Chapter 12 - A Little Brighter, Just for Me
Elarion stood in front of the oldest restaurant in Selathryn, the strap of his courier bag slung over one shoulder and his fingers tugging slightly at the edge of his sleeves. The building rose before him like something out of a painting, its pale stone exterior curved into elegant spires, and the tall double doors were carved with intricate moon-and-leaf motifs in the unmistakable design of ancient moon elven architecture. The glowstones lining the arched windows shimmered with soft silver light, even though the sun had not yet set.
He swallowed once. Then he stepped inside.
The interior was just as refined as the façade promised. The air was cool and perfumed with flowering vine incense, and soft music floated in from somewhere deeper within the hall. A few finely dressed patrons were already seated at velvet-lined tables, their clothing catching the light in quiet, tasteful ways that only the wealthiest managed to pull off.
An elegant-looking lythari woman with neatly braided silver hair approached the front podium. Her manner was warm, but clearly professional.
“Good evening,” she said with a graceful smile. “How can I assist you?”
“I’d like to make a reservation,” Elarion replied. “For two, this coming weekend. Under the name Elarion Caithor.”
She nodded and began writing. “Any special requests or occasion?”
He hesitated for half a second. “No occasion. Just… something quiet, if possible.”
“Of course.”
While she noted down the details, he took a slow look around the restaurant. Everything gleamed. The decor, the guests, the polished crystal stemware. Everyone was dressed to the nines, even by Lythari standards. Robes of fine forest silk, embroidered waistcoats, polished brooches and circlets. The kind of fashion that said without words: I belong here.
Elarion thanked the hostess once she was done and stepped outside. The warm breeze of twilight greeted him as he began his walk home. He passed a few shops along the way. Places he rarely had reason to stop at. One window displayed formal tunics in deep earth tones, their embroidery subtle but striking. Another held a mannequin in an ash-grey coat that shimmered slightly when it moved, elegant in its simplicity.
He looked down at his own clothes. Worn, clean, but utilitarian. Practical and plain. He didn’t own anything like what he saw in those windows. His thoughts drifted, uninvited but impossible to avoid, to Iris. Coming from a noble family, her wardrobe was probably full of beautiful things. Even if she dressed simply day to day, he didn’t doubt for a moment that she had an entire collection of gowns fit for places like the one he’d just left. And she’d walk into them as if they were part of her. As if she belonged there too.
He slowed a little.
Money had never come easy to him. He worked, he saved, he planned, because he had to. There was no one waiting to catch him if he stumbled. No house to fall back on. No inheritance to rely upon. And though he never resented it, tonight it pressed on him differently. But then, as the breeze lifted his hair and carried the faint scent of the forest through the street, he let out a soft breath.
It had been a long time since he’d spent money on something just for himself. Maybe this was the gods’ way of telling him to do so. To try, at least, to shine in his own way.
He smiled, quiet and sincere, and continued down the path toward home.
The next morning dawned cool and quiet, the sunlight soft as it filtered through the trees lining Selathryn’s main path. Elarion, with no scouting duties scheduled for the day, had one goal in mind: coffee first, then shopping.
He sipped his café latte slowly as he strolled through town, the warm ceramic cup tucked neatly in one hand. His eyes were fixed ahead, locked on the tailor’s shop he’d passed the night before. It had neat displays, polished wood trim, and a hand-painted sign swinging gently above the door. The kind of place that intimidated him just a little.
He took a deep breath and stepped toward the entrance.
Just as his hand reached for the door, a small pair of arms suddenly wrapped around his waist from behind.
“Morning, El!”
Elarion blinked and glanced down to find a familiar silver braid and bright eyes peeking up at him.
“Ayda?” he said, surprised, though he relaxed quickly and reached back to pat her head. “What are you doing out this early?”
“Nymeris sent me to get bread for breakfast,” she chirped. “The good one, with the sugar glaze on top. If I’m fast, I might even get the still-warm batch.”
She noticed the tailor’s storefront behind him and tilted her head, curious. “Ooh, are you shopping?”
Elarion hesitated for exactly one second, then crouched down to her level.
“Listen,” he said in a low, conspiratorial voice. “I need your help.”
Ayda’s eyes sparkled. “Is this a secret mission?”
“Very secret.”
He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a neatly folded note, then held it out to her. “This has the details of a reservation I made. Can you give this to Iris later today?”
“Sure!”
“And,” he added, slipping her a small coin pouch, “if you keep this ‘saw Elarion shopping’ thing between us, there might be candy in your future.”
Ayda narrowed her eyes at him, serious for about two seconds.
Then she grinned. “You have yourself a deal.”
She tucked the note into her pocket, gave him a double thumbs-up, and skipped off toward the nearest bakery like a gleeful little storm.
Elarion watched her go, took one last sip of his latte, and exhaled.
“Right,” he muttered to himself. “Let’s go embarrass myself in a tailor’s shop.”
And with that, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The bell above the tailor’s door let out a soft chime as Elarion stepped inside. The shop smelled faintly of cedar and pressed linen, and the walls were lined with bolts of rich fabric and displays of polished buttons, cufflinks, and embroidered swatches. Behind the counter stood an elderly lythari gentleman, immaculately dressed in a long charcoal vest with pale silver embroidery along the collar. His silver hair was pulled into a low, neat tail, and he looked up from his ledger with a mild start of surprise.
“My word,” the man said with a faint smile. “Mr. Silvarien. I haven’t seen you in my shop since you were a schoolboy.”
Elarion paused, hand resting lightly on the back of his neck. “It’s Caithor now, actually,” he said, a little softer.
“Ah, of course,” Thavendir said at once, a note of apology in his tone. “Forgive me. My memory isn’t what it used to be. Slips more often than I care to admit these days.”
“But… yes. It’s been a long while, Mr.…”
The man chuckled. “Thavendir, dear boy. Master tailor, as ever.”
“Right,” Elarion said with a sheepish smile. “Of course. Apologies.”
“No need,” Thavendir replied with a wave of his hand, stepping out from behind the counter. “Now tell me, how may I be of service?”
Elarion looked around the shop for a beat, then back at the tailor. “I have dinner at Calanmir tomorrow evening. And I need something… appropriate.”
Thavendir raised a brow, then gave him a curious, almost fatherly look. “Calanmir, you say? That’s no ordinary supper house. Would the young sir be, perhaps, going on a date?”
A flush crept up Elarion’s neck. “I suppose I am.”
The tailor beamed. “Then we shall do our very best to enhance your already good looks. You’ve always had a strong frame. Just needed a bit of polish.”
He stepped back and began pulling swatches and garments from the nearby racks, eyes sharp and calculating, but hands gentle. Elarion stood quietly through it all, letting himself be measured, fitted, and turned with the occasional nudge of the shoulder or tilt of the chin. Thavendir worked with efficient grace, humming faintly under his breath.
When they’d settled on a final ensemble, the old man stood back with his hands on his hips and nodded in clear approval. “There,” he said, pleased. “You’ll do quite nicely. Whoever this lucky someone is, I suspect they won’t be able to look away.”
Elarion managed a bashful smile and made his way to the counter, paying in full. He was just about to push open the door when Thavendir’s voice called him back.
“One moment, my boy.”
Elarion turned. The tailor walked over and gently took his hand, folding something into his palm. It was a pocket watch. Old, but perfectly kept, its silver surface etched with the faint shimmer of crescent vines. The hinges were smooth, the weight solid and comforting in his hand.
“I had hoped,” Thavendir said quietly, “to give this to my son someday. But fate… well, it is not always kind.”
Elarion blinked, startled. “I couldn’t possibly accept something so valuable.”
But Thavendir only smiled, gentle and firm. “Regale an old man his fatherly wishes, would you? Take the gift. It’s done well by me for many years, and I believe it’s time it served someone new.”
Elarion swallowed once and nodded, holding the watch with a quiet reverence. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Truly.”
Thavendir placed a hand on his shoulder. “Now go. Make your evening one worth remembering.”
Later that afternoon, as the sun dipped low and painted the walls of Nymeris’ cottage in warm amber light, there was a knock at Iris’s door. Three quick taps, oddly precise. She opened it to find Ayda standing there, hands clasped behind her back and eyes glinting with barely contained excitement.
“I have something for you,” Ayda whispered, glancing both ways down the hall like she was delivering something top secret.
“Oh?” Iris tilted her head.
With dramatic flair, Ayda produced a neatly folded note and handed it over as if it were a classified scroll. “Operation: No Questions,” she said with utmost seriousness. “Good luck, agent.”
Before Iris could ask anything, Ayda spun on her heel and dashed down the stairs, leaving only the sound of muffled giggling in her wake.
“…What?”
Smiling, Iris closed the door and turned the note over in her hands, already recognizing the careful, deliberate handwriting on the outside. She unfolded it slowly, her breath catching slightly at the first line.
Iris,
Thank you again for everything, especially where Ayda is concerned. She adores you more than she lets on, even if she isn’t exactly subtle.
I’ve enjoyed your company more than I expected to. More than I know how to say. You make the grove feel brighter. Even if it’s just for me.
I’ll come fetch you tomorrow evening for dinner. I’m sure you have no shortage of beautiful things to wear, but I hope you’ll choose the one you feel best in.
Elarion
Her fingers lingered on the page. It wasn’t exactly a confession. But her heart still fluttered like it thought it was one. She pressed the note gently to her chest, smiling now, cheeks warming in a way she didn’t bother to fight. And then she turned to her wardrobe. There were choices to make.