The Oreans

Chapter 43

Chapter 43
A Delicate Revelation

"I can't believe they're doing this! I can't believe it!"

"You have to calm down. It's not like you to burst out like this."

"But this is too much! It's an outrage! If Father were alive, he would have them all thrown into prison."

The clouds were roaring, threatening to fall. Even so, Alen could hear the tense conversation even from the gate of Rafim's house. He recognized the voices as that of his master and Old Shem. What could have made Rafim lose her temper? It could not be the tournament. She could not have reacted so strongly against it unless — unless she had a reason to. But then, if she had, what could it be?

Of course, it was not his business to know. Rafim will certainly not appreciate seeing him there even if he had not meant to listen in the first place. He had to go before ...

"Alen!" Old Shem had spotted him.

He was rooted to the spot and watched as Rafim whirled about, her face wearing an unmistakably annoyed expression. He stepped back, thinking he might just as well make an excuse and escape.

"You have just come from the palace, I see," Old Shem remarked amiably.

"Yes, sir," Alen replied, turning from Rafim to the old man.

"Master Rafim has just told me very exciting news from there. Idiotic of me to spoil his mood with my—"

"There's no point trying to deceive him," Rafim cut in. "He already knows part of my secret, and being an intelligent boy perhaps he has already guessed something from what he just heard."

Alen tried to explain himself, "Raf, I did not intend to—"

"I know, I know." There was a note of impatience in her voice. Then, heaving a deep sigh, she exchanged a meaningful look with Old Shem.

The old man shrugged his shoulder then turned to Alen, "Why have you come, boy?"

"The tournament, sir... I thought Raf needed someone to talk to about it."

"You're worried how I am taking it?" asked Rafim in a gentler tone.

"Yes," Alen answered.

"And what do you think?"

"Wha—what about?"

"About how I feel about it..."

Alen could not answer at once. Along the way from the palace, he had been imagining a quietly troubled Rafim, torn by the dilemma of being thought a coward if she declined and of being discovered if she went on joining the tournament. Alen had not expected her to be very angry.

When Rafim heard his reply, she exchanged glances with Old Shem. As though responding to a message, Old Shem nodded. Alen was at a loss about what this meant.

"I think it will be wiser if you continue this conversation inside," Old Shem said as lightning flashed over the woods across the street, followed by a deafening roar. "It's getting dark now, and I think a storm is coming. By the way, Alen, where are Adrien and Divan? I can see that they are not with you."

"Adrien's out somewhere," Rafim said, looking at the gate. "But Divan... he's not around, is he?"

Alen recognized unease in her voice and thought he understood the reason. So he said, "He's gone to the camp with the commander. The commander wishes to speak with him."

Rafim looked as though she wanted to ask why. But instead, she told him to follow her. Wondering what was afoot, he obeyed. She led him to her private sitting room and motioned him to sit. As she went to light the candles, Alen did not dare speak lest she would flare up again. He just watched her until she was ready to face him. When she did, an uncomfortable silence reigned as she fixed him an intent look. It was as though she was weighing him in a balance. But what for?