Forsaken by Shadows 41: Reunion

~6. Reunion~

Mazira

Mazira woke to the sound of voices arguing somewhere above her head, feeling as though she was stuffed full of Solaurin’s cotton roving. 

“Please, give us some space. Vaylan, maybe you should step back, too.” 

That was Tsaria, but this must be a dream. Mazira hadn’t heard the name Vaylan spoken in eighteen years. 

“I’m not going anywhere. She’s my family.” 

The new speaker sounded familiar, his words and cadence tickling memories on the edge of her consciousness, but she couldn’t quite recall who he was. 

“Family? You’re the reason this happened, so back off.” 

And there was Rismyn, his growl much nearer to her than the others. It must be his strong arms cradled around her, supporting her head and shoulders as she… what? Lay on the ground? Why was she on the ground? And why was everyone speaking in Elvish? What had happened? 

“I didn’t do this,” snarled the familiar-yet-unfamiliar voice. 

“You expect me to believe that, after that stunt in the Pit?” 

“That’s not–it doesn’t–tua hauta doesn’t work like that.” 

“Gentlemen.” Tsaria’s calmly spoken word sliced through the argument, silencing both. “If you insist on having this discussion, I will insist you join my children, over there.” 

Rismyn said nothing, but his teeth clicked together as though he snapped his jaw shut. 

Something soft and warm touched her face. A hand, Mazira realized, her eyes fluttering open and skin pebbling at the fresh contact. Tsaria knelt before her, far too close, with another by her side. Now that she was fully aware of him, Rismyn’s arms around her shoulders were just as appalling. Mazira sucked in a sharp breath, trying to bolt up, but Rismyn’s hold was too strong. 

The concern in Tsaria’s hazel eyes morphed into relief when Mazira’s own gaze locked on her, and she drew her hand back. “Mazira, darling, stay calm. You fainted.” 

“I–what?” Mazira blinked, feeling anything but calm with so many people surrounding her on a grey day. Her eyes shifted from Tsaria to the stranger and she froze as memories came flooding back.

The stranger, who was not a stranger. The elf who insisted he knew her, and proved himself right in the end.

Mazira forgot all about her grey day. She forgot about the hands encircling her, the contact which made her shudder, and everything that had happened before she discovered Vaylan Rivertone was still alive. Tears welled in her eyes, and this time, when she wrenched herself upright, Rismyn didn’t hold her back. She flung herself into the waiting arms of her childhood friend. 

“Vaylan!” she sobbed, her throat hitching. “It’s really you. How is this possible? I thought you were dead.”

Vaylan was laughing, the same laugh she remembered from their childhood, only richer. Deeper. The voice of a man, not the child he’d been when she last saw him. “I could ask you the same thing. My gods, Mazira, what are you doing here?” 

Tsaria cleared her throat, and Mazira suddenly remembered they had an audience. She pulled back, her face flushing. She and Vaylan were still kneeling, but Tsaria and Rismyn had risen to their feet. And of course, at this time in the cycle, the temple was full of people. Songblades and citizens, Tsaria’s children and their friends, and all of Eilistraee’s cats. 

There were far too many eyes turned in their direction. 

Her blush spread from her cheeks to the tips of her fingers as she hastily got to her feet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make a scene.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for, dear,” Tsaria said. “But perhaps we ought to step back into the temple. I’m gathering from the context that this is a momentous occasion.” 

“Momentous?” Vaylan echoed. He was still staring at Mazira with wide-eyed astonishment as if she might vanish if he looked away. “Momentous doesn’t even begin to cover it.” 

As was her habit, Mazira glanced at Rismyn, eager to share the joy of the moment with her favorite person, and was taken aback by the darkness in his eyes. He had stepped back into the shadows, as stiff and rigid as the columns around them. 

Her smile faltered, and she looked away, feeling guilt for reasons she couldn’t explain. “Let’s go inside,” she said, trying to pretend Rismyn’s stone expression hadn’t bothered her. 

But before she could move, Rismyn spoke. “Are you sure that's a good idea?” His voice was soft but hard, like gravel sliding down a hill.

Mazira tensed. “What do you mean?”

He took a tentative step toward her, eyes glinting as the white light shone on them directly. “You just fainted. Perhaps I should take you home, have Solaurin look at you, just in case.” He cast a sideways glance at Vaylan and a muscle spasmed in his jaw.  

“Nonsense,” Mazira said, a little more cheerfully than she felt. She was embarrassed enough about her little black-out spell without Rismyn making a fuss over it. “I was only shocked. Rismyn, this is Vaylan. We were children together before… before.” She couldn’t finish the rest, but she needed Rismyn to understand what this meant to her. “I thought he was… gone… like the others.” 

The hardness in Rismyn’s face softened, but it was replaced by what looked like grief. He nodded, arms crossed, and said, “I’ll stay with you.” 

“That won’t be necessary,” Vaylan cut in, and the coldness in his tone caught Mazira off guard. “I’m not sure if you heard her properly, but we have a lot to discuss. Mistress Tsaria, I apologize, but I must beg your release from our established plans. This takes precedence.”

“Discuss what you want,” Rismyn hissed, before Tsaria could acknowledge what was said to her. “But I’m not leaving Mazira.”

“We have nothing to discuss that involves you.” 

Rismyn’s fingers twitched, as though he wanted to reach for a weapon or ball his hands into a fist. Whatever his intent, Mazira darted to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. Dread gnawed at the back of her skull with the contact, but her fear of escalating violence was stronger than her fear of touch. 

“Rismyn, it’s okay,” she said, in a low voice. Even with the lingering effects of her grey day returning, her heart fluttered, taking note of his scent and warmth despite the more important matters at hand. 

The tension in Rismyn ebbed, and he glanced at her hand, then met her gaze. Then he glanced at Vaylan, before taking her hand and pulling her further away. 

Vaylan’s face contorted with fury and he started to follow, but Tsaria reached out to stop him.

“I don’t trust him, Zira,” Rismyn muttered, with another wary look in Vaylan’s direction. “He’s the one I told you about, the one who has a problem with drow.” 

“Well, I can’t imagine why,” Mazira said dryly, thinking of their mutual misery. She regretted her words instantly when pain lanced across Rismyn’s expression.

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking his hands in her own, struggling to suppress the unease the proximity roused in her. But while she desired space, Rismyn required closeness. She could set aside her discomfort for a moment to offer consolation to him. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She rubbed her thumbs over the backs of his hands, attempting to soothe his distress away. “It’s not right for him to hold the sins of others against you. But he’s new here, he likely hasn’t learned it yet. I needed time to learn, too, remember?” 

“Then he’s dangerous and you shouldn’t be alone with him.” 

Mazira winced. He had a point. Being alone with new, untested Voices was considered unwise. Recovery could be violent. But he wasn’t a stranger unknown to her, he was Vaylan. And if he was already testing for the Militia, then that meant the Council and Mother Lara had approved of him. 

“We won’t be alone. I’ll take him into the chapel, where we can speak privately but in the open. I’ll be careful, Rismyn, I’ll be safe.” 

“I’ll wait with you.” 

“No!” Again, the hurt, when her word came sharper than she meant. Mazira took a breath, willing him to understand. “Rismyn, he’s the closest thing to family I have left.” 

Which was precisely the wrong thing to say. Rismyn went from distressed to distraught.  

“You know what I mean,” she said hurriedly, though she wasn’t sure she knew what she meant. “All these years I thought I was alone, the sole survivor of… of it, and all of a sudden, someone else appears. Someone else survived. What if there were others? What if my father—” 

She cut off, her eyes burning with unshed tears. It was a hope she’d never voiced aloud, not to anyone. In her wildest dreams, she used to fantasize that her father had escaped, that he wasn’t really dead. She’d never seen his body, after all. But she’d always told herself it was impossible. No one ever survived a drow raid unless they were meant to, like herself. 

Until Vaylan showed up, defying her knowledge of drow cruelty and giving wings to her secret hopes. 

“I need to talk with him, Rismyn. I have so many questions, so many things I need to understand. Please, I need to do this alone.” 

“Why alone?” His words were barely a whisper, the very definition of morose. “Why can’t I be there for you?”

Mazira didn’t have an answer for that, at least, not one he would accept. She couldn’t tell him she wanted this moment all to herself, to speak for the first time to someone who truly understood her because he’d actually lived through the same event. Someone who remembered her before the scars, before the servitude, before the pain. Someone who knew what her parents looked like. 

Rismyn wouldn’t understand, and it would only hurt him more. 

“Being here for me doesn’t mean having to be physically here for me,” she said finally, hoping it would be enough. 

Rismyn shut his eyes, squeezing her hands, before letting her go. “You’re right, I’m being selfish. I’m sorry. He just… Never mind. It doesn’t matter. But I will wait for you nearby. Maybe out here in the gardens? So I can walk you home.” 

After a full cycle of wallowing over how weak and helpless she was tired of being, the reminder of her need for an escort anytime she wanted to go somewhere struck just the wrong nerve. It had been a year. A full year. It was time to grow up. 

“I can walk home by myself.”

She’d meant to sound confident. She only managed catty. Rismyn’s eyes went wide, and it wasn’t fair what that look did to her heart. Why was she always doing this to him? Why was she always hurting him?   

“Rismyn,” Mazira started, intending to apologize for the thousandth time, but he cut her off. 

“No, no. I’m sorry.” He sighed and tilted his head back, staring up at the cavern ceiling. “Go talk to him. But be careful, and don’t forget your Cantata.” He glanced back at her and a shadow of his mischievous grin returned. 

A knot released in Mazira’s heart, even if the reminder of how she’d nearly struck him with her magic made her blush. Yet if he was willing to jest with her, he couldn’t be all that hurt. 

Right?

“Thank you for understanding,” she said, her lips twitching in a smile. “I promise it’ll be okay.” 

“I can’t wait to hear about it when you get home,” he said, though there was something forced in his cheerfulness. He placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the others. The touch sent shivers down her spine. The good kind, for once, and she almost changed her mind about wanting him to go. 

But Vaylan also sent tingles through her blood. Her heart leapt every time her gaze landed on him, still unable to believe he was actually alive. Even as he glowered at Rismyn–or rather, the point where Rismyn’s hand disappeared behind her back–she swelled with delight. 

“Let’s go inside,” she said to him, gesturing for the temple door. 

Vaylan gave Rismyn one last hard look, which the latter returned with a flat stare of his own, before striding to the door with Mazira at his side. 

As they neared the threshold, Tsaria offered Rismyn one more invitation for the mid-cycle meal, which he declined, saying that he wanted to spend the time at home, since it was the anniversary of the novelty of having a home. 

The words made Mazira stop short. She’d completely forgotten in the shock of Vaylan materializing from her memories. The anniversary, her secret hope that Rismyn had planned something for them, his tentative words right before Sabraena interrupted them. 

Mazira spun, torn between her desire to celebrate special moments with the elf she loved and her desire to reunite with a childhood long gone, but Rismyn was already at the bottom of the stairs, and Ardyn had drawn near, speaking to him in a low voice. 

She considered running to him, to promise him she’d make this up to him later in the cycle, to salvage what she could of her hopes, but Vaylan’s hand came down on her shoulder.

“Is something wrong?”

The touch of his hand didn’t exactly make her shudder, but it wasn’t pleasant, either. Mazira gently pulled away and turned back into the temple. “No, sorry. I just forgot something, but I’ll tell him later.”

She tried to smile, though she couldn’t help but feel like she’d missed something incredibly important. Which was ridiculous. She lived with Rismyn, saw him every cycle. If something needed to be said between them, she could just cross the hall and knock on his door. 

Vaylan’s gaze trailed after Rismyn, before following her into the vestibule. “What is he to you?” he asked, his voice tight. 

Mazira blinked, surprised at his hostility. Then again, Rismyn had already encountered him. Dueled him at least twice if what she remembered about his descriptions of the tests was accurate. He’d reported Vaylan had problems with dark elves and really, who could blame him? After what Toloruel had done… 

Mazira shook the thought away. It was hard not to relive those painful memories, with Vaylan striding so near to. 

“Rismyn? He’s…” she began, but got no further. 

How could she define what Rismyn was to her? Her dearest, most favorite person, more than a friend, less than a lover. The one who reminded her how to smile, who held back the darkness just enough to keep her from shattering completely. He was everything to her, in a way that was sometimes frightening. 

“He’s a friend,” she concluded, though the word felt entirely inadequate. 

“He needs to learn how to take a hint,” Vaylan grumbled, as they stepped into the chapel. 

Mazira winced at his tone, but said nothing. If Vaylan only knew what they’d been through, if he understood what it had cost Rismyn to save her, he’d understand why Rismyn was so protective. It was just another of the traits Mazira adored about him. But something told her now wasn’t the time to mention it. 

Though the temple gardens were full of parishioners, the chapel itself was relatively quiet. As always, a Songblade strummed the harp at the feet of Eilistraee’s idol, and here and there people sat in quiet contemplation, or knelt in prayer. A few Songblades drifted about, but otherwise, all was as Mazira hoped.

She led Vaylan to a bench near the back and motioned for him to sit. “He was only being cautious,” she said, as she took her own seat. 

Vaylan hesitated, glancing around. “Isn’t there somewhere more… private we can go?”

Well yes. There were plenty of private rooms to go to. The temple was massive and served as a community center as much as a house of worship. But she’d promised Rismyn to stay in the open, and though nothing about Vaylan made her afraid to be behind closed doors with him, she intended to keep her word. “We won’t be disturbed here.” 

True to Rismyn’s claim, Vaylan’s eyes slid right over the surface-folk and lingered on the Songblades, all of whom were drow, before he finally sat beside her, tense and on edge. 

“I don’t get it,” he said, his eyes roving in every direction. “How can you be so calm, with so many of… them walking around?” 

Strange, how his question stung her heart. A year ago, she wondered the same thing. Now she looked around and saw only sisters, priestesses who taught her magic songs and how to be strong. 

“It hasn’t always been easy,” she admitted. “But the dark elves here, they’re not like the ones who…” she trailed off, and the look Vaylan gave her made her wish she’d brought him to a private room, after all. 

His eyes were full of understanding. True knowing. Deep compassion. He reached out a hand to take hers, and though everything in Mazira rebelled against the action, she let him. 

“I can’t believe we found each other,” he whispered. His hands, like Rismyn’s, were rough and calloused. At least, what little of them she could feel, wrapped in linens as his were. “It’s a miracle. Of all the holes to crawl into, I happened to land in yours. But gods, Mazira, what are you doing here? How’d you get here?” 

Mazira struggled to breathe. Between her touch aversion and the overwhelming realization of his tangible presence, she was reeling. When she could stand it no longer, she pulled her hand back and settled it on her lap, twisting her skirts. 

“It’s as you said, a miracle.” She looked up into the stone face of the goddess whose temple they sojourned in. “Though, I suppose providence is the more correct term. They say it was Eilistraee who brought me here, and I believe it.” 

Vaylan’s eyes narrowed. “Eilistraee? Isn’t she… their god?” 

“In a way, yes,” Mazira conceded. “But her attention is on all those who suffer under the Spider Queen. Slaves and citizens alike. She’s the goddess of freedom, and her purpose is to set captives free, like me.” 

“Captives?” The color drained from his sun-kissed face. “Wait, you mean… you? Captive? Here? All these years?” 

“Well yes, of course.” His shock surprised her. Why else would she be underground? How else would she have survived? “I… I was taken, by the leader of… He took me as his own plunder. If it weren’t for Rismyn, I’d still be his slave, if not dead. We escaped over a year ago, and actually, it’s been a year to the day since we arrived here.” 

Vaylan’s hands tightened into fists, his eyes blazing. “A slave…” he repeated, through clenched teeth. “If I had known, Mazira, I’m so sorry. I would have come for you.” 

He said it with such earnestness that Mazira felt her cheeks grow hot once again. “It’s not your fault,” she assured him. “And it’s over. I’m free now. Rismyn–”

“Always Rismyn,” Vaylan said, glaring through the wall as if he could see through the stone. 

Mazira didn’t know what to say. She was tempted to ask what happened between them at the Cove to make them dislike each other so much, but she decided to ask Rismyn later. “But, what about you?” she asked, hoping to change the subject. “How did you survive? Did anyone else survive?” 

At this, Vaylan’s shoulders slumped. “Not as far as I know,” he said, then suddenly stiffened. “Wait, I found everyone but you, and your mother! Did she–”

Mazira didn’t have to say anything. Her somber expression cut off his words. 

“Oh.” 

“I… saw it happen,” Mazira said. “He followed us into the forest, and killed her and then… and then he took me because he didn’t get to kill anyone else. So I had to make up for it.” 

Vaylan reached for her hand again, but Mazira turned away. 

“You said… you said you saw every one?” she managed, though her words shook. “Does that mean, you saw… did my father…” 

She wasn’t looking at him, but his silence was enough. The last of her wildest hopes trickled into dust, and it was like losing him all over again, except different, because this time, she was allowed to feel the loss. 

She really was alone. 

But, no, she wasn’t. Vaylan was here. He was part of her past. He remembered the Rivertones, was the Rivertones. It was his father who banded the troupe together, his name which had been painted on the banners of their shows. 

“I’m sorry, Mazira,” Vaylan said, so soft she almost missed it. 

Taking a breath, Mazira turned to face him. She willed her hand to reach for his, swallowing bile when his fingers laced in hers. “I’m sorry, too,” she choked out. 

And then, despite Rismyn’s worries, she tugged Vaylan to his feet, led him out of the chapel and into the first empty room she found, and shut the door behind them. The moment the darkness engulfed them, she slid to the floor and wept. 

It wasn’t long before Vaylan wept with her.

—

“My mother fell on me,” Vaylan said, some unknowable time later. “When she died. I think she did it on purpose.” 

Mazira sat huddled against the back of a sofa. The room she had chosen was arrayed for receiving guests, comfortable and quaint. A silver serving tray rested on the small table and she’d illuminated it with a hummed melody, unable to bring herself to sing the cantrip’s words. 

Vaylan had been properly amazed by her sudden talent for the Weave, which raised her spirits slightly. He lounged back against a second settee, a proper distance away. He’d tried to put his arms around her when they cried, but it was too much for her grey day to handle. She had pushed him away and, thankfully, he didn’t seem offended. 

Mazira already told him her story, or at least, the bare bones of it. The leader of the raid had taken her captive, she’d met Rismyn and befriended him, and then he’d helped her escape. Just like that, her whole life summed up in three sentences. Vaylan had asked for no clarifying details, no episodes of her misery, and she offered none on her own. 

Now she listened as he told his story. 

“She was run through.” His eyes were distant, far away. “But she staggered toward me and crushed me to the ground. I was so scared, I didn’t move. I think I fainted. I guess they must have thought I was dead, because when I woke, everything was quiet.” 

Now was the part where Mazira was supposed to offer him comfort, but she couldn’t do it. She was hurting too much herself, so she just listened. 

“I was sure it was a trick, and that the moment I started to move they’d come out of hiding and finish me off. I lay there the whole day, feeling my mother’s body turn to ice, watching the flies and carrion gather.” He fell silent, lifting a hand to his face and biting down on his knuckle. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Mazira offered. “If it’s too much…” 

“No,” he said. “No, you should know what happened.” He fidgeted with the loose locks hanging around his face. Much like Mazira did, when she was nervous. “I lay there the whole day, dreading what night would bring, but near sundown, travelers came by. A merchant caravan. They found the carnage and were good enough to stop. They… they gave everyone a proper burial.” 

It was amazing how such a small detail, the kindness of strangers nearly two decades past, could mean so much to Mazira. She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful the nightmares of her family rotting under the sun were false. 

Hopefully, someone found her mother, too.  

“Needless to say, they discovered me right away. As soon as they moved my mother’s body I started screaming. One of the merchants had his daughter with him, and she calmed me down and brought me into their wagon while the men worked on the graves. I think I was in shock. I didn’t say a word the whole time I was with them, and they had to force me to eat.” 

Mazira remained silent, knowing all too well the shock he spoke of. It had plagued her early days in Menzoberranzan, and by the time she moved past it, there was no time to grieve. 

“I just felt so guilty. Like it was all my fault. Like I should have grabbed a weapon and fought with my Pa.” 

“You were just a boy.” 

“I was old enough to know I was a coward,” Vaylan snapped. “I laid there and hid while everyone was slaughtered. Why didn’t I die, too? Why was I alone spared?” 

His words could have come directly from Mazira’s own heart. She’d asked herself the same thing hundreds of times, and even after a year of deep conversations with Solaurin and the women of Eilistraee’s clergy, she’d come no closer to the answer. Everyone had their theories, of course, but all of them felt like bandages on fatal wounds. 

Solaurin’s answer was the one she liked best, the one she repeated now. “No one knows the will and ways of the gods. Fate is an indiscernible cipher. We can’t get caught up in the ‘why’, but need to focus on the ‘what now’.” 

Vaylan cracked a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his haunted eyes. “Well look at you. When did you get to be so wise, Little Zizzy?” 

Mazira couldn’t help herself, she choked out a laugh. “Oh my gods, I haven’t heard that name in so long.” 

“You used to throw rocks at me when I called you that.” 

“Only once.” 

“Yeah, because you got me and I learned to wait until there were no rocks around to tease you. Those stitches hurt.”

They both laughed this time, and it was real, genuine delight. 

“Mama wouldn’t let me out of the wagon for a whole tenday,” Mazira said, when she caught her breath.

“I remember,” Vaylan said. “And when she did let you out, I hid in mine.” 

Mazira grinned. She’d had fight in her, once. Spirit and rebellion. 

And, maybe it had never left her. Maybe that’s why she managed to stay sane when Toloruel tried to break her, how she managed to keep herself together in a den of misery. She’d always been rebelling, in her own quiet way. 

At length, Vaylan sighed. “What now,” he repeated, drumming his fingers on the settee. “I guess that’s why I’m here. I’m living out my ‘what now.’” 

“What do you mean?” 

He held up his wrapped hands. “I’ve been training in a monastery,” he explained, as if that answered her question. “Miriam–the merchant’s daughter who took me in–would have cared for me the rest of her life, if I’d wanted. But the caravan visited a monastery not long after rescuing me, and I saw the monks training.” 

His eyes shone as he recounted the memory. “They were incredible. So much power, just in their bare hands. I wanted to learn to be like that, to never be a coward again. To never lose anyone again. So I stayed, and they took me in.” 

Mazira thought of the Cantata of Guiding Bolt in her stack of sheet music and understood his sentiment completely.

“I’ve been training this whole time to do something about what happened. And then, six months ago, we met your Fleet, and I realized this was my opportunity. I came here to save people from drow. I just didn’t realize how many drow would be here.” 

Mazira blinked, not sure at first if he was being serious. Of course, she’d never met the members of the Fleet before, save for Ardyn just now, but it was her understanding that the majority of the members were drow. Dark elves on mission for Eilistraee, endeavoring to spread the word that there were dark elves in the world who didn’t ascribe to Lolth’s wicked ways. 

Vaylan must have read her confusion, for he said, “I mean, there were drow on the ships. But it was different up there. We were in port most of the time, and they seemed so few and far between. But here, underground, in their territory…” he shuddered. 

“Vaylan, you know the dark elves here are good, right?” 

“Yes, yes, I’ve been told,” he said, waving a flippant hand. “And I like Ardyn, despite half his heritage.” 

If this was how he’d behaved at the Cove, she understood why Rismyn had been so against him. She took a breath, wondering what, if anything, she should say. Maybe she ought introduce him to Ti’yana. No one could hate Ti’yana, even without her ethereal charm.

“Wait a minute,” Vaylan said suddenly, sitting up straight. “You were taken captive by the raid leader.” 

“Yes…”

“So then you know.” 

Mazira frowned. “Know…what…?”

“You know who’s responsible for the murder of our family!” He was on his knees, staring down at her with an eagerness that made her flinch. 

“It’s not something I’m excited about,” she said, cautiously. 

“Corellon has blessed my purpose,” Vaylan exclaimed. “Mazira, I didn’t just come here to save others. I came here to get vengeance for our people. I thought it would take my whole life, but here you are. You can take me right to the bastards responsible!” 

Mazira was staring now, her mouth agape. “You want me to lead you to House Tear?” she repeated, trying to wrap her head around what he was asking. 

The effect of this statement was not what she expected. Vaylan’s growing elation morphed into vile hate. “Tear?” he repeated. “As in, Rismyn Tear?”

His outburst didn’t make sense. “Well, kind of. I told you, I met him when we were children. Where did you think I met him?” 

“I don’t know,” Vaylan said, and his wrath was becoming frightening. “I don’t know how drow slavery works. You didn’t tell me he was part of the family that killed our family!”

Too late, Mazira realized the implications of her words. She jumped to her feet, at the same moment Vaylan did. He made for the door but she beat him to it, breaking out in a cold sweat as her hands spread across his chest, halting him in place. 

“Vaylan, wait, let me explain!” 

“You said he rescued you. Your abuser can’t also be your savior!” 

“He didn’t abuse me,” she cried, desperate. Well, at least not on purpose, the way his siblings had. His cruelties were accidents because he didn’t know better, and he’d apologized and made up for every one of them. “Vaylan, we were the same age. He was treated just as poorly as me. We were friends, in secret, bonded by our mutual misery. Rismyn has never harmed me”–well, except for that one time, but he regretted it and she forgave him–“he has only been good to me.” 

Vaylan glared down at her, fuming, and Mazira took his silence as evidence he was listening. 

“He got the scar on his face from his brother, Toloruel, the one who led the raid. He got it because he came between Toloruel and me, to save me from him. He’s good, Vaylan. He’s so good. He had nothing to do with the raid, and he has renounced everything from his old life.” 

“Are you sure about that? He seemed rather proud of it earlier.”

Mazira’s shoulders sagged, and something in her expression must have pricked his anger, for his eyes widened and he took a step back. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he truly sounded repentant. “It’s just… my whole life, I’ve been hunting their murderers. And now I know the name and someone with the name… I overreacted. I’m sorry. If you say he’s good, I believe you.” 

Mazira breathed a heavy sigh of relief, slumping back against the door. “It’s alright,” she said. “I understand. It took me a while, too, to adjust.” 

She thought of Ti’yana again, and how the girl had helped her overcome her fear of others, and of Solaurin, with his kind hospitality and wisdom, teaching her to run a business and empowering her to stay free all the days of her life. 

“Why don’t you come over,” she said, hoping to change the subject. “Have supper with my family–that is, my adopted family–and get to know them. Maybe not today, I think Solaurin has planned something special for the cycle, since it’s the anniversary and all, but perhaps tomorrow? I can ask.” 

Vaylan’s expression was carefully neutral. “Your… family…” he said slowly. “They’re all… drow?” 

Mazira held her breath and nodded. 

Vaylan regarded her for a long moment, before suddenly breaking into a smile. “I’d like that. It’s weird to think about… drow and family in a sentence together, but this is a weird place, I’m told. I need to set aside my assumptions and experience it.” 

Mazira released her breath, relaxing. Yes, he could learn, in time, though she chose not to mention that Rismyn was one of the members of this adopted family he’d be dining with. Let him find that out after he set aside his assumptions and was open to new experiences. 

“Wonderful,” she said, fumbling for the doorknob. It was about time to leave this secluded room behind. As a new Voice, Vaylan should be watched at all times, but she wasn’t sure they’d applied all the rules to these new surface Voices. She’d ask Solaurin about it later. After Vaylan’s outburst over Rismyn’s identity, she wasn’t sure he should be exempt, much as it pained her to admit it. 

“But actually,” she continued, trying to keep her tone light, “drow have strong family ties, even the spider-serving ones.” 

She had hoped to change the subject, not flaunt her knowledge, and it seemed to work. Vaylan followed her without question into the hall. 

“Oh, really?” he asked, with genuine interest. “Tell me all about it.”

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.