruit of pashjia, just as red and juicy. And my gods, the perkiest pair of—

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” My gaze must’ve wandered too low because she pointed her two splayed fingers towards her eyes in a jerky look-at-me gesture. “Didn’t I catch you peeping at the girls last bathing day? Now you’re back spying on the lads? Have you got no shame?”

“Not a great amount, no,” I admitted with calm. “Neither do I have a set preference.” That was true, too. Girls, boys, anything with a pulse—I didn’t mind.

“Wait. Isn’t it the officers’ turn to bathe?” she said, climbing up to the window herself to steal a brief glance. When she descended, her face lit up like the sky on the Night of Lights. “Oh, this is too precious. You’re salivating over Captain Akhini?”

As if she could blame me. The man’s buttocks, round and firm, looked like a masterpiece some besotted artist had carved from smooth, creamy marble.

She clucked her tongue. “You’re a disgrace to the uniform, Verhan. Start acting like a Queen’s Guard for fuck’s sake, since by the gods’ miracle, you are one. I won’t have anyone mess around in my squad.” She paused for effect and squinted at me. “If I report you to the Commander, you’ll be your pointy ears deep in shit.”

Uh-huh. That I couldn’t dispute. To start with, the accurate word to describe Commander Yennés’ sense of humour would be negligent. He’d already displayed, well, twitchy behaviour around me. People tended to have such a reaction for reasons I never understood. Secondly, the possessiveness the Commander displayed over Captain Akhini, his long-term partner, was legendary. All in all, it promised me a bleak outcome. “I’m sensing an alternative somewhere in there,” I said carefully. “What do you want, Achiah?”

The long, scrutinising look she cast me set off an unpleasant tingling between my shoulder blades. And with that, my hope of wiggling out of this mess unscathed keeled over and died right in front of me on the gravel.

“Seinnés,” she said.

“Seinnés?” I repeated, raising my eyebrows. I didn’t know the Asirhwÿnian very well, even though we’d completed our initial training at the same camp and since then ended up in the same unit. “What about him?”

“He needs a wee bit of help. He’s a good archer, but I’ve noticed he’s been struggling with the instructions during the drills.”

I stared at her. Well, that made sense, seeing that Seinnés didn’t speak the mountain dialect, which had been the language of command within the Queen’s Guard since its foundation.

The Queen’s Guard wasn’t called The Highland Regiment for shits and giggles. Traditionally, the unit only accepted Dark Elves. However, of late—and after a public debate that threw flashy concepts like inclusion, diversity and equal opportunity into the air—Queen Nae’amh decided to allow only the best non-Highlander archers to join. Still, so far not more than a handful of them had been offered a place. They’d blended in somehow, even in terms of looks, all of them by chance dark-haired and robust. But Seinnés, with his vivid auburn hair, green eyes and svelte, delicate physique stood out.

“So?” I said with a frown. “What do you want me to do about that?”

“Teach him the basics.”

I wanted to laugh. But sobered as soon as it occurred to me that she meant it. “I don’t want to,” I announced, ill-tempered.

“Go on, ask me if I give a shit, Verhan.”

Nah. Clearly, she didn’t.

We eyed each other for a time. A group of archers jogged past, interrupting our silent stand-off and forcing us off the main path. Their boots hit the ground—left, right, left, right—raising a cloud of dust from the dry soil around us.

A tickle started at the back of my throat.

“There is more,” she added after a while.

“How wonderful.” My foul mood had blossomed from non-existent into fully-fledged in a snap. And to think that my day had started so well.

Ignoring my muttering, she continued, “He’s been chosen to be a Guard of Honour during the celebration of the Queen’s Namesday.”

My mouth fell open. “What? They want him to perform the Twenty-One Arrow Salute? Three weeks from Freeday?”

“Why, yes. Amongst the other six archers, as customary. But he’ll be the centre shooter. The Commander thought it would send a nice message.”

This piece of information rendered me speechless, but that state, quite foreign to me, passed swiftly. “What message? Come for the parade, die in a freaky bow and arrow accident?” I spluttered, amazed at the idiocy of this idea. “The poor fucker doesn’t know how to handle an asymmetric bow! And they want him to shoot magically enhanced arrows armed with explosives, using a weapon he’s not familiar with? Above a massive crowd of Elves? The entire capital will gather there, for the gods’ sake—it’ll be a disaster! Or he’ll lose an arm. Probably both.” I kept shaking my head until I felt a little wobbly.