Free Red Rope of Fate by K.M. Shea Page B

volumes.
    Eric caught sight of Tari heading in their direction and dropped the goblet he was holding. It fell with a metallic clank, spilling his wine across the floor.
    Arion turned to see what stirred such a reaction in him, and he blinked as Tari stopped at his side.
    “When were you going to tell me about this?” Tari asked, her voice was quiet but dangerously cold.
    “What are you wearing?” Arion asked.
    Tari almost threw the satin bag from Seer Ringali at his face, even though it was a valid question.
    Tari’s practice uniform was un like any other clothing in the Continent. The outfit consisted of black suede boots that were molded to Tari’s calf, black pants with white stitching, a tight, black shirt, and a strange jacket/hood combination that started near the top of Tari’s ribcage, stretched back behind over her shoulders, and hooked down over her middle fingers. She wore black, mismatched gloves beneath that. Her left hand was completely gloved, save for a circular patch on the top of her hand. The fingers of her right glove were cut off, displaying Tari’s tapered fingers.
    The clothes were designed to provide maximum support and flexibility as the physical demands put on an Evening Star were rather weighty.
    Combined with her hair—which was somewhat windblown, although the top half was pulled back in a bun and secured with a clasp—the look was eye popping, and certainly unconventional for anyone who had not seen an Evening Star before. (Which was just about all humans. Ever.)
    “Arion why did you not tell me your sister hosted teas every week?” Tari thunderously said, ignoring the four footmen that scurried from the room.
    Arion stared at Tari’s hair. “Hm?”
    “ Arion ,” Tari said, stamping a foot. Her clenched hands shook under the force of her emotions. This lumbering ox can feel what I’m feeling. WHY ISN’T HE SAYING ANYTHING!?
    Arion shrugged and set his goblet down as a servant mopped up Eric’s mess. “I wished to spare you.”
    “ What ?”
    Arion thoughtfully looked to the end of the room where Kiva was speaking to Princess Claire. “You are already forced to attend numerous banquets, luncheons, and events. I didn’t want to force another on you, nor did I want to use you.”
    Tari tilted her head back and pushed an eyebrow up. “Please explain in further detail.”
    “Our presence can be used as an attraction, as a weapon. If I invited you—and I knew you would say yes—our joint presence would attract a crowd at least three times the size of this. It would be excellent, socially speaking, for Princess Claire, but it would be thoughtlessly using you.”
    Tari frowned as she looked around the room. “Isn’t Princess Claire choosing exclusive guests?”
    Arion shook his head. “No. Princess Claire sends out many, many invitations. People choose not to come,” Arion said.
    Anger drained from Tari as she realized what Arion wasn’t saying. The courts are snubbing her. She’s married the prince, and they’re still snubbing her .
    Tari relaxed her stance, unclenching her hands. “I see,” she said, her voice returning to its usual warmth. She glanced around, frowning slightly when she realized almost all of the tea attendees were still staring at her.
    “Perhaps it was a miscalculation to break into the tea dressed in my practice uniform,” Tari said, turnin g back to Arion. Eric was still gape mouthed next to him.
    “That may have helped some, but it wouldn’t have done much. I don’t think any of us have seen an angry elf before,” Arion said, glancing at his brother.
    “So they’re gawking at the rare emotion?” Tari asked, a ghost of a snicker in her voice.
    “Not at all,” Arion said, shaking his head. “It’s the fact that you’re stunning when you’re angry. You look very different, not like the usual elves we see.”
    Tari shifted, growing uncomfortable, but she was saved by Eric snapping out of his funk. “Lady Tari,” he said in Calnoric.