Forsaken by Shadows 40: Ghosts

~5. Ghosts~

Mazira

Mazira stood alone in her last classroom of the day, leafing through the music on her stand. Well, almost alone. Silverpaw the cat, her faithful companion whenever she came to the temple, lounged on the chair beside Mazira’s, idly licking her paw.

Her other classmates had already left, moving on to the actual last class for aspiring clerics, sword dancing. She ought to have been with them, but even now, a full year into her new life, the thought of wielding a weapon made her skin crawl. It just felt wrong in her hand, and no amount of being told she need only use it for ceremony assuaged that feeling. 

Her instructors whispered about it when they thought Mazira couldn’t hear, concerned that she wouldn’t be allowed to ascend to the sisterhood if she kept up her refusal to learn the sacred art, but Mazira didn’t mind. Truthfully, she had yet to decide if taking the oaths was something she actually wanted to do. It was everyone’s expectation, of course, since she had been gifted with magic. Why wouldn’t she follow through with the oaths, when she was so clearly called?  

But Mazira had never asked for the magic. Eilistraee just gave it to her, with no contract or conditions. She wasn’t ungrateful; quite the opposite, actually. She was acutely aware of just how unworthy she was to receive this blessing. 

Mazira’s classmates would give much to be gifted with the magic she had so freely received. Beltel might have made up his ratios, but he wasn’t wrong about the scarcity of magic among the clerics of Eilistraee. Most of them wouldn’t know whether or not they’d been chosen for the gift until after they took their oaths. As far as Mazira knew, there were only three people in all of Launa who’d been granted access to the Weave before service was committed to; herself, Solaurin, and Mother Lara. 

The latter two made sense. Mother Lara had been called to establish this community. Solaurin was called to break the mold of expectations, to represent an entire half of the population before his goddess. But Mazira…

What was Mazira supposed to be called to do? She had no hidden greatness within her. She didn’t have Solaurin’s wisdom or Mother Lara’s tenacity. She wasn’t extraordinary in any way, save for extraordinarily lucky. Most days, it was all she could do to remember to survive, let alone thrive. 

Her scars cut deeper than her demolished skin. They were inside of her, and this Blue Light’s events confirmed it.

Which was why she was still here, even though Rismyn would be coming for her soon to walk her back to Solaurin’s home. 

Back to their home. 

She shouldn’t require hand holding anymore. She should be able to walk across the city’s cavern without the need for an escort. 

Heaving a great sigh, Mazira turned to the center of the room, which was carved in a half-circle and sloped upward toward the door behind her. On an average cycle, the room was full of fledgling Songblades, all joining together in a great chorus of soprano voices. They were taught music and theory, how to play harps and lyres, flutes and lutes, and how to sing. 

It was Mazira’s favorite class, despite her hesitancy to join the clergy. It brought her back to happier days in the World Above, learning to sing and read music on her Papa’s knee. 

But today, with her thoughts still swirling from dream terrors and Ti’yana’s fight with her father, Mazira wasn’t feeling the warmth of the music. Glancing around to confirm she was truly alone, she went to the storage room behind the conductor’s station and retrieved a training dummy. 

The stuffed doll was very much akin to Ti’yana’s dress form, fashioned after a generic soldier and used by those clerics who could cast magic. Mazira was the only one in her class, and so far, her focus had been primarily on healing and defensive magic. The last time one of the Songblades encouraged her to try a more damaging spell, her voice had shaken so much she’d been unable to find the tune. 

But she’d recently begun trying again in secret. The more dream terrors her mind spun for her, the more uneasy she became, as if her nightmares were stalking ever closer and would manifest at any moment. She needed to do more than learn to heal and defend. She needed to learn to protect. And if that meant calling on Eilistraee’s radiant light of judgment, so be it. 

At least it wasn’t a blade.

Mazira set the dummy where the class instructor usually stood, then returned to her spot, spreading out her sheet music. She breathed in and out, staring at the pathetic imitation of a humanoid. It looked nothing like a real person, and yet, she hesitated, unwilling to bring it harm. 

Well, there was no need to jump straight into the river. 

She reshuffled her music, selecting another spell to start with. One she had already memorized, though she set the music before her anyway. 

As her voice drew out the Prelude of Guidance, warmth blossomed from her fingers to her toes, a euphoric rush that made her smile. Tension eased out of her shoulders as Mazira directed the magic to work on herself, inspiring her to a higher purpose. Her senses sharpened, her confidence firmed. 

Yes, she could do this. She would learn to be strong, strong enough to defend herself and the people she loved. Strong enough to never be subjugated again. No dream terror or dark shadow would ever steal her joy.

Her body pulsed with the power pouring through her, and Solaurin told her this was only the beginning of what she could do if she applied herself. As if this rush wasn’t enough to sustain her all the days of her hopefully long life.

The guidance prelude reached its zenith, and Mazira changed tunes, gathering the threads of the Weave to spool in her palms. Magic flowed like rivers under her skin, collecting at her fingertips, obeying her every note. She reached down and touched Silverpaw, who suddenly shone like a beacon of the divine. The cat mrow’d in protest, and Mazira laughed, willing the spell to fade away as easily as swiping away a spider’s web. 

She might be unworthy of the gift, a thief who’d stolen it from a dark elf who probably deserved it more, but oh, how she loved the feeling of magic in her blood. 

The joy faded as she flipped the page, landing on one of her harming spells. The Song of Radiance. 

“Maybe you should wait outside,” she said to the cat, who merely twitched her tail and shut her eyes. 

Well, so long as she wasn’t looking. Mazira focused again on the music, reading the words and notes, willing her voice not to tremble as she began the song. Confidence was key, and with the effects of her first cantrip still lingering, she had all the confidence in the world. 

The magic grew hot and insistent, frothing like a boiling pot. She’d cast this spell before she knew anything of magic at all. It was the one she’d used on the wizard who’d taunted her when Toloruel had found them, the one who’d broken her shield around Rismyn. She’d cast it by accident then. Now, she summoned the sacred light on purpose, and as her voice reached the high note of the chorus, a pulse of blinding light radiated from her body, giving relief at last to the heat.

Mazira stepped back, shaking as both the light and the magic faded. Even her guidance was spent. She glanced at Silverpaw who remained unmoved and unharmed, seemingly asleep, but she knew it had worked. The training dummy was lit with sacred fire, enchanted against taking real damage but showing evidence of her power all the same. 

There. She’d done it. She’d mastered one combat spell. 

Now, for the big one. The one she’d come here to practice. 

Steeling herself, Mazira flipped to one of her newer songs. Cantata for Guiding Bolt. It was supposed to be more powerful than the Song of Radiance, and coat her enemy in shimmering light to make them easier to attack. Mazira had been studying it for a tenday now, but had yet to have the courage to try it. 

She closed her eyes and thought of the wicked face of Toloruel, leering down at her from what her dream insisted was Rismyn.

“Here we go,” she muttered, squaring her shoulders and facing the dummy. She considered singing through her Prelude of Guidance again, but changed her mind. It had already been a long day of music and she didn’t want to strain her voice. 

The notes sounded haunting and strange and recalled memories of the fight with Mendroktovin. Solaurin had used this spell against the creature, though with far more power than Mazira had to pour into it.

As with the Song of Radiance, the magic that roiled under her skin was hot, almost electrical. It thrummed inside of her, a sinister threat, like a snake poised to strike. And though Mazira was supposed to be the threat, she was afraid. 

Magic crackled between the fingers of her right hand, white sparks glittering to the stone floor. Even Silverpaw seemed concerned, hopping off the chair and scurrying to the other side of the room, which did little for Mazira’s confidence, but she had passed the point of the song where she could safely diffuse the spell. All she could do was commit and hope for the best. 

Raising her hand, Mazira took aim at the dummy. She was just about to release the spell when the door behind her suddenly flung open.

The noise so startled her that she cried out and spun, and unfortunately, the pitch was just near enough to the final note of the Cantata that the guiding bolt released, a radiant beam of silver-white light surging from her palm. 

Rismyn stood in the door frame, staring wide-eyed at the smoldering stain on the wall where Mazira’s spell narrowly missed his head. 

Mazira clutched her chest, her eyes brimming with tears. “Oh my gosh, Rismyn!”

This was exactly why she shouldn’t study dangerous magic. Someone could have gotten hurt! 

Rismyn blinked rapidly, probably clearing his vision of the spots her radiant magic would have left in his sensitive eyes, before glancing from the scorch mark to her. 

His face lit up as bright as her magic. “Hey, you did it!” He came forward, far too jovial for an elf who’d nearly gotten singed. 

Mazira just stared at him, taking in his disheveled hair and fine silver coat, which he’d left hanging open to reveal the black undershirt beneath. His trousers fit too well, tucked into his leather boots, and a dagger hung on his hip. He looked like a devilish rogue from one of her Papa’s epic tales, and despite her unadulterated horror at nearly roasting him with sacred light, her mind still found the time to tantalize her with memories of her dream before it turned terror. 

“Rismyn, I almost killed you,” she gasped, a little louder than necessary as she tried to trample over the remembrance, wringing her hands. She hoped that was the only reason her face was flushing, as he descended the stepped dais towards her. 

“I doubt you would have killed me,” he said, with a level of confidence he didn’t deserve. It’s not like he’d ever studied magic. “But honestly, if you had, it wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened to me this cycle,” he added dryly, with just enough of an edge to catch her attention. 

Her brows knit together with concern. “What happened?”

Rismyn merely waved the question away, standing far too close as he peered at the music on her stand. “Cantata of Guiding Bolt,” he read. “I’d say it was a success.” 

His nearness sent prickles over her skin, but not the good kind. She backed away as subtly as she could, her aversion to proximity and touches not yet faded from earlier. Not even Rismyn was immune when her ‘grey days’ came, which was a new development in their relationship. His touches never used to make her squirm.

It was almost like a curse, though she found other ways to keep him close. He alone knew of her recent attempts to learn combat magic. Secrets didn’t count when it came to Rismyn. She could tell him things Ti’yana would never know, if only because she didn’t want the girl to relay her words to her father, as she inevitably would. Rismyn never repeated her words to anyone. He kept her close and safe.

But knowing her secret meant he should have used extra precautions. Her spell probably wouldn’t have killed him, but it wouldn’t have felt great, either. 

“You can’t just burst in on me like that,” she chided, trying to sound indignant. Her heart was still racing with the fear of what if, though, making it hard to muster up a proper lecture. 

Rismyn gave her a sheepish look, which didn’t help her racing heart. “Sorry. My mind was elsewhere. I promise to knock next time.” 

Mollified, Mazira glanced at the music on her stand. She wanted to gather it up, but that would mean reaching past Rismyn, something she wasn’t ready to do just yet. 

Fortunately, Silverpaw came to her rescue. The cat manifested from wherever she was hiding, hopping up on a chair and mewing at Rismyn, batting his hand for attention. 

Rismyn scoffed in disgust and backed away from the animal, clearing the way for her to grab her sheet music. 

“I should have known you’d be here,” he grumbled. He made a tssskt sound and tried to shoo Silverpaw away, but that only seemed to encourage her more. She jumped to the floor and rubbed against his calf, as though determined to make a friend out of Rismyn. 

“Mazira, call off your beast,” he whined, stiff and rigid, as though trapped by a circling shark. 

Mazira laughed, and the sound set her more at ease. “She’s not mine, she belongs to the temple. What are you doing here so early, anyway? I thought I had at least a half hour more to go.” 

Rismyn’s expression darkened ever so slightly. “I finished my training early today. We’re in no hurry, if you want to keep singing, I don’t mind waiting.” 

Mazira pursed her lips. Something wasn’t right. “Is everything alright? You seem…upset.” 

“Upset? Not at all.” 

Had he just lied to her? 

“But actually, I am in pain.” He abandoned his stand-off with the cat, giving her his full attention. “I took a nasty blow to the ribs, and it’s killing me.” 

For a drow who was in enough pain that it was “killing” him, he seemed to have plenty of energy. 

“Could you take a look at it?” 

He stepped toward her, his hands already on the hem of his shirt as though he were about to lift it. 

Mazira’s face went scarlet and she took a step back. The last thing she needed right now, on a grey day, with memories of dream-Rismyn so fresh in her mind, was to examine his chest. His very fine, nicely sculpted chest, which she’d had plenty of opportunity to admire over the last year, as he had a habit of wandering from his bedroom to the water room without a shirt. It was even better when she caught him on his way back, with his hair still dripping, the droplets on his skin shining like rhinestones–

Stars above, Mazira, have some decency!

“I can just heal you,” she said, not quite keeping all the anxiety out of her voice. 

“I’d rather you look, first,” Rismyn said, completely at ease. “If my ribs are broken, I’d like healing, but if it’s just bruised, I can live with it.” He grinned mischievously. “I can’t get used to healing on demand, you know. I need to suffer a little.” 

“Really, if it’s paining you that much, it’s probably best to just heal you–” 

The hem of his shirt started to rise, and Mazira panicked. She raised her hands as if to keep him back, and sang the first words that popped into her mind. 

Rismyn stopped in his tracks, shuddering as the warmth left Mazira’s hands and transferred to him. He blinked, staring down at himself, patting the left side of his chest. 

“You just healed me,” he said, sounding dumbfounded. 

“Well, yes…” 

He looked back up at her, his expression indiscernible. “Without touching me.” 

Mazira glanced away. “It’s…it’s a new song I’m working on. It’s not as powerful as touch healing, but I think I can heal more people at one time with it.” 

For the briefest of moments, Rismyn looked disappointed, and Mazira assumed it was because the healing had been less potent and he was still in pain. 

But then his expression turned to that of childish delight. “Mazira, that’s amazing!” He started to close the distance between them and Mazira staggered back, knocking into a music stand. 

His mirth faded as recognition replaced it. “Ah.” He took his own step back. “You’re having a grey day. I didn’t realize, I’m sorry.” 

“No, it’s not your fault.” She turned away, burying her face in her hands. “It was just…I had a dream terror and…” 

Humiliation welled inside of her. Why was she still so weak? 

A moment of awkward silence hung between them, and Mazira refused to look at him. She couldn’t bear to see his disappointment, and she didn’t know what to say to make it better, either. 

It was Rismyn who broke the silence. “Here.” 

Mazira tensed, then swallowed and forced herself to look up at him. Rismyn stood exactly where she’d left him, his arms stretched out towards her with a very disgruntled Silverpaw dangling in his hands. 

“This helps, right?” 

His look of obvious discomfort, mirroring the cat’s, was so comical that Mazira burst into a fit of giggles. She hurried forward, managing to rescue Silverpaw from her captor without getting too close to Rismyn for her comfort. 

“Yes,” she laughed, snuggling the feline to her chest. “Yes, thank you. She does help.” 

Back in the arms of someone who appreciated her, Silverpaw purred affectionately. 

Rismyn looked at them askance, shaking his head. “I’ll never understand why, but to each their own.” He wiped his hands on his trousers as if he soiled them by handling the cat, then mercifully began to button his coat. “We have some time, will you tell me about your new healing song?” 

Lulled once more into contentment, Mazira obliged. She went for her music stand, and Rismyn backed up appropriately to keep the space between them. He took a chair near enough to hers to see her stand but distant enough to keep her peace, and Mazira was soon showing him the pages and explaining what she’d been taught about the spell. 

Rismyn listened attentively and looked over the sheet music with interest, even though she knew he had no idea what the dots and staff meant. He had as little interest in learning music as she had in learning swordplay. 

When she’d finished with Song of Healing, she showed him her other new spell, Chorale of Faith: Shield, which was a spell they were both already familiar with. Its timely manifestation had once saved Rismyn’s life, and he was all too pleased that she was learning to cast it on command. 

“I’m going to have to shrink you and keep you in my pocket,” he teased. “I don’t think I can survive without you.” 

Mazira blushed, but her heart ached. How she wished those words held a double meaning. But it had been a full year, and if any of his affection for her had rekindled, she’d seen no evidence of it. True, their friendship had reforged, even stronger than it had been when mutual terror was what had welded them together, but he always seemed to keep her at a polite distance, giving her no more earnest attention than he had before. 

“Nonsense,” she said, suddenly very interested in the folds of her dress. “You’re a Militia elf now. You don’t need me, you’ve got your blades.” 

At her words, his pallor went ashen and he looked away. “Not yet, I’m not.” 

Mazira frowned, not understanding. “Well, close enough. This Evensong–”

He stood abruptly, glancing out the window. “Would you look at the light? I lost track of time, it’s already Bright White.” 

Mazira’s frown deepened. There was something he wasn’t telling her. “Rismyn…”

“C’mon, we should get going.” He turned to offer her a hand before remembering her current condition, trying to play off the motion by running his fingers through his hair instead. As his arm stretched and then retracted, he winced ever so slightly. 

Disappointment sunk her spirits lower. “Are you still in pain?” 

He grinned, and all remnants of his shadowed mood vanished, though she suspected it still lingered. “It’s still a little tender, but definitely not broken anymore.” 

“I can sing again.” 

He waved her concern away, gesturing for her to follow him. “I told you, It’s good for me to suffer.”

Mazira rose, gathering her sheet music and following him to the door. He was still hiding something, and direct questioning didn’t seem to be working, so she decided on a new tactic. “What happened, anyway? Did Belnir beat you with a club?”

“Ah, no.” He shifted, giving her a sidelong look. “There were new Voices at the Cove. I got the honor of testing them.” The way he said it made it sound more like a chore rather than an honor. “One of them, I think he’s human, though he’s about seven feet tall, caught me off guard. Blunted claymore to the chest, though I defeated him in the end.”

“New Voices?” Was it the people that bothered him? Or the testing? It didn’t seem to be the injury. He spoke of that lightly. “Are they the ones who came with Ardyn Xarrin? Shouldn’t they still be on probation?”

“That’s what I said,” he exclaimed, gesturing emphatically as they stepped out into the hall and made their way toward the temple’s vestibule. “Maybe they’re excused from the rules because they’re from the surface. I don’t know. Doesn’t seem fair, especially after the way that elf with them treated me. He was awful, Mazira. Clearly has something against drow, so why he came down here willingly–wait, how’d you know about Ardyn?”

“Solaurin told Ti’yana and me.” Mazira delicately avoided the unpleasant memory, moving on quickly. “And Sabraena, too, in arithmancy. She’s quite excited to have her brother home. Oh, that reminds me. She’s invited us over for the mid-cycle meal to meet him. Tsaria’s already approved it.” 

Rismyn tensed, not quite meeting her gaze. “Now? What did you tell her?” 

“Oh, you know.” His obvious reluctance took her aback. It wasn’t the first time they’d been invited over and he’d never refused before. Was it because of the new Voices? Or was it something else? Something secret she’d been hoping for, as well. 

Her heart trilled. “I told her I’d check with you, first. I wasn’t sure if you…” she trailed off, suddenly flustered. She’d said too much. Just because the hope was there didn’t mean she had to say it out loud.

But Rismyn was watching her with keen interest. “If I what?” 

Resigned, Mazira hooked her hands behind her back. “Well…I don’t know…It’s silly…” 

His sharp eyes lit with amusement. “Well, now I have to know.” 

Mazira sighed. “I was just wondering, you know, since it’s our anniversary…” She was warm all over, as if she’d conjured another magic song. Did Rismyn even recognize the significance of the date the way she did? “That is, the anniversary of our coming here. I just thought maybe…did you, want to do something…special?” 

Rismyn stopped dead in his tracks, staring at her with wide eyes. 

Mazira couldn’t stand it. She laughed, unnaturally shrill, and twisted her fingers in her hair. “See? I told you it was silly. It’s just another cycle, after all. We can go to–”

“No, no, I–” Rismyn made to step towards her, hand raised, before he restrained himself and lowered his arm. 

Now more than ever Mazira hated her grey days. She wanted Rismyn to come to her, to take her hand or touch her shoulder. Her heart begged for it. 

But her body seized up, her skin prickling at the very threat of it, her stomach turning in knots. Phantom reminders of how it felt when Toloruel came for her, promising touches that weren’t gentle or sweet. Solaurin and Tsaria both assured her that with time, she’d overcome it, but she wasn’t overcoming it fast enough. 

“Actually, I had been hoping–” he began, toying absently with the collar of his coat. 

Mazira forgot to breathe. He’d been hoping? What had he been hoping? 

He opened his mouth to tell her, but before he could get the words out, another voice cried out. 

“Zizi!” 

Mazira gasped, startled, whirling around as a young girl rushed towards them. It was Sabraena, and she was all smiles and excitement. She skidded to a halt just before breaching Mazira’s comfort bubble, beaming up at her. 

“Zizi, you have to come! My brother is here, like, here here. I can’t wait for you to meet him. He’s so handsome. You’re going to love him.” She fluttered her lashes in the silly way only eleven-year-old girls could pull off, before noticing Rismyn. 

“Oh, good, you’re here, too!” She bounded forward and took Rismyn’s hand, tugging him along. “Come, come! You’ll like Ardyn, although you probably don’t care that he’s handsome…his friend Jezzra, though. She’s pretty!” 

“Sabraena!” 

The girl winced and sobered at once, releasing Rismyn and standing straighter as an elf Mazira didn’t recognize came around the corner. But though she’d never seen him before, it was easy to guess who he was. 

Beside her, Rismyn stiffened. A quick glance at his face showed an expression of disbelief mixed with frustration. 

“You can’t just run off like that,” the newcomer said, his arms folded across his chest. 

“I can too,” Sabraena shot back, her face flushing lavender. “I’m not a little kid anymore.” 

The older elf, who could only be Ardyn Xarrin, moved to his sister and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re still little to me,” he said gently, before glancing up. “I’m sorry if my sister caused you any disturbance–oh.” His amiable smile faltered when his eyes drifted from Mazira to Rismyn. “We seem to be destined to run into each other today.”

“So it seems,” Rismyn replied, without inflection. 

Mazira stared between the two of them, noting how Ardyn failed to hold Rismyn’s gaze and how Rismyn’s expression had become hard as stone. 

What had happened?

The silence stretched, taught and awkward, with Mazira trading confused looks with Sabraena. She wanted to greet the mysterious fourth member of the Xarrin family, but she hadn’t been introduced, and introducing herself before being invited was still something she struggled with. Rismyn knew that and usually jumped to her aid. 

But now he just shifted uncomfortably, making himself as unwelcoming as possible. 

It was Ardyn who broke first, turning to Mazira. “You must be the famed Mazira Zylvaris. I have heard your name praised a thousand times since I’ve been home.” 

“Oh,” Mazira said, surprised he’d known her as easily as she knew him. “I am. A pleasure to meet you.” She offered him a tentative smile, a smile which froze when he extended his hand to hers. 

She hadn’t thought this through. Introductions meant touching, and there was no way she could force herself to accept his hand when she couldn’t even stand near Rismyn. 

She took an involuntary step back, and Rismyn took a protective step forward. “We were just on our way out,” he said curtly. 

“Oh, of course,” Ardyn said, growing more flustered by the second. “Sabraena, let’s go find those friends of yours.” 

“We already did,” Sabraena said, gesturing to Mazira and Rismyn. “These are my friends. You’re coming home with us, aren’t you? For the mid-cycle meal? Mama said it’s okay.” 

Her eyes were wide and distraught, bouncing between the men. Their obvious tension seemed to upset her, and Mazira’s heart cracked. She glanced at Rismyn, no longer convinced she wanted to skip out on this lunch. She couldn’t bear to disappoint the young girl. 

Rismyn, on the other hand, had no such qualms. “We wouldn’t want to intrude,” he said, with far more kindness for Sabraena than he’d shown to Ardyn. He knelt so they were at eye level. “Your brother just got home, don’t you want to keep him to yourself for a bit?” 

“No,” the girl said, crossing her arms. “I want you to meet him.” 

Fortunately, Ardyn seemed to pick up the hint Sabraena was refusing to get. “We’ve already met, Sabraena,” he said, in the same gentle tone Rismyn had adopted. “And I’m not going anywhere, not for at least six tendays. We’ll have other meals.” 

That caught Rismyn’s attention. “Six tendays?” he asked, straightening. “So soon?” 

He almost sounded hopeful, which was a level of tactlessness Rismyn seldom sunk to. At least, when dealing with strangers.

Ardyn, however, seemed to take no offense, though once more he failed to look Rismyn in the eye, and not just because of their height difference. “That was the plan. I don’t know if things have…changed…but I did intend to make another circuit with the Fleet.”

“Oh,” was all Rismyn said, and for reasons Mazira couldn’t fathom, he relaxed completely. 

Sabraena sniffed, as though to remind them all she was still there. “Okay, fine. You don’t have to come this time. But you owe me. You better come tomorrow.” 

Rismyn grimaced. “I make no promises I don’t know I can keep,” he told her. “But we’ll try.” 

“Why don’t you and Mazira go on ahead?” Ardyn suggested, earning a sharp look from Rismyn. “I want to talk to Rismyn for a minute.” 

“Oh… okay,” Mazira said, glancing at Rismyn to make sure he was alright. 

Rismyn only shrugged and waved her on, so Mazira followed Sabraena around the corner. 

She’d only taken two steps down the next hall when Sabraena’s hand grasped hers, yanking her back. Startled, Mazira gasped and spun, whipping her hand away as the words of her shield song rose to her lips. But she found no danger. Instead, she found Sabraena, scurrying back to the wall and pressing herself just out of sight, but not sound, of the men who bid them to move on. 

Mortified, Mazira waved her hands frantically. ‘Sabraena, what are you doing?’ she signed in silence. 

Sabraena only grinned and put a finger to her lips, and before Mazira could drag the child away, she heard Ardyn’s voice, and his words froze her in place. 

“I heard about what happened in the test. I’m sorry.” 

Test? Which test? The one where he cracked his ribs? 

“It’s fine.” 

The edge had returned to Rismyn’s voice, indicating it was not, in fact, fine. 

“No, it’s not. He shouldn’t have done that, and he shouldn’t have acted that way. It’s not right, and I’m sorry.” 

This was it. This was what Mazira had been trying to learn, the dark shadow which had clung to Rismyn’s forced cheerfulness. Though she was acutely aware that eavesdropping was wrong, she couldn’t move now even if she wanted to. 

Rismyn spoke next, and slowly, as though weighing his words. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned living in Launa, it’s that you can’t take responsibility for other people’s actions and expect it to make everything okay. I appreciate your sentiments, but I can handle myself.” 

Ardyn let out a heavy breath. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just never expected–nevermind. I won’t make excuses for him.”

Who was this him they referred to? Was it the human who cracked his ribs? 

After another beat, Ardyn spoke again. “Well let me at least apologize for my transgressions,” he said. “About the orders–look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was being asked when Mother Lara requested it. She sprung it on me before the Lightening, came directly to our house just to ask me to do it. I didn’t feel like I was allowed to say no, but I didn’t realize I’d be taking someone’s place on the patrol until after my father got the orders to pass on to Anders. I definitely didn’t know it was your place.” 

Sabraena’s eyes popped wide and Mazira clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp. She thought of Rismyn’s sudden desire to leave when she brought up his commissioning, the references to having a bad cycle at the Cove, and her heart shattered. 

Oh, no. Poor Rismyn. He’d been looking forward to this for tendays. Why hadn’t he told her? 

When Rismyn next spoke, his voice was strained. “Do you know why?” 

“No,” Ardyn said, then added, tentatively, “I think my father does, though getting information out of him is…”

“Impossible,” Rismyn supplied, deflated. 

“I was going to say strenuous, but yes. He, well, he wasn’t very happy with Mother Lara. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him angry with her before. But he wouldn’t talk about it.”

Silence fell, and Mazira feared the men would come around the corner and catch them. She gestured for Sabraena to follow her, but the girl shook her head, and once more she was trapped. 

At length, Rismyn spoke. “Well, thanks,” he said, awkwardly. He sounded like he was trying to leave.

“I don’t want this,” Ardyn said, softly. “I’ve never wanted to serve in the Militia.” He gave a wry chuckle. “I’m…kind of infamous for it, actually. I don’t know why Mother Lara ordered you to stand down, but she better figure it out. I have every intention of returning to the surface with the Fleet after the Festival. It’s where I belong.” 

The way he emphasized that last sentence made Mazira think he’d said the line before, and often. She’d once heard a whisper or two among the Songblades of a rift between Torafein and his son, of harsh words and dire threats, but no one ever spoke of it outright. It was an old scandal, nine years come and gone now. It happened before Torafein left for his tour in Menzoberranzan, before he ever met Rismyn and marked him as different. 

“So,” Ardyn said, with an air of finality. “Friends?” 

There was a pause, but when Rismyn spoke, he sounded lighter than before. “Friends,” he agreed. “I’m sorry I was so cold. It’s been a hard cycle.” 

“I can only imagine,” Ardyn said, now closer to their hiding place. The drow were walking. “But have I changed your mind about coming for lunch? From the way Sabraena talks about you, I’ve been replaced as well.” 

Mazira didn’t hear Rismyn’s answer over the mad scramble of skirts and soft shoes as she and Sabraena bolted down the hall, rounding the next corner so fast they almost knocked into a pair of Songblades. 

“Sorry,” Mazira breathed, hoisting Sabraena up by the arm as the girl staggered and racing around them. The women didn’t even have time to protest their rambunctious behavior. 

Caught up in their guilt, the girls didn’t slow until they sped out the entryway and onto the colonnade, gasping for breath. 

Sabraena was grinning with triumph, whereas Mazira burned with guilt. 

Whatever had possessed her to let the child get away with such a crime? Ardyn had obviously wanted privacy and if Rismyn had wanted her to know about the orders, he would have told her. She was an awful person, completely unworthy of being trusted–

“Sabraena!” 

Oh no, it got worse. Tsaria stood before them, with an arched eyebrow and a disapproving frown. Three strangers stood just behind her, watching with interest. One of them matched the description of the man who’d broken Rismyn’s ribs. 

“Good heavens, child. What are you doing racing through the temple?” 

Sabraena painted on her most innocent look. “Thought we saw a rat.” 

It was quite possibly the worst lie she could have concocted. Tsaria glanced around, where about a dozen cats lounged within view. “Really,” the elven woman said.

Mazira’s expression crumpled. This was all her fault. She was the adult in this situation, or, rather, closer to being an adult than Sabraena. She shouldn’t have allowed the girl to linger, she should have made her go as they were told. 

She was just about to open her mouth and confess to everything when they were saved by the sudden appearance of Ardyn and Rismyn. Upon seeing her son, Tsaria seemed to forget the crimes of her daughter, and she never once turned her maternal glare on Mazira. 

“Ah, there you are,” she exclaimed, smiling warmly. “And Rismyn, too. I trust my children have made our invitation known? We have a house full of young people, and young people ought to mingle together.” 

“Yes, thank you, Mistress Tsaria,” Rismyn said, with a slight incline of his head. He spoke with the utmost politeness, but his eyes trailed beyond Tsaria to an elf with golden hair, and his jaw visibly tightened. 

He must be the one Rismyn had accused of hating drow. Mazira glanced at him and their eyes met, and she quickly looked away, focusing on Rismyn, who was still speaking.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the elf still studying her. 

“But Mazira and I have plans already,” Rismyn was saying. “It’s the anniversary of our–”

But before Rismyn could finish his statement, before Mazira’s heart could leap for joy that he actually had something special planned for their day, the golden elf suddenly burst forward.

“I’m sorry, but did you say Mazira?” 

Rismyn stared at him as though he’d been slapped. 

The golden elf stared at Mazira with his jaw dropped, looking at her far too much like the way men looked at Ti’yana when they first met her. 

Mazira stepped back, ready to dart away. “Y-yes?” 

His eyes were wide and luminous, his scrutiny burning. “As in, Mazira Zylvaris?” 

Mazira glanced around, but no one came to her aid. Everyone was just watching, a mixture of confusion and interest. Rismyn looked pained, his muscles tensed as though he wanted to rush to her, but the boundary lines drawn on her grey days were thick and high. 

“It’s…it’s not possible,” breathed the elf, drawing Mazira’s attention back. “You must be a ghost. I must be hallucinating. You can’t possibly really be here.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Rismyn growled, finally coming to her rescue, even if he didn’t move to her. “And you’re upsetting her.” 

The elf’s golden eyes flashed to Rismyn, and his look of wonder twisted. “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t understand.” He cut his gaze back to Mazira. “Mazira, don’t you recognize me?” 

Mazira blinked, drawing in on herself. She stared at the elf and was absolutely certain she had no idea who he was. But he looked so confident that she should, her conviction wavered. She searched her mind, racking for any memory of the young man standing before her, and came up empty. 

“I…I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know–”

“Yes, you do!” he insisted, cutting her off. His expression grew wilder. 

Ardyn moved forward then, raising a cautionary hand. “Vaylan, she doesn’t–”

But the rest of his words were lost on Mazira. As Ardyn spoke, recognition flickered in the elf’s expression. He raised his hands and attacked the knot of his hair. The loosened locks, in correlation with the name given, jarred something in Mazira’s memory. 

And suddenly, she wasn’t looking at a stranger. Nor was she seeing the elf before her or the temple grounds around her. She was looking at a phantom, an image of sunshine and summer flowers where children chased each other in a meadow. Seven of them, all around the same age, except for one. Their ringleader. A boy with tanned skin and golden eyes, hair the color of sunlight, a mere two years their senior but adult enough that they all looked up to him. 

“Oh my gods,” she breathed, staggering back. 

Vaylan was right. It wasn’t possible. But he couldn’t be right, because he was dead. Like every other member of the Rivertone Troubadours. All her friends, all her family, slaughtered by the drow in Toloruel’s raid. 

He couldn’t be here, but he was. 

The shock was too much for her. Her head spun, and her vision went black.

Disclaimer: Forsaken by Shadows is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.