Still fixed to the spot where he had landed only Nyx’s eyes moved; following Cay’s form as she separated herself from the tree-branch wings created by the tapestry at her back and eased herself back down onto the palette, watching as her slender fingers caught the blanket that slipped from her shoulder and drew it back into place. When those fingers moved to dance over the purpling marks on her own neck, though, and her eyes fluttered closed for an instant, Nyx took advantage of that brief moment and touched his tongue to his lips… remembering what that skin had felt like in his grasp… remembering the taste of her lips…

As if she had caught herself in the act of possibly enjoying the sensation of her fingers on her neck, Cay’s eyes suddenly snapped back open and immediately focused on him again. “You did do this,” she murmured hesitantly, “it seems only right that you fix it.”

A yes, then? The assassin was somewhat surprised at her tentative response, especially in consideration of the all consuming hatred she professed for him and her numerous admonitions that he would never touch her again; given that, he had been all but certain that she would have refused, without thought, any assistance from him. If that surprise showed at all though, it was only in the curious lifting of one brow and a subtle shifting of his smile into something less than acerbic. His hands moved slowly, deliberately, as they pushed the drape of his cloak behind him and moved to step around the clay pot at his feet.

“I do not trust you mith’ganni,” she informed him unnecessarily, wrapping the blankets more securely around her as she did.

And, in most cases, it is likely wise that you do not, little cousin, He offered what might have passed as an understanding nod, pausing in his tracks long enough for her to reconsider her choice…

“I…”

Nyx wondered if he had perceived correctly when her cheeks flushed pink… I make you blush, nwalmaer?  

“…I am unarmed…”

His gaze tracked Cay’s as her amber eyes flitted to the heap of her discarded clothes for a second before returning to take him in again. When their eyes met again, the mith’ganni’s smile had possibly softened a bit more still and, as she finally allowed herself to break contact with the wall behind her and edged forward on the palette, he had taken another couple of light steps closer to her and was now easily within reach of her…

His eyes broke from hers, though, and his cautious advance stopped again when one of her hands slithered out from beneath the coverlet and, palm up, stretched towards him. “Your dagger,” her rasping voice demanded.

The ever-present grin almost faded completely from the Twilight Elf’s face, then, and his moon-colored eyes narrowed suspiciously as they flicked between Cayrimsa’s face and the injured palm of her outstretched hand… I think not, he almost laughed, you’ll not trick me into letting you kill me with my own blade whilst I tend your injuries… The words failed to make it from mind to mouth, however, and the internal conflict that had begun to brew within him over this decision was evident behind his eyes when they lifted to search deep into hers again…

Her words from moments ago repeated in his mind; I do not trust you, mith’ganni.

And you would be a fool to trust her, the other inner-voice warned, knowing that Nyx was actually pondering giving the witch his blade, Leave this place, now, and let the half-breed manage her own wounds. The instant she’s given the opportunity, she’ll slip that dagger between your ribs and…

Nyx shook his head, his mane lashing the air behind him as he silenced the voice in his mind. Let us be fools together, then, he growled inwardly, Had it not been for our mutual contempt and lack of trust with the Gracchus contract, we might have finished that job sooner than we did, no? The smile returned to his face, then and, the decision made, one alabaster-skinned hand reached slowly for the black-hilted dagger lashed to his belt.

Amada! the voice protested as the slim-bladed dirk whispered from its scabbard, What are you doing?!

“You may never trust me completely, Cayrimsa Etellenya,” Shyndyn said in a hushed tone as he took hold of the weapon’s cold blade, the bloodruby set in its pommel pointing at the half-elf, and laid it gently atop the yawning gash that marred her hand, “and for that I cannot blame you… trust is not a thing easily found in either of us… but let us hope that this, perhaps, imparts enough to, at least, allow us to work more efficiently together, yes?”

He waited for the sorceress’s fingers to close around the wire-wrapped hilt of the dagger before releasing the blackened blade, relinquishing full control of the weapon to her. In that breathless moment that followed, while he waited for her to stick him in the chest or gut with his own blade, Nyx couldn’t help but notice that Cay, for the first time since he’d met her all those months ago, didn’t reek of sea-spray and rotting fish and the realization of it began to restore the grin to his thin lips. When she refrained from immediately gutting him, the smile expanded a bit more, and with his hands held plainly before him, Nyx sank to one knee before her. His gaze remained transfixed by hers in this instant, the smile on his face as far from condescending as she may have ever seen it. When the knee settled on the curling and splintering floorboard beneath, though, he chanced a glance at the purplish marks left by his hand and was rewarded by having the razor-honed blade of his own dagger pressed quickly… and with an unfamiliar hand… to his neck. He sucked a sharp breath in past clenched teeth as the ebon blade coaxed a thin rivulet of blood from his neck and raised his hands a fraction of an inch higher but, otherwise, made no move to stay her hand.

“More familiar with spells than steel, yes,” he noted aloud, wincing a bit but elsewise ignoring the tickling sensation of the tiny stream of scarlet blood that trickled from the edge of the blade to disappear under the collar of his padded coat, “Carefully, arwenamin. The blade is poisoned and I should not care for my corpse to be dumped in the bay.”

The smile on the mith’ganni’s lips was a curious mix of nervousness and wary confidence in the fact that she wouldn’t kill him just yet; “I may continue, yes?”

When she didn’t protest, Nyx nodded shortly and allowed his eyes to fall to the bruises on her neck; his head slowly tipping this way and that as he examined his handiwork. After a moment, his pale eyes flicked briefly to meet hers as the fingers on one hand reached out and settled just under the point of her chin. Those fingers, after he glanced sidelong towards the blade held to his neck, gently urged her chin upwards, tipping her head back a bit so as to get a better look at the delicate curve where throat met jaw. At the same time, the fingers of his other hand moved to trace feather-light along the visible evidence of her earlier assault. After a moment, the fingers cradling her chin eased their gentle tension and those that had just stroked delicately across her throat withdrew, whispering across the skin of her neck to where it met her shoulder before coming completely away.

“You have herbs as well as books on that shelf, yes?” he asked, his hands moving slowly and staying within her sight as they moved from her neck and jaw, “feer’apsa, arnica, and perchance a bit of lavender?” He didn’t dare risk turning his head to indicate the shelves he meant as the edge of his blade still danced just inside the initial slice it had carved…

“Your dagger.”

The ever-present grin almost faded completely from the Twilight Elf’s face, then, and his moon-colored eyes narrowed suspiciously. Inwardly she grinned as she watched the conflicted emotions play in his eyes. 

Weren’t expecting –that- now were you dear? No… no you weren’t… 

“You may never trust me completely, Cayrimsa Etellenya,” Shyndyn said in a hushed tone as he took hold of the weapon’s cold blade, the bloodruby set in its pommel pointing at the half-elf, and laid it gently atop the yawning gash that marred her hand, “and for that I cannot blame you… trust is not a thing easily found in either of us… but let us hope that this, perhaps, imparts enough to, at least, allow us to work more efficiently together, yes?”

She was somewhat surprised when he relinquished his blade to her.

Not what –you- were expecting either now was it?

Her fingers curled around the hilt and she found the cold metal stung the wound across her palm. As he slowly came closer she found herself looking at her hand, at his dagger with the beautiful gem in its hilt, again losing her breath. It was very…

intimate…

Unexpected. When he edged close enough she pressed the dagger to his throat with her trembling fingers. “One wrong move mith’ganni…” she whispered quietly but firmly.
I almost hope you –do- move. I wonder what you would sound like screaming. I wonder if I –could- make you scream…

“More familiar with spells than steel, yes,” he noted aloud, wincing a bit but elsewise ignoring the tickling sensation of the tiny stream of scarlet blood that trickled from the edge of the blade to disappear under the collar of his padded coat, “Carefully, arwenamin. The blade is poisoned and I should not care for my corpse to be dumped in the bay.”

The smile on the mith’ganni’s lips was a curious mix of nervousness and wary confidence in the fact that she wouldn’t kill him just yet; “I may continue, yes?”

Her eyes had simply narrowed on him at that even while thoughts of him screaming in a puddle of his own blood entertained her thoughts. It was his touch that shattered these thoughts though. The slender fingers that played against her skin were much gentler than she thought they could be. It did not hurt though she took a raspy breath as if it did and held it again. A light, almost drunken, feeling wrapped around her head as she found herself all the more aware of what she was not wearing as he kneeled so close. For the second time today she could feel his breath upon her. Her nose twitched slightly as she took in his scent. Elves smelled so differently from humans. No matter how long they had lived in an urban setting something to their smell recalled memories of campfires and running through the woods on a spring morning. Humans smelled of the city, of commerce and mortar. 

And what do I smell of?

“You have herbs as well as books on that shelf, yes?” he asked, his hands moving slowly and staying within her sight as they moved from her neck and jaw, “feer’apsa, arnica, and perchance a bit of lavender?” 

Very slowly she nodded her head. The dagger moves from his throat half an inch, giving him the leeway to move again. The sudden civility that was occurring between them made her itch. At the shelf she directs him to a few of the items, small boxes, jars and vials contain what he is looking for and more. There is even a mortar and pestle on the bottom shelf, a bit of some bluish dust in the bottom, which she asks him to wipe out before he uses it. 

While he prepared the unguent she held onto his dagger. The dark blade that still held a thread of his pure elven blood was interesting. Poisoned, he said. Carefully she caressed a finger along the flat edge of the blade. Her head was still feeling slightly light from the… intimacy… unexpected turn of events. 

Why are you so confused about things Cayrimsa? You are half elven. Denying your blood does nothing to change it. 

I swore… never again. I meant it.

Ohhh… that. Cayrimsa, that was ages ago. When will you let it go?

Never.

The sound of a scream rang through her head and the taste of fresh sweet elven blood coursed over her tongue. Elven blood… elven blood… her eyes flicked to the dagger in her hands. There it was that thin line of dark red against the ebony of the blade. With a muffled cry she leaned forward and buried the blade into the floor boards with a heavy thud. 

Nyx’s yellow eyes rose up to meet hers with her sudden movement, as expected there was some satisfaction in them at her sudden outburst. Before he could make whatever comment was coming to that snide smile upon his lips she once again held out her hand to him.

“Give me that. I’ll tend to my wounds from here. I appreciate your assistance and I’ll see you in the morning. And… there is a door…” her voice taking on a slightly acidic tone to it again as she cocked her chin toward the canvas covered entrance to her space. 

Nyx, having gotten to his feet just as slowly as Cay had nodded her reply to his query about the stocks on her shelves, backed away a step or two before actually turning and stalking across the room. Curt direction from the half-elven witch pointed him at the jars, small boxes, and vials in which the herbs he wanted, along with a mortar and pestle in which to prepare them, might be found. He gathered these things without a word and placed them atop the roughly built table closed by and, after using a corner of it to wipe the film of pale blue dust from the mortar, unclasped his cloak and draped it across the lone chair that flanked the table. It was then that he noticed the coin-like Bedine token, heated now to a near glow, which surmounted trivet atop the warping wood of the tabletop. The mith’ganni’s expression soured a bit, his eyes narrowing and the corners of his mouth turning downward a fraction, as he saw it and recognized it for what it was…

Do not pretend it surprises you, he growled at himself, his yellow-eyed gaze flicking for an instant from the Bedine coin to the blanket-wrapped woman on the palette and the tapestry that haloed her, You’ve known for sometime that she uses such a thing to torture her marks… and herself… you’ve seen it burned into the flesh of round-ears, heard her use it more than once in those nights you’ve spent on this very roof listening to her work…

He snorted – a sharp, derisive, puff of air escaping his nostrils as his attentions returned to the sundries before him – and forced himself to ignore the revolting symbol of the Empire’s slavers. The mith’ganni’s fingers dipped into a dark pouch slung from his belt and came out with a parchment wrapped bundle of herbs which he unwrapped and laid out on the table amidst the other supplies. From this Nyx selected a couple of blue-grey leaves which disappeared into his mouth after having been placed on his tongue and a pinch of some shredded, reddish-colored pulp that was dropped into the mortar. This done, his trained fingers picked specific amounts of the herbs he had taken from her shelves, dropped them into the stone cup, and taking up the pestle, began to pulverize and mix the ingredients into a smooth salve.

The leaves on his tongue had begun to soften and the unguents in the pestle were all but ready when, born forth on the angst he had felt swelling on the brine-tinged currents of air that wafted through the room, a muffled cry, immediately followed by the unmistakable thunk of a blade burying itself into wood reached his ears. He smiled, flipping the leaves on his tongue, and his eyes lifted from the contents of the mortar to gleam at her. Even a dagger grows heavy after holding it for such a time, yes, he was about to taunt. Before the words could be spoken, though, Cay thrust her hand out…

“Give me that,” she demanded, the stern set of her features and flatness of her tone leaving no room on the air for his remark. “I’ll tend to my wounds from here. I appreciate your assistance and I’ll see you in the morning.”

His moon-hued eyes narrowed, perhaps hiding the angry flare that rose when her tone became dismissive.

 “And,” she added caustically with a flippant jerk of her chin in the direction of the bell-strung canvas that covered the exit, “there is a door…”

His gaze narrowed more as they slid back from the indicated egress, took in the dagger that stood at an angle in the planks of the floor, and lifted to the woman on the bed beyond.

The inner-voice that wasn’t his chuckled mockingly; You expected something else, then? The witch to actually become Lyssa, perhaps, and bed you as thanks for tending her wounds? Oh! The clan would endure, then, wouldn’t it? In the fish-fouled womb of a half-breed…

Nyx dispelled the voice, growling aloud through clenched teeth as he snatched the mortar from the table and stormed across the room. “See that you do,” he snarled, taking hold of her thin wrist as he pressed the poultice-filled vessel into her hand. He pushed the now softened leaves past his lips and laid them, too, in her hand…

“Chew these… they will make it easier to breathe… Should my flanks get skinned because you cannot cast…”

It took him longer than it should have to release her arm or break his gaze from hers but he did both and backed away. “I shall await you at the Grey Arm,” he said, stooping to pluck his dagger from the floor before, at last, turning his back on her and striding for the doorway. Nyx didn’t look back after that (though, he wanted to) and, with the rustle of stiff canvas as it was shoved aside and the hollow tinkling of the belled hem as it fell back into place, disappeared from the ramshackle apartment on the quay.

You mith’ganni, the voice sighed as Nyx moved like a wraith through the shadows of the dockside sprawl, You look to the stars for comfort and yet you are ruled and tormented by them, too, aren’t you?

Shut up!

It’s time, isn’t it? That’s what all of that was about…

No, Nyx shook his head and realized when he reached for the cowl of his cloak that the garment was still on the chair in Cay’s place, I do not hear you, he added, glancing back at the building he had recently left behind.

More than that, then, the voice persisted as Nyx dismissed the idea of making a trip back to retrieve his cloak, Hmmm… and all this time, I thought we hated the little slitch…

Nyx’s fingers lifted to the place on his neck where Cay’s unsteady hand had cut into it with his own dagger. The wound tingled with the effects of the poison in which the blade had been dressed and the blood still trickled from the thin slit. His eyes fell to the blood on his fingertips and he touched them to his tongue… Shut up… I’ll listen to you no more tonight…

And he didn’t. Instead, the night passed by Nyx as, after making his way to the Grey Arm Dock that Cayrimsa had designated as their meeting spot, he found a spot along the pier to sit and watch the stars. He found a bit of peace and respite as he lost himself in their contemplation and, he was sure, somewhere in that night’s sky, he found a new constellation that mirrored an earthbound representation that he had witnessed earlier…

Alone… she sighed after his presence had been gone from her space for several minutes. But am I really? How long had he been on the roof before he came down? What did he see me doing? How can I be certain that he isn’t there now? Watching… lusting perhaps… like some fetid animal…

Carelessly she swabbed the salve out of the vessel and across her battered neck. The little grey leaves… covered in his spittle… she snarled at but then popped into her mouth with a disgusted look upon her face after she coughed again. With a great hatred she noticed that they worked. Leaving them in her mouth she drew the blankets up over her head and buried herself in them on the pallet. Darkness consumed her vision and she closed her eyes desperately trying to will herself to sleep.

Should you allow any of them to harm her, Captain, then you’ll also need to turn them on me…

Even in the dark his words came back to her. She rolled over to her side and tried to wipe her mind clear. On this side of the bed his breath was upon her face though.

You on the other hand, arwenamin, seem to be keen on undermining anything that may be placed within your reach for no other reason than to sate your own self-loathing and unreasoning hatred towards the points of ears which you have long since carved away from your fetid little head…

Groaning she clutched the blankets up to the nubs of her ears, even through the blankets she could feel the scars where once graceful points had held her hair back. 

Something for you to think on.. the phantom elf whispered out of the darkness. She rolled to her other side, her lips pressing tightly against her teeth against the memory of his kiss.

There are no others of my kind, Cay… what remained of my clan I dispatched to their end with my own hands after your beloved humans had killed or enslaved the rest…

Finally she plopped herself onto her back and tore at the blankets that now twisted around her. They bunched at her feet and she took a deep breath opening her eyes and half expecting to see his yellow eyes gleaming out of the darkness, that smile on his lips as he examined her bare figure in the starlight that drifted through the skylight. Instead the branches of her blood red tree spread themselves over her.

Your weaving is exquisite. You’ve really quite captured yourself in that piece over your bed…

“Aaarreeegggggggghhh!” She cried out in frustration and pulled at her hair as the final whispered words drifted over her skin.

I may have to touch you…

“No. I won’t let you.” Finally she sat up, giving up on the thought of sleep. Her impure blood coursed through her veins quickly. Desire and hate burning across her flesh and her mind until she could stand it no longer.

He is nasty to you and you lash out at him… when he is trying to be civil and decent… perhaps even nice… you lash out at him. What is it you want Cay?

“I just want to be left alone! I don’t ask for his hatred, his pity, or his kindness!”

What do you want? the voice repeated.

“You know damn well what I want!” The next moment she was across the room, tugging her clothing back on, snarling as that elven scent drifted back up to her as she did. 

This isn’t what you want… the voice mocked her with a laugh.

“Enough!” She spat and with a jingle of bells left her space to enter the darkness of the night once again. Through the mud of back alleys along the wharf she wandered, pulling her hat down over her eyes to hide the stars from her vision. Reducing her vision to the tips of her boots did not impede her progress though, the path she took no doubt embedded in her memory. 

Mud gave way to wooden planks and her footsteps made dull echoes along the dock. A few feet of this and another set of footsteps moved in behind her. A smile began to curl at the corner of her mouth.

So predictable…

Is this what you want?

Yes! 

When the arms finally wrapped around her she jumped for but a moment before being spun around in them and finding herself looking up into a familiar face. The human had a long scar running down through his left eye and seared it shut with the unforgiving tissue. The other eye, a brilliant blue, gleamed down at her in the moonlight as a smile cracked over jagged teeth. 

“Been awhile…” the voice was rough and solid, just like the body that was now pressing against her own.

As Nyx had pressed against me… 

She returned the smile to the human and turned her face up. “Very true. It has been awhile. But I see you have not forgotten…”

A laugh, “Forgotten you?” A hand slid down her back to the swell of her bottom and gave a hard squeeze even as his hips shifted against her. “No… I couldn’t forget you.” 

“Not too busy protecting the docks tonight then?” a teasing tone to her voice.

“Seems you are the worst that could happen to them, now doesn’t it Cay? Perhaps keeping you occupied is the best way to protect them.” The face disappeared a moment before she felt lips upon her bruised neck. 

“ummm… seems so…” she whispered through a slight wince at the pain his nibbles caused.

“You hurt?” The man pulled back and took a look at the flesh he had been teasing. A look rippled over his one good eye. “You’ve been with someone else…” The voice dropped into a dangerous growl.

Cay did not pull from his arms though, instead she looked up into that eye until stars clouded her vision as the fist she had been anticipating crashed into her cheekbone. Even expected, it took her a moment to recover from the suddenness of it, and the pain. It seared through her like wildfire, consuming everything else just as she had anticipated it would. The desire and hate she had been feeling when she left her space was eaten by the pain that now burned in her core.

Opening her eyes finally she stared up into that human face while she grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer. Their lips met in a violent kiss that consisted more of teeth and raw passion than anything else. Arms curled tightly around her before dragging her into the shadows created between a building and a mountain of crates…

…ten minutes later the shadows let go of the large man first. Throwing back his brutish shoulders he refastened his belt and grins with satisfaction. Still adjusting his uniform he wandered down the seafront without a glance back. 

As his footfalls stop reaching her ears Cay herself stumbled out of the shadows. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and drug the blood it drew against her thigh. A rose madder blossom already blooming across her left cheekbone. 

Well you don’t smell like him anymore now do you?

“No…” she whispers between deep breaths. Commerce and mortar… “Exactly…” 

With the scent of the human still fresh on her and the memory of his hands pulling at her skin while he took her she walked toward Gray Arm Dock. Going back to her space for a few hours of sleep would be a futile task and she knew it. The space no longer seemed completely like hers anyway. He had invaded it. He had touched her things, breathed upon her things, cast his sickly yellow eyes upon her things. It would reek of him still. It was better to simply go to the dock and await the coming day there. 

Once at the dock she took little care to look around the shadows for Nyx. 

He could be there… still watching. Perhaps he has trailed you this whole time. Perhaps he even saw what you did.

“I almost hope he did…” she whispers into the sea as she melts down against one of the heavy logs. Black waves washed in toward her and pulled back out into the great ocean. Above that the sky spread out in every direction. Stars winked at her and bounced their luster off the crests of the ocean. 

Long ago someone had taught her about the stars. The stars each had names and most of them belonged to a constellation that had a name as well. Constellations belonged to greater groups of stars that sometimes also had names. Each revolved in a perfect harmony around the others. If one took the time to truly study them the answers to the universe could be found. No matter how many times she gazed upon the stars, though, the answer she sought never appeared. 

Silently her swollen lips began to name the stars she saw above her. One by one they were named and still they brought no answers… only sleep. 

Her face hidden under the brim of her hat as it rested between her knees and her chest Cay did not notice when the stars began to fade from the sky and the first streaks of light played across the horizon.

On the Grey Arm…

The moon had dithered away and all but the brightest of stars had followed it from the sky. Before long the coming dawn would brush the horizon with its first wispy strokes of pink and yellow and even those stars – the gleaming, silver left eye of Uelaereene and the skittering yellow of Shipri’s Torch – would be swept from the heavenly canvass and the world would be revealed in all its ugliness under the light of the sun. Nyx Shyndyn, his gaze still fixed on that spot in the sky from where the constellation he had recently named Quenat en Etellenya had already faded, sighed almost sadly as day promised to break and, with some reservation, let his eyes dip to the plank between his feet where he had absently carved a diagram of that assemblage of stars.

 It had been his intention to wait Cayrimsa out in this very spot… Let her come to me, this time, if that’s what she wants… The point of his dagger whittled angrily into the star that indicated the curve where Quenat en Etellenya’s shoulder – hidden beneath the tumble down length of her hair – would have curved delicately upward to meet her neck. His eyes ticked back to that spot in the sky where the true stars awaited their next appearance come night fall – the midnight blue mantle of night already washing to a paler tone there under the threat of a soon to rise sun – and rose from where he had sat the past hours.

He was hungry, he decided as he returned the dagger to it’s sheathe, and could do with a bit of breakfast before he was to meet with Cayrimsa. There would be stalls opening in the marketplace not far from here at this hour and it would not take long to go there, buy a melon and perhaps an orange or two, and be back to the docks well before he imagined the witch would arrive. Besides, with the stars gone… and Cay not having arrived, yet… lingering on the docks seemed pointless and a waste of time that could be better spent on things other than waiting. Turning on his heel and leaving the sky behind him, Nyx prowled along the pier intending to make for the tiny bazaar that bordered the wharf from the city proper. He hadn’t put a half of the dock’s length behind him, though, when he caught sight of a familiar figure huddled… and apparently asleep… against a sea-weathered pylon.

Thought to surprise me, did you, my precocious little nwalmaer?

He consciously muffled his footfalls as he drew nearer, his eyes taking in the burlap sack of a dress, the too-large, clomp-worn leather of her boots, and the battered, shadow-veil casting brim of the trademark leather hat that Cay wore when she stalked the city streets. What he perceived, though, was not the repulsive heap of cast-off, dirty, and threadbare garments but the lithe curves of the body, the cascading chestnut tresses, and the angry, yet, surprisingly beautiful face that hid beneath the façade... The conflict within and without, yes, he snickered to himself as he whispered to a stop next to the sleeping sorceress. Nyx’s eyes traced along the length of the Grey Arm before returning to her and, having verified that they were very much alone at the time, he crouched down and studied her intently.

He watched the near imperceptible rise and fall of her shoulders and listened to the even, unlabored sounds of her breathing. The rasp and rattle was all but gone… You chewed the leaves, then... Good… A self-satisfied smile danced on his lips. She may not have wanted his aide or even have trusted it, for that matter, but she had apparently accepted and benefited from it, at least. He wondered, then, if she had also applied the poultice and if the bruises on her neck had diminished and, so, reached out a hand to lift the brim of her hat away from where it hung down to shade her face…

It was the smell that reached his nostrils as he leaned in that first told him something was not quite right… the smell of alley trash and fouled dirt and oil and blood and human sweat and sex. Nyx made an almost disgusted face, his nose wrinkling and eyes scrunching against the corrupt musk… the brim of the hat had lifted under guidance from his deft fingers and, through the few strand of hair that escaped her hat and coursed past her mutilated ear, he noted, as his eyes fell first upon her neck, that the bruises had abated for the most part, except in a few spots where it appeared the poultice had been washed… or licked… away. Nyx’s eyes narrowed all the more as they traced the line of her neck to where it met her jaw, the disgusted look melting into something more akin to anger as the putrid stench of a round-ears breath – slathered on her neck in the form of saliva – joined the gut-turning perfume that assailed his senses. Those eyes flared wide for an instant when they took in the reddened welts… obviously raised by a fist… on her cheek and the drying blood smeared from her swollen lips to her chin.

If you wanted her, the voice in his head sneered as Nyx let loose of the hat’s brim and let it fall, it appears you would have been better served to have just taken her in the alley when the thought first occurred to you, hmm? It would seem that’s what she prefers…

The mith’ganni’s eyes were mere slits as he rose to his feet and glared down at the disheveled heap before him. His thin lips were drawn in a sharp, tight line across his face as, behind them, his teeth ground and drew blood in his own mouth as they nipped cheeks and tongue. A curious heat welled in his chest, stretched downwards to his belly and up to burn hatefully into the base of his skull. His entire body tensed for a second and, though he willed it not to happen, his fingers curled themselves into fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms.

Cannot be troubled to come out from beneath the blankets for you, the voice laughed at him, but more than willing to roll in the dirt with some rutting breeder… What do you think of your “Lyssa,” now?

Nyx gave a furious shake of his head, finally managing to uncoil from the rigor that had beset him and tear his eyes away from Cay, and then, as he turned and strode angrily up the pier toward the city that loomed in the pre-dawn quiet ahead, snarled and spat a blood-tinged gobbet of saliva into the bay…

Yes! That’s it! Go and fetch your breakfast, now, Twilight Fool, and get us back to the business at hand…

Nyx wasn’t listening to Prien’s taunts… Let the Executioner think whatever he may wish and twist it however he may see fit… Until the fire that consumed the elf from within had been slaked, nothing else mattered… The death god was right in one thing, though… there was business at hand… a business that would require tending before Dmitrova’s contract could be considered any farther.

River’s Mouth Market

Dugan Negodiaev chortled loudly around the half-chewed sweetmeat in his mouth and clapped his compatriot on the shoulder as the pair ambled amongst the stalls and kiosks of the waking bazaar. “Ya need to get yerself a patrol on the wharfs, Pavel,” he laughed,  his one blue eye winking at the obviously impressed young legionnaire that walked along beside him, “yer never gonna get any of those kind of benefits twaddlin’ yer watch hours away in the streets above… ‘less, of course, ya wanna get reassigned to walk on the North Side and them whores over there’ll make ya pay for sure.

Ya make an arrangement like the one I stumbled inta, though,” Dugan added in a lower tone after swallowing his food, “all as you’ll need ta do is wait for it ta pass ya on the prowl, my friend, an’ they’ll be glad ta give ya whatever ya want…”

“Really?” Pavel’s expression wavered between awe and doubt as he glanced into the ugly, one-eyed visage of the elder guardsman; “How do you manage that, then?”

Dugan snorted out a laugh, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and then thrust his fingers under Pavel’s nose. “Ya smell that? That’s a little half-point piece o’ gutter-trash called Cayrimsa.” He snatched the hand back after he was sure that Pavel had gotten a good whiff, and indulged in a re-sampling for himself before licking his fingers and nudging the junior man with an elbow. “Caught the little harlot doin’ somethin’ she shouldn’a been a while ago, aye… an’ what she was doin’, bein’ the half-blood whore that she is, coulda got her sent straight to the block if’n I’d had the mind to take her before the Praetor. She were a slick tongued one, though, Pavel… talked me right outta arrestin’ her, she did, if ya get my meanin’…”

Chuckling, Pavel nodded that he did, his cheeks flushing with mild embarrassment as his eyes drifted towards a stall not far ahead. A fruit merchant called Ambrose appeared to be in either a heated discussion or foundering in the deep gap of a language barrier with a pale-skinned elf.

“…Now, little Cay takes her beatin’s like the point-eared footwasher she is,” Dugan was still boasting, “an’, when she’s bleedin’ enough, begs me ta give it to her just as rough…”

“I told you,” the legionnaires were close enough now that they could hear Ambrose’s irritated tone, “I don’t serve your kind… go someplace else…”

“Mahnee,” the point-ear insisted as he thrust a silver coin at the merchant, “have mahnee… hahngre… please?”

“No,” Ambrose reiterated making a gesture that emphasized the point, “I don’t care if you have money… you’re a point-eared nothing and, if you’re not here to fetch it for your master’s manse up on the row, I’m not selling you anything! I don’t serve your kind! Do you understand?” The merchant caught sight of Dugan and Pavel approaching and a wave of obvious relief crashed over his features; “Oh… Naxir be praised!!!”

“What seems to be the trouble here, citizen,” Dugan queried the shopkeep as he drew up on one side of the white-skinned elf and Pavel on the other; both casting dubious glares at the rather nervous looking creature between them.

Ambrose made a disgusted gesture at the yellow-eyed thing before him; “This Twilight Trash is loitering in front of my stall and refuses to leave,” he said, looking hopefully at the elder guard, “My customers will surely be out soon and if this piece of offal is fouling my wares, they’ll surely pass me by and take their business elsewhere.”

“What’s he want,” Pavel asked, scowling at the dark-clad creature with the unsettling eyes.

“Hells if I know,” the shopkeep replied, “I can’t understand a damn word he’s saying!”

“You,” Dugan prodded with a foot at the mith’ganni who stood, now somewhat hunched between the two of them, “What are you doing here, eh? What do you want?”

“Hahngre?” the creature whined hopefully, pale yellow eyes skittering up to meet the one blue one that glowered down at him. “Mahnee… Ah pae… foad…” a slender, and eerily pale finger pointed at the melons piled in a bin on one of Ambrose’s tables. “Ah pae,” the creature’s other hand lifted and presented a silver coin that would have bought twenty of the melons had Ambrose deigned to sell them to an elf, “please?”

“The bugger wants food,” Pavel chuffed, drawing quick glances from the other humans.

“Yes,” Ambrose sighed, “and I told him that he’d need to get it elsewhere. Unless he’s the servant of a house I know, I don’t serve his kind.”

A sly smile broke across Dugan’s features, then; “If it’ll get the thing gone, Ambrose, would ya sell what he wants ta me?”

The merchant grinned knowingly. “Oh, but of course,” he grinned…

“Hahngre…” the mith’ganni mumbled, again, his gaze ticking in confusion between Ambrose and the guardsmen “…ah pae mahnee…”

“Right, right,” Dugan said, holding up his hands to call the elf into silence, “Yer hungry and wanna pay money for food, okay…”

The elf nodded excitedly, the strange horses-mane style of his hair bobbing almost comically as he did so.

“Well,” Dugan grinned patronizingly at the mith’ganni, “since you’re a filthy badger-shaggin’ point ear, Ambrose here can’t sell ya his wares in good confidence, ya see?”

The mith’ganni looked a bit disappointed and shot a hot glance at the snooty merchant… looking quickly back in the direction of the crag-faced legionnaire when the man continued…

“Hey! No need for all of that,” he scowled, making a menacing face at the already recoiling elf, “Ambrose is bein’ generous today, ya little toad, and he’s agreed ta sell what ya want to me, understand? You give me your coin, there, pick what you want, and I give the ‘mahnee’ to Ambrose…”

The elf nodded his understanding and looked somewhat ashamed that he was agreeing to the terms.

 “Then,” Dugan added, “you get out of here and don’t come back… If I see ya in Drasnia after the sun is high, I’ll arrest you and whatever point-ears you’ve brought with ya, and none of ya’ll ever see the light o’ day again…”

“Yesss,” the mith’ganni agreed, stretching out his hand and offering the silver coin to Dugan, “Ae lev… ae lev… pae mahnee foad, now… then ae lev, yes…”

Dugan’s hand reached forth and pinched the silver coin from the pale palm that offered it but didn’t catch the flickering of a snarl that flashed on the mith’ganni’s lips when the yellow-eyes took note of the reddened and bloodstained knuckles. “Get your ‘foad’ then, point-ear,” Dugan spat offering the coin to Ambrose, “and be quick about it!”

The elf blinked and then quickly snatched a pale green melon and two oranges from amongst the merchant’s wares. Once these were in the creature’s possession, he skittered back a few steps and his yellow eyes ticked nervously from one human face to the next as if uncertain that he’d actually be allowed to leave…

“That’s right,” Dugan was laughing, now, “don’t wait round fer change ta be made… that’s the price o’ doin’ business fer the like o’ you hereabouts. Go on, now,” he sneered waving a dismissive hand at the elf, “get outta here!”

The mith’ganni blinked again, then smiled a little, and without another word, skittered away from the fruit vendor’s stall and disappeared into a still dark alleyway across the broad thoroughfare. He heard the humans laughing mockingly in the wake of his departure and, once he had gained the shadows of the alley, he laughed, too… because he knew what would happen next, even if the legionnaires didn’t.

“All right,” Dugan Negodiaev chuckled, accepting his cut of the mith’ganni’s ‘change’ from the silver piece and then clapping Pavel on the shoulder before the younger man excused himself and headed for home, “you lads have a fine mornin’, then. I’ll be headin’ back ta the barracks myself, I s’pose,” his eye turning in the direction of the alley that the mith’ganni had disappeared into, “right after I make sure that Twilighter finds his way outta the city. Let ‘em hang around too long and they tend ta make a spectacle of themselves buggerin’ their horses, ya know?”

With the raucous laughter that that comment had brought on from the others, Dugan left them behind – Pavel meandering through the bazaar in the direction of the garrison and Ambrose returning to setting up shop – and strode towards the alleyway. He was almost surprised not to see at least some trace of the vile creature when he peered into the passage. “Mebbe you mith’ganni are as fast as yer horses like they say,” he snorted, a bruised-knuckled hand falling to the hilt of his sword as he stepped further in to the space between the runs of shops and tenements, “or mebbe yer just a sneaky no-speaky what’s got at hidin’, eh?” He strode confidently but cautiously deeper into the alley, toeing at a rubbish heap here and there when he suspected that it was made of more than waste and garbage… his confidence faltered a bit when he thought he saw a shadow pass behind him and looked back to find himself in a deeper and darker section of the alley than he’d hoped to gain.

“Ye’d best be prayin’ to whatever point-eared gods ya got,” he murmured, his eyes squinting against the penumbra that surrounded him, “that I don’t find ya hunkered down eatin’ yer melon in my alley, horse-f***er…”

“Oh?” The oddly accented voice came from directly behind him and Dugan’s surprise was obvious on his features when he turned around to find himself face to face with the yellow-eyed devil from Ambrose’s stall.

“And why is that, breeder,” Nyx grinned viciously, his yellow eyes burning with malice and hatred as they bore into the one wide, blue eye that gawked back, “because you’ll beat me and rape me if you do, yes?”

Dugan made to draw his sword but his hand was no longer attached to his arm… the gore dripping from the hooked blade of the kukri in the mith’ganni’s hand a testament to where it had gone… he made to cry out, both in pain and for aide, but Dugan found that his windpipe was no longer connected to his mouth… a black-bladed dagger in the Twilight Elf’s other hand had seen to it that the pair were sundered… In his death throes, Dugan’s bladder and bowels attempted to release but the mith’ganni’s hook-bladed kukri, in a vicious upsweeping slash had already spit him up the middle from crotch to craw and his guts were already piling around his feet… as he crumpled and the vision in his remaining eye waned Dugan tried to look once more on the creature that had killed him but the mith’ganni’s pale fingers had already slid into the socket and were pulling the eyeball from his head…

Nyx spat on the butchered form of Dugan Negodiaev as it fell atop the spill of its own entrails and smiled with satisfaction as he wiped the bloodspatter from his face. “Take that to the Praetor, gatebird,” he hissed, stooping to wipe his blades off on the fallen breeder’s uniform, “and pray to whatever round-eared god you may have that your friend chooses not to follow your advice, yes?”

At the docks once more…

Cayrimsa was exactly where she had been when he left her, slumped against the pitch-coated piling a third of the way up the Grey Arm, still sleeping from the looks of it…

“Wake up,” Nyx growled, nudging her with a toe much as Dugan had done to him not long ago, his eyes trained to the peeling of an orange he held in his hand.

When she begrudgingly stirred and peered up at him from beneath the rim of her hat he didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he poked a piece of orange into his mouth and then tossed its unpeeled twin into her lap. “Breakfast,” he said simply, his eyes scanning the rippling waters of the bay for a moment, finally sought out the amber eyes of the witch and, once having met them, flicked a meaningful glance at a damp-looking black bag that sat on the other side of the pylon against which she had been propped. “That’s for you, as well, yes,” he said, turning away and strolling a foot or so away as he feigned interest in finishing his orange. “We’ll talk business when you’ve finished eating and opened your gift, perhaps…”

She itched. Naken miretse. Little red naken miretse all over her body. Once she had tried to remember a time when she was not covered in them, and couldn’t. She had always itched, and in the spring it was always worse. The cold snows of winter melted and just as she felt that her own limbs had begun to thaw they were overtaken by the miretse. 

Scratching at her arms she crawled out of the little tent and found herself again assaulted by the smell of estolad nuarea. Around her the camp had begun to stir. On the far edge of the camp a small blue tent sat huddled in the mist. No one from that tent yet stirred but that was the tent she focused on. 

Pyrodia was in that tent. Pyrodia was the most beautiful woman Cayrimsa had ever seen. Everything about her was round something that Cayrimsa found intriguing. Her figure was a soft oval, her eyes were like the moon, even her ears were perfect half circles on her bulbous head. The ears were not as good at holding back her hair as elven ears were, so the golden locks would fall across her eyes constantly, and she would laugh and push them back vainly. Sometimes Cay would reach forward and push them back for her and they both would laugh.

The round woman had promised Cay that soon she wouldn’t itch anymore. A ‘tub’ would fix it. Cayrimsa was not sure what a ‘tub’ was or how it could stop her from itching, but she wanted to find out. She desperately wanted to find out. 

Soon… so very soon…

Laughter erupted around her prodding into her skull with jagged points. Before the taunts even began she had started to cry.

“Amin miqula he avari…”

“Laiwa earendil…”

The elven children taunted as they tossed pebbles at her.

“Waen agar!”

A rock hit her calf as the anger began to boil her waen agar…

“Wake up,” 

Groaning she opened her eyes and before truly allowing sight to enter them sent out a prayer that she would see the beautiful rounded woman before her. Instead her eyes took in the black angular form of Nyx standing above her and she groaned with distaste. His image blanked out for a moment by a great orange sun that landed in her lap. 

“Breakfast,” he said simply, his eyes scanning the rippling waters of the bay for a moment, finally sought out the amber eyes of the witch and, once having met them, flicked a meaningful glance at a damp-looking black bag that sat on the other side of the pylon against which she had been propped. “That’s for you, as well, yes,” he said, turning away and strolling a foot or so away as he feigned interest in finishing his orange. “We’ll talk business when you’ve finished eating and opened your gift, perhaps…”

“I’m not hungry…” muttering in a nearly healed voice as she plucked the fruit off her lap and tossed it over her shoulder into the dark waters. 

And even if I was I wouldn’t care for your handouts.

Her ‘gift’ was close to her and at this distance she could smell it. A heavy metallic scent that she knew all too well. Cautiously she pulled the strings of the bag and leaned over to peer at its contents. 

Out of the darkness a blue eye stared up at her from the palm of scarred hand. The fingers of the hand had curled up around the lidless eye and she could see the cheap gold ring with the ‘D’ engraved on it. The same ‘D’ that had been imprinted into her own flesh on more than one occasion. 

“Ehhh…” the sound escaped from her before she could stop it and she struggled to keep her eyes on the contents of the bag instead of lifting to the elf who had brought them for her.

Dugan. So he did watch… followed me last night like the bloody assassin that he is. And apparently didn’t like what he saw. 

Or maybe he did…

True. Perhaps the sight of me pressed up against the wall crying out into the darkness turned him on. No better than your human counterparts now are you Nyx? Jealous that you didn’t make me scream like that… unable to comprehend passion without pain. You are nothing special Nyx… so stop pretending you are.

You also will not get a rise out of me on this, not again… you want to hear me scream? You’ll have to try harder here on out.

Deliberately she reached into the bag and plucked out the hand with the eye still balanced in its grip. Eyes finally reaching up toward Nyx she rotated her own hand so that the blue iris of the eye fell upon him, almost as if allowing Dugan to have a final look at his killer. Still holding the hand she eased her way to her feet. The motion was not as graceful as she would have liked as her muscles ached and fought against her.

“I see you do not approve…” She glanced at the hand once more then tossed it after the orange. 

She allowed a small moan to peel from her as she stretched out her shoulders some, watching his face as the sound hit his pointy ears. 

“There are others of course. Will you do this to them all?” Slowly she took a step closer to him as she raised her hand up between them, giving him a good look at her blood streaked across it in explanation.

“Will you? Because it won’t matter. You could kill every one of them… and still you would not taste…” she paused and moved her palm to her own lips. Her tongue slipped out and trailed over her own skin from the point where her thumb met her wrist to the tip of her index finger and let her eyes lid slightly as the thick human blood filled her taste buds, “as sweet as a human…” 

The blood stained tip of her tongue disappeared with a lick of the lips that curled into a snarl again. 

You know that is lie though Cay... Elves do taste sweeter than humans. Don't you remember? Even through the screaming you could not help but to savor that sweet taste now could you?

Shut up you elven bitch! You told me to move on... I'd really rather not remember. Thank you very much...

But you do...

Ignoring the battle within she cleared her features as she watched Nyx.

“Now that you have that out of your system. We can get to work right? You said you knew where to start…” the taunting sultriness in her voice faded to a firm snap. The blood stained hand rubbed against her thigh transferring the stain onto the already well soiled dress.

Moon-yellow eyes deliberately scanned the bay, reveling in the fact, as the sun climbed into the morning sky, that its light winked off of the rippling, blue-black waters of the sea and harkened one to recall stars in a night sky. As he peeled another section of the orange away from its mates, Nyx’s gaze sought out that place in the heavens where Quenat en Etellenya would be if night hadn’t faded and then traveled to the waters below that swatch of sky to find the spot where the ocean’s unrelenting waves crashed against the craggy cliff faces beneath the lighthouse of Drasnia’s harbor…

“I’m not hungry…” The orange made a dull plopping noise as it disappeared into the brine off the dock.

A section of orange was pushed passed pale, smirking lips. His gaze broke from the lighthouse and slid sidelong in her direction for an instant before he shrugged and, peeling off another orange piece, wandered a few more lazy steps down the dock. “You owe me half a copper for that,” he said offhand, taking up his study of sea and sky once more. “The juice might have helped your throat, too, yes?” He popped the orange section in his mouth then and chewed almost absently as he watched the waves winking back at the slowly ascending sun… and listened to Cay reach for the bag he had left for her.

“Ehhhh…”

It was both more and less of a reaction than Nyx would have expected… Struck you dumb, have I, little cousin? He couldn’t resist stealing a glance at her expression as took in the bag’s contents and one corner of his mouth climbed a bit higher on his face as he watched her. I half expected for you to have thrown it at me by now…

He chewed another slice of the orange, his expression breaking into an expectant grin as she reached into the blood-soaked sack and made to pull its contents into the daylight. “No charge for that,” he muttered, eyes drifting away from her as she turned the trophy in his direction.

In the periphery of his vision Nyx watched as, still holding the hand, Cay eased her way to her feet. The motion was not graceful and bore the signatures of stiff and bruised muscles and, perhaps, not enough time at rest. His features twisted in either disapproval or disgust… perhaps wavering on the brink of both… and he poked the remaining bits of the orange into his mouth as he turned and wandered yet further out along the Grey Arm. Damn what she does in her own time, he growled inwardly, his gaze seeking a bit of solace in the glimmering of the waves but, for some reason, finding none, when you clatter and creak like some elder round-ear – especially on a job – you are worthless. She risks not only herself but her standing in the paching Hellkites and me, as well! And for what?...

“I see you do not approve…” The tone of her words, he imagined, and the plunk of Dugan’s hand being tossed into the harbor that punctuated it, were meant to make him turn and look at her again and to offer an angry reply, no doubt. Nyx did neither…

My “approval” is beside the point, he fumed as he paced out the few steps remaining between himself and the constellation he had carved in the deck board not hours ago.

Is it?

Yes,  Nyx answered, his gaze dropped to the etching and, as a languorous moan carried from Cay’s throat to his ears, let his eyes close for longer than he should have.

Liar.

“There are others of course,” the witch’s voice taunted in the wake of that phantom one that was doing the same. Eyes closed or open, there was no escape from it and, at those words from her lips, Nyx found he couldn’t keep his eyes shut.

He didn’t glare at her the way he might have wanted to… wouldn’t give her the satisfaction… instead, the mith’ganni stared at the constellation at his feet.

So you don’t care then, the inner voice asked as at the same time…

“Will you do this to them all?” Slowly, Cay came closer, her hand raised up between them…

His gaze slid in her direction against his will and was met with her blood-smeared palm. “Yes,” he whispered… whether in response to the inner query or the one posed by the witch, though, even Nyx wasn’t sure.

“Will you? Because it won’t matter. You could kill every one of them… and still you would not taste…” she paused and moved her palm to her own lips. Her tongue slipped out and trailed over her own skin from the point where her thumb met her wrist to the tip of her index finger and let her eyes lid slightly as the thick human blood filled her taste buds, “as sweet as a human…” 

He licked his own lips then, his gaze lifting from where it had been following her tongue to flatly meet hers; I wonder, nwalmaer, he wanted to say, if you have ever truly known sweetness, hmm? Would you burst aflame should someone bring you pleasure without hating you for it? Instead he smiled an almost knowing smile at her and offered a lift of a black brow as he folded his arms across his chest and waited for her to finish her tormenting… as torturous as it was, he was resolved to hear only her and not allow any competition or affirmation from the voice in his head.

“Now that you have that out of your system,” Cay snarled, the taunting sultriness in her voice fading…

It was you, Nyx smirked, speaking with naught but his expression, who has spent the last minutes taunting, Cayrimsa; not I… You who chose to spend the night rutting in a gutter rather than preparing yourself for the task at hand…

 Or rutting with you?

 Shut up! The elf’s gaze fell, again, to the constellation at his feet, his jaw clenching.

“…We can get to work right? You said you knew where to start…”

“Yes,” the assassin hissed, eyes flashing a bit as they narrowed and tore away from the starmap and lifted to meet the hardened amber ones that glared at him, “work…” He looked past her, then, and regarded the city beyond the wharf and nodded at the silhouette of the Governor’s Palace and the carefully designed row of noble estates that spread behind it. “The only Bolstoii in Drasnia whose activities would begin to concern our dear Captain Dmitrova, I imagine, would be kith and kin of Styopa Bolstoii,” he said, taking the time to include a summary of what he knew about the Merchant Master, “I had occasion to provide services to Styopa some years ago and, if I recall, his wife’s name is Anya… leaving Kharinya to be a daughter, perhaps a niece… regardless, our surveillance would best begin with the estate.”

His gaze traveled back to her and took in her battered, bruised, and dirty form from head to foot and back again… And I suppose you’ll just parade all of that along Governor’s Walk and expect to go by unmolested, yes?… she looked in no condition to go creeping about the grounds of a noble’s estate…

“Perhaps,” Nyx suggested, masking the disgust… or was it concern… that threatened to skew his flat, all-business façade, “your part in this, for the morning, should be to lobby our report with Dmitrova, then return home for some rest, little cousin. I shall scout the Bolstoii manse, get an eye on our breeder-girl, and find you when there is more to do, yes?”

“Report to Dmitrova? Report what exactly? That you assaulted me in an alley and are out killing legionnaires that have nothing to do with our current task? That you’ve gone off on your own to scout on the little Bolstoii princess? Is that what I am supposed to go tell Dmitrova? And am I supposed to trust you not to finish the job and then run off to Dmitrova and make a report of your own, taking not only all the money for this but also all the honor? 

“I told you last night, adanedhel, that I do not trust you. You think that your little trick this morning has made me feel any differently to you? 

“I’ve had plenty of sleep. I do not need any further rest nor do I need your pity, or your compassion. Any compassion you might feel is only your confusion over the lust burning in your pants. Perhaps you would have benefited by finding a whore to thrash around with yourself last night. 

“Come to think of it… I know a few around here. Perhaps I should find you one and let you ‘rest’ up while I go and investigate the Bolstoii manse. 

“Or perhaps…” she smirks, “perhaps you are trying to get rid of me just so you can get the little Bolstoii princess on your own? Hoping to get a taste of a human yourself? Is that it?” 

This spews out from her even as the color rises slightly into her cheeks and she inwardly curses herself for allowing herself to lose control of her temper once again. 

“I’m going with you.” She finally ends without much room for discussion in her voice. 

Turning to head toward town she caught sight of her hair sliding over her shoulder and made a disgruntled noise. Her hat is wrenched from her head. The soft pink light of the rising sun washing over the tresses as she pulled her fingers through it. The next moment the hair is twisted up on her head and disappears under the hat as it is pulled back down low on her brow. 

Nyx rolled his eyes, turned them away from Cay as she began her caustic and not un-expected reply to his suggestion, and, shaking his head slowly, regarded the etching of the constellation that occupied the space between them… I grow weary of your prattling, Cay, he sighed inwardly, the inner voice having spitefully reminded him that he had perhaps wasted more than enough time that didn’t concern business on her as it was, if you have nothing constructive to add, I’d prefer it if you just shut your mouth! Goad me as you will… I am no longer listening… A scarcely muffled snort of derision escaped his nostrils as he made to step around her, resolved to let her barrage of rebukes and barbs go unanswered if not unheard and to return his focus to the task at hand.

“…Any compassion you might feel is only your confusion over the lust burning in your pants.” Those words, though, stopped Nyx even before he could lift a foot to walk away, and there was little he could do to stop or mask the indignant glare he shot at her, then.

Lust?!?! he would have challenged her had he not been biting his lip in an attempt to avoid fueling her misdirected anger, Is that what you think, nwalmaer? You’ve blinded yourself more than I had imagined… Nyx couldn’t admit or even define, even to himself, the true motivation for any of his actions during the past day but he was certain that it wasn’t lust. Lust was the thing that had driven the ‘celebration’ he had had with the DeMoria Demons following the successful completion of the Gracchus contract and (for the twins, at least,) their induction into the Hellkites… That was lust… and wine… and…

Even lost in the throes of that debauchery, though, you thought of this one, didn’t you? You’re sure it isn’t lust, mith’ganni?

“…Perhaps you would have benefited by finding a whore to thrash around with yourself last night,” Cay continued.

Each acidic syllable that passed her lips narrowed Nyx’s gaze that much further but he still found himself unable to walk away from her. I am sure, he answered his inner voice, If it had been simple lust, I would have found a whore and…

 …and, this slitch’s tirade wouldn’t bother you?

 How many times in a day must I tell you to shut up?!

“Come to think of it,” the witch quipped, “I know a few around here. Perhaps I should find you one and let you ‘rest’ up while I go and investigate the Bolstoii manse. 

Or perhaps…” she smirked, “perhaps you are trying to get rid of me just so you can get the little Bolstoii princess on your own? Hoping to get a taste of a human yourself? Is that it?” 

“Dina! Dolle na lost,” Nyx spat in reply, his own rising ire causing him to miss the color that had flushed Cay’s cheeks but urging him to thrust an accusatory finger at her as he leaned in and glowered at her with only a scant inch of space between his face and hers, “e llefea nan’eleaya ten’tavua!” He had intended to storm away immediately but, for the briefest of instants, he could smell her… not the clinging stench of brine and fish and the festering filth of Drasnia’s fetid side-streets… not even offensive punk and musk of the now dog-eaten Dugan that still fouled her… but the true scent of her, the one that she desperately sought to bury beneath those others… a scent like rain and the clean air of a night sky… he struggled with the urge to grab hold of her and…

 “Pach!” He threw his hands exasperatedly into the air, chasing the thought from his head, and at last, did start away from her, grumbling to himself as he went.

“I’m going with you.”

“Do as you will,” Nyx replied, waving a dismissive hand but not bothering to look back as he strode for the inland end of the Grey Arm. “See that you manage to keep up, though,” he added, a condescending grin besmirching his lips as he turned and looked her up and down once more, “if we plan to get you through the Imperial Quarter looking like that, we’ll need to move quickly… and keep to the few shadows that remain…”

That said, the mith’ganni assassin turned again and moved like a wraith towards an awakening Drasnia… awaiting the next verbal jab that he knew was to come from behind him…

“Dina! Dolle na lost, e llefea nan’eleaya ten’tavua!” He said as he pulled into close to her and shoved his pointy elven finger in the small space between them. Once again she pulled in her breath and held it in her chest not pulling back despite her initial instinct to do so.

I did it this time didn’t I?

Her back foot did slide a hair backwards and she locked her knees preparing herself for whatever assault he might bring upon her this time. It didn’t come though. Instead she watched as he took a breath and paused those yellow eyes taking on a look she couldn’t place. It lasted but a moment in reality, long enough for a fish to jump in the dark water behind them, for the wind to catch a lock of her hair and twist it up and over her shoulder, for the early morning light to catch on the waves and cast a sparkle across the bay, and no longer.

It was gone as he threw his arms and “Pach!” into the air between them and finally headed off.

But what was it? she asked herself as she stood there for a moment watching how his long black mane caught the light off the bay. Lust? Desire? No… well… yes… but no.

Dolle na lost… rang through her head along with the look in his eyes. Then the memory her dreams were trying to surface for her came back.

Nyx’s narrow golden eyes changed into the twin pale blue moons of Pyrodia. They were filled with water, spilling over and cascading down her plump face. She was speaking but little of it made sense. Only two things made sense. The first she said slowly and not completely correctly despite her practice: Amen Hira Effa. The second she whispered as she reached up and touched the gentle swoop of Cay’s pointed ear with the hand not confined in the sling: Beautiful.

Pyrodia was not the only one crying. Cay was screaming as she was pulled from Pyrodia’s legs, those unfortunate enough to get this duty were met with kicks and gnashing teeth…

With his back to her Cay’s face dropped and for a moment it looked as if she might cry, curled fingers went to her lips and behind them she whispered softly, “Raika. Feamin na lost.”

It was the flutter of her hair that brought her back she made a disgruntled noise with her breath and turned her expression back to stone. Wrenching her hat from her head. The soft pink light of the rising sun washed over the tresses as she pulled her fingers through it. The next moment the hair is twisted up on her head and disappeared under the hat as it is pulled back down low on her brow.

“I’m coming with you!” She calls after him and begins a brisk stride to catch up.

“Do as you will,” Nyx replied, waving a dismissive hand but not bothering to look back as he strode for the inland end of the Grey Arm. “See that you manage to keep up, though,” he added, a condescending grin besmirching his lips as he turned and looked her up and down once more, “if we plan to get you through the Imperial Quarter looking like that, we’ll need to move quickly… and keep to the few shadows that remain…”

Again she met his eyes as he looked her over and gave him a disapproving frown.

“You know I am not the only one who will have difficulties getting around the Imperial Quarter without raising a few brows.” Her voice retained very little of the acid it had only moments ago, surprisingly enough. “With ears like yours you should be in some cheap livery in that district, not running around with weapons strapped to your back and the symbol of Prien blazing off your belt. They would likely consider me simply some beggar… I might get shooed off, but you could be hauled off… Perhaps we would both benefit from a change of attire?”

She prayed that the expression on her face was void of any emotion and that her eyes were not red from the tears she had just kept back.

She hadn’t given him the time to turn and storm away. The disapproving frown… not scowl or glare or disgusted sneer… had stopped him in mid-pivot and quickly reversed the motion. His sharp eyes fixed to hers and, for the glimmer of a second, Nyx thought he caught the early sunlight playing in her eyes the way it played on the waves behind her.

Tears? he wondered, all at once wanting to laugh in disbelief and, if they were real tears, wipe them from her eyes. From Cayrimsa? Doubtful…

“You know,” she said after a moment, her voice… softer?… bearing a less spiteful tone than Nyx could ever recall, “I am not the only one who will have difficulties getting around the Imperial Quarter without raising a few brows…”

The mith’ganni’s pale fingers made to pull his cloak around him at this reminder and, as she pointed out the obvious, he rediscovered that he had yet to retrieve the garment from her apartment. It was a rare thing for Nyx to move through Drasnia’s streets without his race or his equipment being wrapped deep in its shadowy folds, especially in the light of day. She was right. It wasn’t safe.

“I might get shooed off, but you could be hauled off,” Cay’s not-so-sour voice noted, “Perhaps we would both benefit from a change of attire?”

He nodded faintly, a hand dropping from where it had reach for the missing cloak and coming to rest on the pommel of the kukri at his hip, and his eyes danced suspiciously along the wharf. Nyx had registered all of these actions as they happened but had failed to notice that his feet had already started carrying him closer to Cay again. “You are right,” he agreed as he drew nearer, “I left my cloak in your rooms. That and, perhaps an item or two from my…”

Tomb, the voice in his head laughed, Crypt? Grave?

“…my place should be all that is required.” His eyes roamed over her again, more slowly than he had intended them to. “Do you have something else there,” he asked, “or might we need to shop for something?”

“I…”

What is this? A civil conversation? And after he just insulted you and made you remember?

A slight flick of her head to wipe out the voice and she continued.

“I should have something at my place. Been awhile…” quickly she shut her mouth.

Why am I explaining things to him? I don’t need to explain anything to him. Is he closer?

Her eyes, still burning with the tears uncried, drop to her feet, catching the tips of black boots out of the corner of her vision at the same time. Silence overwhelms then. She does not ask if her place is closer than his, no doubt it is. Few but sailors call the wharfs their home, and Nyx is certainly not a sailor.

In that silence she takes the most direct route back to her place. The door on the first floor is cracked open now and inside a few voices can be heard amidst a wet slop noise. Fish being taken from the storehouse to be sold at market. Before reaching the front of the building, however, she skirts into a narrow alley and lets it wind to the secluded safety of the back of the Vergel Sea Port warehouse. In the narrow darkness of the alley she holds her breath again and works harder to focus her eyes on her feet and even then she can sense his closeness to her. It crawled over her like the miretse used to, making her itch.

It was not until they reached the foot of the ancient stairway that she paused and finally brought her eyes up to him.

“Wait here… I’ll bring your cloak down. I’ll be just a minute…” The bite was missing from her voice still. She knew it was, and quickly she tore her gaze from his and bounded up the stairs without awaiting his response. The hallow tinkling of bells announcing when she enters her apartment.

Just inside the canvas she stopped. Two things immediately gathered her attention. First is the black cloak huddling on her chair, casting its material across her floor in a rather insolent fashion, proclaiming its right to be there. Second is the tapestry he had complimented the night before. Sunlight now tickled the branches with the white lines crossing them.

Amen Hira Effa the phantom whispered.

They pulled her off finally. Threw her to the ground. Rocks bit into her hands and spilled her impure blood into the dirt. She scrambled back to her feet though and ran after Pyrodia. He stopped her though. The massive form of… Bittan Bolstoii… blocked her path, his eyes raging.

Cay screamed at him, but knew that the elven curses that passed her lips would not be understood by his blunted ears. It didn’t stop her from screaming.

“Quiet… half blood!” She understood what he said though. The slap across her small oval face helped to drive the point in further. In the distance Pyrodia’s eyes turned away.

Cay brought her fingers to her cheek, it was wet but when she pulled her fingers back it was tears and not blood that had caught on the tips.

“Cayrimsa… get a hold of yourself.” The backs of her hands rubbed out the tears that had spilled out of her eyes. “You’ve come this far. Don’t let that bastard elf… or… a Bolstoii get in your way.”

He only gets in your way because you let him. Did not even remember that your precious Pyrodia was a Bolstoii because you were so wrapped up in prodding at the elf…

He started it…

Childish Cay

“Hush…” she muttered as she made her way to a chest that huddled in the corner behind the loom. A few moments of digging into it and she pulled out a few items. As she had last night she began to peel her clothing from her body, but stopped with her dress midway up her thighs, eyes narrowing.

How long had he been watching last night Cay?

Scowl deepening she looked around the room and then cocked her head up to her skylight, searching for those pointed ears. Dropping her skirt she decided not to take any chances and pulled the pulley hanging from the ceiling and the flap of canvas pulled over the opening. Shadows fell over her and in them she changed quickly.

The tinkling of bells gave him warning that she was coming back down. Before she comes fully into view the black fluttering of his cloak fills his vision as it is tossed at his head.

“Be more careful about where you leave your things…” the bite returning to her voice.

The bite has not returned to her eyes, which is easy enough for him to see as the hat is missing, in its place is a purple scarf tied bandana style over her head with her ears carefully tucked under it. Knowing how exposed her eyes are, and how red, she keeps them fixed on some distant point instead of looking at him as she speaks.

Don’t you want to look at his face when he see’s you in that dress though?

No.

However, she does smooth out the full floor length purple skirt that graces her legs now and then tugs at the lighter purple top that has replaced the burlap dress. She still wears the billowing white shirt but it is pulled in snuggly to her curves under the sleeveless bodice. A high collar edged in delicate elven knots splits at the hollow of her neck and plunges down to the swell of her bosom. Around her middle a simple grey belt hugs her hips before giving way to the skirt. The dress is old obviously, the material wrinkled and bearing a few small stains, but still flattering.

“To your place then?” she asks as soon as he has refastened his cloak around himself.

The moved in silence through the morning, two shadows born of flesh and blood slipping wordlessly amongst those begotten by light and land, drifting in from the bay as daylight brightened the waters and clinging to the still deepened swaths of penumbra that hung from the buildings along the dockside. The breathing shadows had exchanged all the words they could manage for a time, it seemed, but, in their silence, continued to speak on to the other, with more meaning than the sum of those earlier words might have carried… Maybe it was because, in that quiet, the truths that neither of them had managed to express (and even tried to conceal) with their dialogue were unveiled by its absence. Nyx stalked along close by Cayrimsa’s side, neither surging ahead nor lagging behind as they made their way from the Grey Arm Dock to the dilapidated bulk of the building named Vergel Sea port by its crooked and weathered sign. His yellow eyes took her in from time to time when they broke from his perpetual scan of the sea and streets around them and words to say formed in his mind when they did but he didn’t allow them past his lips. Instead, he allowed the glances to linger a bit longer when her eyes were turned to the study of the world around her or darted away when they were found to be awaiting a meeting with his. As they slipped from the quayside alley and came to the foot of the rickety staircase that climbed the back of Vergel Sea Port the silence was softly broken by the witch’s still soft voice.

“Wait here,” she said, her eyes fixing to his for an instant, “I’ll bring your cloak down…”

The words that had been churning in the mith’ganni’s mind wouldn’t have made sense spoken in the wake of her request so he swallowed them and offered a simple nod in reply. His gaze, even when her own tore away from it, remained on her…

“I’ll be just a minute.”

…and followed her as she bounded up the stairs and disappeared into the top floor of the place in the tinkling of bells.

“I shall be here,” he murmured when she was no longer visible. Nyx sank into a deep patch of lingering dusk that hung between the skeleton of the stairway and the decaying husk of the building to which it was attached, his back pressed to the salted clapboard siding, fingers of one hand touching the hilt of an always-ready blade whilst the slender digits of the other dipped into a small pouch that hung from his belt and came back out with an oblong slice of crystal. As the curiously warm gem rested on the pads of his first and second fingers, his thumb stroked lightly across the all too smooth face of the thing and he allowed his eyes to close for a moment as he prepared himself to look upon the thing…

You begin to disappoint me, Shyndyn, the inner voice sighed, Allowing your mind to linger uselessly in that which has passed you by when you know that the purpose for which I have crafted you leaves no room for such foolishness. Your vocation, now, is death, mith’ganni. Your charge, to deliver me the souls I request. You are the sharpened edge of my axe. Cold steel and cold blood. Where, in any of that, is there allowance for this plague of softness and warmth?

In the beginning, my Lord, Nyx muttered in reply, his thumb still tracing in soft circles over the face of the crystal as his eyes opened and flicked a glance towards the top of the stair before, finally, falling to regard the token. Death, as you say, is my vocation, yes, and I serve you as a result. And, yes, it was you that fashioned me into what I am, but was it not the fires of that plague, as you call it, that smelted the steel from which you forged your weapon? What is cold if it can’t be contrasted with heat? The pale finger moved, at last from the face of the crystal, and Nyx’s eyes peered beyond the gleaming face of the thing and sought out the magic-etched portrait of Lyssa that floated behind that oval facet.

Perfection, Prien answered flatly. The fire makes the steel malleable, my disciple, but it is only when the metal has cooled and its edge has been honed that the weapon becomes useful for what it is. Setting it to the flame once the edge has been made keen only serves to weaken it… to make it useless… and, having been rendered so, calls for it’s owner to discard it in favor of another…

The mith’ganni nearly laughed at that but refrained out of respect for his patron. Then what of the weapons I have seen which spark to flame at the uttering of a word from their wielders, Lord Prien, he challenged, eyes and fingertips roaming over the tiny portrait in the crystal, I did not see any of those deemed useless and tossed aside by those that bore them…

Magical fire, the voice retorted, seeking to end the debate, Quite different from the fires of the forge, Nyx… Spells are turned to…

The assassin did allow a chuckle, then; almost proud of himself that he had been able to trick his god into the explanation he’d just been given. What fire, then, is more magical than the fire of love, Master? What greater spell than that which takes two hearts and melds them into one?

Love?! the dark voice of Prien the Executioner cackled, quickly wiping the self-satisfied smirk from the lips of his devotee. You think you love her? Think she could love you?!?! The god’s laughter rang mercilessly for a long while, melting the once confident smile on the mith’ganni’s face into an uncertain scowl. Oh, Nyx, the voice proceeded after a time, I have allowed you to languish too long in this place, I think, and tested you too much by putting those souls I do not yet require within easy reach of your hand and let you become corrupted by finding use in them… Love, indeed!

When, then, will you carve away the points of your ears for love?

 Never, Nyx scowled, desperately trying to find solace in the image buried in the crystal.

Liar! I think you’d do it if she asked, Prien rebuked, Your “love”. the spiteful laughter again. She won’t love you, you know? Can’t love you… no one can and no one will, don’t you see? If you cannot see that, Shyndyn, mayhaps you’d have done better to have died with the rest of your people, hmmm?

Your love is as dead as your Lyssa, mith’ganni, Prien’s voice whispered, dissipating as the hollow tinkling of the bells hemmed to Cayrimsa’s apartment door carried to Nyx’s ears, As dead as whatever rots in the darkness of this one’s soul… You are mine, Nyx Shyndyn… no one else will have you…

“Dina!” Nyx growled, his fist closing tightly around the crystal as he pushed himself angrily away from the shadows and stepped into a wan patch of sunlight to warm away the cold truth he had perceived in Prien’s admonition. Still, despite the warmth that the light brought to his shoulders as it fell on them, he couldn’t help but shiver…

“Be more careful about where you leave your things,” Cay’s voice, the hard edge having returned to it, was punctuated by the fluttering of the cloak that she had tossed ahead of her words.

One alabaster hand snapped away from weapon-hilt to catch hold of the fabric while the other quickly returned the crystal trinket to the pouch at his belt. The nod he offered as he whipped the cloak around his shoulders was as curt and cold as the bite in her voice and the emptiness that his god’s words had left in his chest. As the shadowy material fell into place over top of his coat, though, and his eyes traveled up the stairway to regard the creature that descended them, Nyx couldn’t help but think the vision that greeted him, and the curious warmth that it kindled in that cold-spot within, surely must refute Prien’s practical wisdom…

The bite that had returned to Cayrimsa’s tone was not mirrored in her eyes when he met her gaze. They were reddened, yes, but not with the contempt or anger Nyx had grown accustomed to seeing when he had stared into them before. Instead, it appeared that the cherry-flush and swell around those amber orbs were the result of tears and not ire… It wasn’t difficult to assume, of course, but she seemed reluctant to look at him and so it was difficult to tell for sure…

A good thing, too, that she’s not looking at you… I’m looking at you and it’s making me sick! Look at you… your mouth hanging open, like some fish gasping out its life on yonder docks… pathetic!

He couldn’t help but gawk, though… Was this truly the same Cay that had moments ago ascended those stairs and disappeared behind the salt-stiffened canvass door?... Vanima! The word formed on his lips and may have escaped into the air as an awed whisper as he forced his mouth closed… Had his fingers not been engaged in the fastening of his cloak they would have certainly reached out to touch her if for no other reason than to assure a blinking mith’ganni that what stood before him was not illusion.

“To your place then?”

“Uma,” he nodded, finally managing to tear his gaze off of Cay but somehow unaware that an uncharacteristically genuine smile had formed on his lips, “my place lies along our path to Bolstoii’s estate. The delay shan’t be long.”… His hands reached back to free his mane from beneath the cloak and then to draw the cowl forward. “Lle maa quel,” Nyx said turning his now hooded gaze towards the city…the route they would take and several alternates sketched themselves in his mind and, with another look in her direction, gave a faint jerk of his head towards the planned destination before setting out.

 Still smiling in the shadows of his cowl, Nyx guided Cay away from the wharf, eastward along the Reyal for a time, and finally veered southward towards the swath of homes, parks, and establishments that marked the invisible line that separated Drasnia’s nobility from the lower castes. The smile faded a bit, though, when instead of continuing on their way towards Governor’s Walk and, thereby, to one edge of the Bolstoii estate, Nyx turned them westward, again, and made for a small house at the edge of a cemetery.

How beautiful do you think she’ll find you, the voice snickered, once she learns where you make your “home”? How long, once she knows, do you think it will be before the word gets out and the round-ears finally find you there? What will happen when they do?

Nyx whispered to a stop just past the little stone cottage wherein resided the newly appointed caretaker of the cemetery. His gaze flitted over the place for a moment, swept the surrounding landscape and scanned the necropolis beyond the cottage warily before finally coming to rest on Cayrimsa’s face… “Perhaps you should wait here.”

Charming…

“Lle maa quel…” he said quietly as he turned his gaze out over the city. That brought her eyes to him finally.

Did I hear him correctly? Surely not for there was no scorn or teasing in his voice.

And if he did say it? And meant it?

But he didn’t…

I think he did. I think he did, and I think he said it because you look like an elf in that. Just the way he wants you.

Nyx had moved on though, hidden in the shadows of his cloak again. Lips twitching she scurried after him until their feet fell into pace with each other again. Silence brooded like the swollen underbelly of thunderclouds. It threatened to break, but at the moment it let them take solace in its peaceful shadow.

Before reaching the imperial nesting grounds he guided her west and then whispered to a stop just past the little stone cottage wherein resided the newly appointed caretaker of the cemetery. His gaze flitted over the place for a moment, swept the surrounding landscape and scanned the necropolis beyond the cottage warily before finally coming to rest on Cayrimsa’s face… “Perhaps you should wait here.”

She let her eyes met his and gave him a bob of her head a reply.

A cemetery… by Prien himself I should have guessed. You would sleep amongst your victims…

She did not follow but instead leaned against one of the stone pillars just at the entrance as the flutter of his cloak melted into the shadows of the death place. He had given her this same courtesy earlier and she would return it. Besides, cemeteries bothered her. They evoked a jealous hatred that tried to eat at her soul and only starved. The comfort of death had overcome those who dwelled there. They all had been acknowledged enough by someone to warrant a memorial to their death in stone; and now the earth was slowly taking them back. It did not matter what blood had pumped through their hearts, it did not matter how much wealth they had acquired or what they had accomplished with their life, it was all reduced to worm fodder.

How I envy them… she thought as she let her eyes pass through the gates and upon the hewn stones pressed into the death enriched soil. A dark flutter caught her eye and she turned toward it, and found herself disappointed with the vision of a raven taking flight.

You envy him as well…

“Yes…” it tore from her breast as the raven moved into the tree above her.

Why Cay?

Her fingers graced the stump that remained of her left ear through the silken material of the scarf. “Because he belongs somewhere. Truly belongs there… out on the plains under the stars, with his people… he has people… his not being with them is his choice… and even in that choice he has his God…”

And you?

“I belong nowhere.”

What about to him? What if you could belong to him?

CAW! directly above her the raven seemed to mock this question. Pulling off the pillar her arms sweep the air between them. The bird took flight in a flurry of feathers.

“Hush you! Get out of here before I do something nasty!” She shouted before her voice dropped into a low whisper. “I know full well that would never happen. Half of everything I am is something he despises… he covets my elven qualities but could never accept the round eared qualities. And humans despise me for the qualities he covets. I shall never belong, to him or to anyone else…”

The snarl curled around her lips again as her brooding frame settled back against the pillar. A laugh coming from behind her finally pulled her attention from her own thoughts. Her head turned toward it and her mouth opened about to spill something at Nyx for mocking her but instead found that the laugh belonged to a grimy Halfling who was walking through the cemetery with an equally unkempt elf. Shovels were slung over their shoulders.

“I’d be willin’ to put t’ree silver down dat the ‘ole we jus’ dug twas meant for Sen’tor Olsta, an not ‘is wife.” The Halfling grinned.

“Ehh… you’d have te have three silver first!”

“Ye knowin’ what I’m sayin’. W’od want dat lady dead?”

“Who said it being a murder? No one twas arrested far as I knows. I heared it was that she chocked while eating.”

“Pshhaww. Gooseberry puddin’… I dun believe it. De word is dat she twas… poisoned…” the word caused the Halfling to waggle his eyebrows and grin.

As the elf leaned down his shovel switched shoulders, “And you should be careful what yer saying der little friend. We bury em… let de legionnaires worry ‘bout what puts em here…”

“Come on! Ye gotts te admit it’s supscicious. Sen’tor Olsta starts sayin’ ‘e’s gonna put up curfews an make t’ings ‘arder on folk like yew an all o’ a sudden ‘is wife drops inte her cobbler?”

“Ye mean suspicious” a roll of the eyes corrected the Halfling.

“Puddin’! Ye understood. Dayrned suspicious if ye’r askin’ me…”

“Too bad nobody is…”

There was something about the tone of the elf that narrowed Cay’s eyes and made her watch him a bit closer. The conversation had died though, the Halfling resorting to a series of grumbles that eventually turned into a hum as the two passed into the garden behind the caretaker’s cottage, seeming to miss Cay completely.

“Come on Nyx…” she muttered as the two disappeared out of sight and she went back to waiting.

Bolstoii Manse

The damask curtains were finally failing at keeping the morning light from wafting against the few inches of golden skin that had escaped from under the blankets. Two fingers grabbed the blanket and pulled them back over the escaped skin.

Why does morning have to come so early?

In the blanket cave Kharinya curled up like a cat. It had been three days and this morning she noticed that his scent had started to fade from her bed. Three days, Aelion should be returning later tonight if all went well. Hopefully things had gone well and her father would be pleased with the horse he brought back. Once her father had been taken care of Aelion would sneak into her room and take care of his daughter. A gigglish smile crept over her even as her fingers moved down her thigh in sweet memory. 

Tonight!?

The blankets flew off the bed seemingly of their own accord and a moment later the golden girl followed them. 

I cannot believe I waited until now… he is depending on me! Foolish Kiki… foolish!

The ruminations continued while Kharinya got dressed and primped. Twenty minutes later she swept out of her chambers and headed toward the kitchen.

---
The only paid servant on the Bolstoii estate was Ingrid, the cook. Styopa insisted on having a human run his kitchen. 

“I simply won’t stand for any of that elven grub to make it onto my table.” He was fond of saying. 

The rest of the staff consisted of slaves and a few indentured servants, all of them with at least a fraction of elven blood running through their blood. For his home he had selected the best pointed ears he could find. 

Corrisan, his butler, was a full blooded high elf born into slavery. He was arrogant but at the same time meticulous and ran the Bolstoii household with an icy glare few dared to challenge. Wood elves stocked his kitchen, bustling under Ingrid, their abilities with herbs and vegetables exploited as far as Ingrid could manage. Nithhil had bargained his way out of charges of racketeering and ran Styopa’s accounts with such finesse that Styopa always made money, even when at first it seemed he should not (if a bit of the fat was trimmed into Nithhil’s pockets no one had yet noticed). Even his stable boy was a half Twilight Elf, Aelion, who had a gift with horses that only his kind possessed. 

It was Aelion’s gift with other creatures, however, that was the topic of discussion in the kitchen this morning. 

“I promise it is what I saw!” Tanna brought down her knife and split the potato on the counter in half to punctuate her point. The shining blade rose up and pointed at the other lithe wood elf. “You don’t think I would lie about something like this do you?”

“Lower your voice! And that damned knife Tanna…” the slightly nasally voice of Marianna hissed with a whisper and an anxious glance over her shoulder. “It isn’t that I don’t believe you think you saw something… but perhaps you misunderstood what you saw? Just because you think you saw him slip her a note just before he left does not mean anything inappropriate is going on there… and perhaps now is not the time to discuss it at any rate…” 

“Pish Posh and kettle pots.” Tanna spat back at her sister. “I know what I saw and it isn’t like the whole estate doesn’t already suspect something.” But she did bend back over the counter and continued to dissect the potato before reaching for another one.

Marianna’s knife dove into the turnips, “Master Bolstoii doesn’t… and it would be best if it stayed that way I would imagine.”

“I don’t know… maybe he’d reward whoever brought it to his attention.” A contemplative smirk crossing the pink ribbons of Tanna’s lips.

“Yeah… sure… ‘reward’ them. String them up right next to your beloved Aelion I’d bet.” 

“He isn’t my beloved!” 

Marianna laughed as she listened to her sister’s voice drop and her eyes rise into little storm clouds.

“Suuurrre… That’s what this is really about isn’t it? You’re jealous. Jealous… jealous” the words turned into a taunting little sing-song.

Thud! Tanna’s knife came down hard and got slightly stuck in the butcher’s block. “Jealous!? Of Khayrina? Little Kiki? Are you kidding me? What have I to be jealous about? The fact that she has more air between her ears than brains? That she’s eaten one too many of Ingrid’s cakes over the years and is spreading out faster than her father can buy her dresses to cover that wide expanse of her ass? The only thing that girl has going for her is her father’s money!”

Still shaking with laughter Marianna kept her eyes on the turnips, “And possibly Aelion buried between those massive thighs of hers…”

Tanna pulled the knife out of the butchers block and accidentally sent a quarter of a potato flying across the kitchen. Sending a murderous glare at her sister she dropped the knife and spun on her heel to go after the lost bit of produce. 

Marianna kept up with the turnips and tried to stifle her laughter. 

Delicate elven fingers found the bit of potato and rose only to drop it again as the emerald green elven eyes fell upon Kharyina standing before her. Anger and embarrassment flushed her cheeks a dark red and Tanna bent back down to recollect the starchy little wedge. “Pardon me Miss…” she whispered humbly as Kharyina’s wide blue skirts danced around her. 

“No bother. I have some errands to run today and was just looking to grab a few rolls and jelly to take with me.” Came the human’s dismissive comment.

Tanna rose up and found herself now looking at Kiki’s back. Four or five right? And a few tarts while you are at it and no one is looking, huh?

It was true that Kharyina was not what one would call thin, especially in comparison with the two tall graceful elven creatures that were crawling around the kitchen. She was what one would call buxom. The additional weight she carried on her short frame had thus far spread mainly to her hips, when squeezed into a corset, as she usually was, her body became a full buffet of curves for anyone with a rich pallet. To a non-jealous eye the curves were actually a blessing rather than a curse. Without them she might be considered rather plain. Her eyes were muddy, her hair glossless and straight (no matter how many egg whites she soaked it in), even her lips were on the mundane side. Her complexion was beautiful though, at least to humans who preferred the darker radiating golden hues. 

Tanna saw no beauty in those overly emphasized curves or in the glow of her complexion as she watched Kharyina dig through the pantry. Maybe Marianna is right, how could he love a lumpy sack of flour like you when he could nibble over me anytime he wanted?

She tried to control her sour expression and returned to her station. “Of course Miss… take what you require.”

Marianna waved her blade point at Tanna warningly and the two girls set back to chopping up vegetables.

---
Offering a deep bow despite the fact that it wrinkled the tailored blue velvet he wore Corrisan began to step out of the library. Across his chest a leather bound ledger was clasped tightly. 

“Oh… one more thing Corrisan…” Styopa’s voice stopped him in his tracks, a midnight blue gaze lowering to his master. “Next week is Anya’s birthday, see if you can find some appropriate gift.”

Corrisan’s head dipped again, “I already have. Priethsly will have it wrapped and brought the house the day before, sir.” 

His master laughed and nodded. “I should have guessed as much. Whatever would I do without you Corrisan?”

Probably die…

“Get your wife the same gift every year for her birthday?” He offered outwardly, which warranted another laugh.

“Yes I suppose so. Well… get on with your duties Corrisan.”

“Yes sir…” I was trying until you called me back

Corrisan offered another small bow and finally slipped out of the room. A few feet from the door was Kiki, happily shoving a biscuit into her mouth, unmindful of the crumbs that it left across the swell of her bosom. 

“Oh! Is my father in?”

Another wrinkle creased through the velvet as Corrisan dipped another bow. “Yes Miss he is. Shall I announce you?”

“Oh no… I’m just peeking in for a moment. Thank you though.” She offered a warm smile before opening the door.

Corrisan smiled back but as usual the expression did not meet his eyes. I bet you will ask me to announce you when you wind up carrying Aelion’s child now won’t you? For all of your fraternizing with my kind you still treat me as a servant don’t you? When the time comes, and it will, which side will you choose? Will you run off with your penniless lover? Or will you throw yourself upon your father’s feet and beg his mercy and the protection that his money can buy? Enjoy your fun while it lasts… your father will learn of what you have done… soon. 

The smile finally touched his eyes as he wandered down the hall.

Inside the library Kharinya plopped herself into a chair opposite her father and began to brush the crumbs off her gown.

“Good morning father.”

“Ah… my Kiki… you look lovely today. Is that the blue dress your mother ordered from Palat?”

She giggled and nodded. “Yes. Do you really like it? I’m not sure the color goes well with my eyes.”

“Beautiful dear. You are always beautiful. Did you need me for something?”

The color in her cheeks made her complexion glow brighter. She shook her head. “Not really no. I was going to run some errands, thought I would drop in and see if you needed me to pick anything up… or drop anything off while I was out.”

“Hmmm… no not that I can think of. Although…” Styopa paused here and fixed an appraising eye on his daughter, “although if the mood strikes you perhaps you should consider what you will be wearing to your mother’s birthday party next week. I have invited some of the best families in Drasnia to come, and some have some very eligible sons.” He grinned.

The color rose and the balls of mud rolled in their sockets. “Father! Please. I’m only seventeen, don’t start marrying me off already.”

“I’m not marrying you off Kiki. I’m just suggesting you find a dress.” Throwing his own pudgy fingers up in defense.

“Alright father. I’ll see if the mood strikes me. But I make no promises.”

“Good.” 

“Well… if that’s all. I’ll be on my way then.” She got up.

“A kiss for your old man before you head out love?”

Kiki smiled and wandered over to him, leaning over to place a kiss on his shiny forehead. “Of course father. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Yes…”

Styopa could hear her humming through another biscuit once she reached the hallway. He shook his head and smiled at himself before reaching for his stationary set.