have reported being approached for bribery or anything similar,” Captain Wilford said.
“We’ve continued our efforts in cooperation with the special guards in the Rosewood Park,” Captain Grygg said. “They’ve been quite enthusiastic in their help, not only in guarding your study, but in our investigation into the assailants who attacked you and Translator Myth.”
“Ahh, yes.” Arvel sat down at his desk and steepled his fingers together. “I can imagine. I believe the origins of their desire to help may stem from something of a trauma they suffered when Lady Tari was attacked in Rosewood Park years ago.”
Because Rosewood Park had been built for the elves—and was mostly designed by the elves, too—the elves had elected to take up the mantle of maintaining and guarding the gardens. It required only a small muster of soldiers, and most were humans, but it was the only guard force—outside the Evening Stars—run by an elven leader.
“The Rosewood guards have helped us interview all the palace staff, so we have finished already,” Captain Thad said. “Unfortunately, we found no leads. All of the palace servants were accounted for at the time of the attack, and based on the cooperation we received from them, I don’t believe any of them aided the attackers or let them inside.”
Arvel sighed. “At least we know our people are loyal, then. Though, obviously, the attackers still managed to get through unhindered even with that on our side.”
Myth had been skimming the report—which went into greater detail. “Ah—except you have uncovered a possible way in, haven’t you?” Myth asked.
“Yes,” Captain Thad replied—he seemed to be the elected spokesperson for the trio. “In our interviews, we learned that several visiting nobles brought servants with them when they attended the celebration that night. These servants were allowed to wander outside the palace mostly unhindered. Sir Arion suspects—and our findings support—that, ahem, a certain family brought the assailants in posing as servants.”
“I’d like more confirmation that Uncle Julyan brought them in than our gut instincts, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. We’ll just have to shore up our security for visitors.” Arvel paused, then abruptly turned around to ask Myth, “How did you know they uncovered that?”
Confused, Myth pointed to the line of the report. “It says so here.”
“But…the reports are written in Calnoric,” Arvel said.
“Yes,” Myth confirmed.
His eyebrows dropped, as if Arvel was struggling with a particularly difficult to grasp concept. “I thought you couldn’t read or write in Calnoric?”
“I am not skilled at it,” Myth said.
Arvel opened his mouth once, closed it, paused, then opened it again. “Could you please define what you mean by ‘not skilled’?”
“I am not to the level of finishing that the Translators’ Circle would require for me to be made into a full translator.”
“Obviously,” Arvel said. “You’re only an apprentice translator!”
“Yes,” Myth agreed. “But in order for me to be good enough to claim the skill I ought to be near perfect.”
“Is saying you aren’t skilled a requirement from the Translators’ Circle?” Arvel asked.
“I don’t rightly know,” Myth confessed. “They just tell us we’re not sanctioned until we can take a fluency test. Saying that one is not skilled is just how it’s done.”
“No, it’s not,” Arvel said.
“It is in Lessa—it’s a very common saying among elves,” Myth said. “It is better to be humble and claim a lower level of abilities than to be prideful and overreach yourself.”
“You’re actually quite good at reading and writing in Calnoric?”
“Well…I haven’t been—”
“Yes, I know you haven’t been sanctioned for translations! But you can read it and write it without too much difficulty?” Arvel asked.
“To a certain extent, yes,” Myth said. “I can read books, reports, and logs as long as they aren’t too detailed or possess highly complex words.”
Arvel leaned back in his chair. “I thought it was odd that you could pick through High Elvish but couldn’t read Calnoric. I know you—I should have known better.” Ruefully, he shook his head at Myth. “I’m sorry for not believing in you.”
“It doesn’t really have anything to do with believing in me, though?” Myth said, more than a little confused. She glanced at the captains, hoping to use their reactions to gauge why Arvel was apologizing.
The trio were all industriously at work eating their cookies, their eyes on their plates as they ignored Myth and Arvel’s conversation with what looked like years of practice.
“But to think, all this time I read out loud anything I needed you to translate into Elvish, when you could have finished so much