Forsaken by Shadows 55: Friend in Weird Places

~20. Friends in Weird Places~

Rismyn

Since the arrival of Bregan D’Aerthe, Rismyn had stopped going home for the mid-cycle meal, instead choosing to spend the hour between Blue Light Rounds and his White Light responsibilities on the riverwalk. Belnir had said their presence there would make a difference in how well the outsiders behaved, and Rismyn took that mission seriously. 

Which was the only reason behind his newfound penchant for eating out with the Risers, now that they had rotated off Market patrol. Certainly not because of a particular sun elf who had begun to frequent Solaurin’s home during the same hour, hanging onto Mazira’s every word and having an infuriating habit of making her laugh. 

No, that had nothing to do with it. He wasn’t that petty. He was just going to the docks to make sure Dreder didn’t do, well, Dreder things. Though in the four cycles that had elapsed since that fateful run in, he had yet to see his old acquaintance again. 

Yet as fate would have it, he had no choice but to go home on this particular cycle. It was either that show up at the docks with half his right sleeve torn off. He’d been sparring with Ardyn, who seemed to be losing all grasp of the concept of restraint as the cycles ticked away. Had their singing swords not been magically blunted, Rismyn might have lost more than just his sleeve.

But Rismyn didn’t hold the damage against Ardyn. Like the other Risers, he considered it a cruel test of patience to deny a son every opportunity to contribute in meaningful ways to the search for his father. A sentiment he couldn’t have fathomed a year ago, when the word family had been the equivalent of a curse.

But if Mazira were out there, or Ti’yana, or even Solaurin, Rismyn wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t have torn down Launa’s walls stone by stone. Ardyn had already been caught twice trying to sneak out of the wall, and each time he was sent home he became surlier and surlier. If venting his anger in a friendly spar meant sparing someone else the wrath, Rismyn supposed he could sacrifice a shirt.

And the full range of motion of his right shoulder. Mercy, but that gloam-drow didn’t hold back. 

Rismyn massaged his muscles, debating on whether or not to beg a healing song off Mazira. Not that she would make him beg. She sang for him as freely now as she had when they were children—no, more freely. Back then, she had no choice.

No, he wouldn’t ask her to sing for his own comfort. Never again. His shoulder wasn’t broken. He didn’t need magical healing, it would get better on its own in a few cycles. If Mazira noticed and offered, that would be a different story. 

His muscles throbbed again, and Rismyn grimaced, determined not to waver in his conviction. A little pain was good for him. He couldn’t get used to instant relief. At least, that’s what he told himself as he approached the front door of the weaver’s house. 

Grasping the latch, Rismyn made to shove inward, but found the solid zurkhwood door unwilling to relent, resulting in his good shoulder thudding into the barrier. 

Locked. 

At this hour? 

Rismyn glanced up, confirming the light was indeed pure white. Someone should have been home by now. He couldn’t recall anything special planned for this particular cycle.

Except Mazira’s first attempt at a sword dancing class. Of course! How could he have forgotten that? He’d been the one to encourage her to go. 

Okay, that accounted for Mazira. And Ti’yana would be with her, as well. That nuisance of a sun elf would probably be skulking around the temple courtyard waiting for Mazira to emerge, a thought which sent tremors of acidic jealousy through Rismyn’s core. 

Not that there was anything he could do about it. The alternative was waiting with Vaylan, and that was far less appealing. 

Still, there should have at least been apprentices inside, even if Solaurin had stepped away. The priest had been spending more and more hours out of the house during these dark times, as the whispers were calling it, returning home haggard and worn. Yet though his burdens carried him back and forth to the temple and the docks, Solaurin wouldn’t allow the production of his business to slip. He was hardly likely to dismiss his workers early. 

Well, regardless of where everyone was, Rismyn still faced a locked door, which wasn’t going to grow anymore yielding just by staring at it. He reached into his belt pouch, fishing for the key, then froze. 

Something more was wrong here. He couldn’t say why, whether it was a sound his subconscious had registered or a shifting in the air, but danger prickled like static over his skin, some deep ingrained instinct warning that he was no longer alone. Grabbing his dagger instead of the key, he whirled around to face the unknown threat.

Nothing. 

Scowling, Rismyn took a few steps into the courtyard, scanning the street for any sign of life, and sighing when there was none. 

Great. Now he was losing his mind. 

Sheathing his blade, he spun back to the door and uttered a particularly colorful oath. 

Dreder sat on the stoop of the house, not three feet behind where Rismyn stood, resting a cheek against his good fist and looking bored out of his mind. “My gods you’re jumpy,” he said. “Isn’t this city supposed to be safe?”

Rismyn’s hand darted to the hilt of his dagger, though he didn’t draw it yet. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, struggling to keep his voice down and avoid the notice of the neighbors. 

The corner of Dreder’s mouth quirked upward, which drew attention to a scabbed over cut splitting the middle of his lower lip. “What, I can’t come visit an old friend?” 

“Literally no, you cannot,” Rismyn said. “What part of Bregan D’Aerthe is forbidden from venturing past Dock Road do you not understand?” 

Dreder gave a scornful laugh, leaning back on his hand and hook. “What, rules? You must be joking.” 

Clenching his jaw, Rismyn forced his fingers away from his dagger and crossed his arms. He briefly had an image of Solaurin standing in a similar way, preparing to lecture him on some wrongdoing or another, but he dismissed it. He wasn’t turning into Solaurin and he wasn’t going to waste his breath lecturing Dreder.

But he was somewhat representative of the law. Even if only unofficially. 

 “Do any of your other friends take similar liberties with the rules?”  he asked. 

“They’re not my friends.” Dreder shrugged. “And I wouldn’t know. Been out in the Wilds for the last few days kicking up stones. Just rotated off this morning and thought I’d go for a walk. Do you know, people will just tell you anything in this city. I asked where to find you and got directions straight here. Must not have recognized me for what I am without the armor.” 

It was only then that Rismyn looked at him. Really looked at him. Dreder was indeed dressed in casual clothes, a smoke-colored silk shirt under a black brocade vest, terminology he had collected as a consequence of living with Solaurin and Ti’yana. Aside from a single blade hanging off his belt, he didn’t appear to be armed or armored whatsoever. 

The sight was unsettling, almost relaxed, and didn’t fit the picture Rismyn had of his old rival. Neither did the remains of a blackened eye that marred his face, the broken blood beneath his skin faded to a sickly yellowish tinge on his otherwise obsidian complexion. Violence suited Dreder, but he was usually the one doling it out, not receiving it. 

His appearance, combined with the information he had just divulged, knocked Rismyn off kilter. While some part of him still wanted to fume, still wanted to be irate that someone had willingly surrendered his home location to a drow Rismyn had just threatened to murder a few cycles ago, he couldn’t help his curiosity.

Dreder had been in the Wilds. He’d been working the job every Militia member and beyond was dying to volunteer for. Ardyn wasn’t the only one who was twitching to do something about Torafein and Crysla.

Temporarily setting his hate aside, Rismyn asked a cautious, “Did you find anything out there?”

“Not a damn thing,” Dreder said, kicking out his feet and crossing his ankles. “Your mystery murderers remain mysterious. Ah well. More gold for us the longer we stay.”

Disappointment swelled inside of Rismyn, bleeding into irritation. And suspicion. More gold if they stayed? Who was to say the mercs wouldn’t milk their sorrow for all they were worth? 

“Nothing?” Rismyn said, accusation scalding his tongue. “Then what happened to your face? Trip over one of those stones you were kicking up?” 

“What, this?” Dreder gestured to his split lip with his hook. “Yeah, right. This was my reward for harassing the locals.” His tone took on a bitter cast. “You know, from when I came over to say hi at the tavern. Didn’t you get anything for it?” 

Whatever answer Rismyn had been expecting, it hadn’t been that. He blinked, somewhat taken aback, and studied Dreder’s injuries again. They were faded, not fresh. Quite possibly four cycles old. But were they really because of him? He considered his memory of the encounter, of Solaurin and Kalos intervening. What was it Kalos had said? 

I’ll take care of mine if you take care of yours. 

Icy fingers clawed their way down Rismyn’s spine. Had he been away from Menzoberranzan so long that he’d forgotten how discipline was dealt out? Drow only spoke one language, the voice of betrayal and pain. 

Quite suddenly, without his permission, his perception of Dreder shifted. He no longer looked at the mercenary with contempt and irritation, but pity. A perspective which made his stomach churn. He didn’t want to feel anything for Dreder, let alone something resembling the ghost of compassion. 

“I got a lecture,” he finally said, if he could even call his discussion with Solaurin a lecture. The actual lecture part had only consisted of a few sentences, mostly uttered by himself. “About holding my temper.” 

Dreder blinked, cocking his head to the side. “A lecture…” 

“Yeah.” 

“Like, with words?” 

“Yeah.” 

Dreder was silent for a moment, before bursting out with laughter, sitting up and hunching over. “Seriously? Wow. They said you were a bunch of soft tender bats out here, but I didn’t realize how bad it was. Did you sing songs about your feelings afterwards, too?” 

So much for compassion. Rismyn’s temper seared and his fingers twitched to make a fist, but once more an image of Solaurin’s disappointed expression flashed through his mind, and instead of giving Dreder a second black eye, he put his hands to his hips and waited until his laughter died away. 

“It would be a mistake to confuse restraint with weakness,” Rismyn said, when Dreder finally regained control of his mirth. 

“Yeah, sure,” Dreder said, wiping away a tear from his eye. “That’s why your fancy queen matron is paying us to chase your ghosts for you.” 

“Reverend Mother,” Rismyn corrected through his teeth. “Get out of here, Dreder. Go back to your friends, and I won’t report you to Command.” 

Dreder’s eyes narrowed. “I told you, they’re not my friends,” he said. “And what do I care if you report me? The worst I’ll get is a lecture, right?” 

Rismyn’s energy for this conversation was rapidly draining away. He withheld a dramatic—and Solaurin-esque—sigh, his eyes rolling toward the cavern ceiling. “What do you want, anyway?”

“I told you, I’m visiting an old friend.” 

Rismyn was just about to retort, when Dreder’s words struck him. He had twice now denied the mercenaries he’d arrived with as friends. Yet, twice now, and even at the tavern, he had called Rismyn a friend. Rismyn had assumed he used the term mockingly, but what if he hadn’t? What if ‘friend’ actually meant something to Dreder? 

If that were true, his perception of the word was definitely skewed. 

“I’m not your friend,” Rismyn said. “You hate me, remember?” 

“Hate you?” Dreder repeated. “I don’t hate you. I did briefly, after, ya know—” he waved his hook emphatically—“but I got over it. Actually, it turned out for the better. I’m living like a king compared to my life in House Ti’glath.” 

The worst part was, Rismyn actually believed him, black eye, split lip and all. Not about liking him, Rismyn didn’t think Dreder had the capacity to like anyone, but about his life among the mercenaries being better than living at home. Kalos had promised Rismyn freedom and gold, and really, what else could a drow want, when they had no idea life could be so much better than that?

Dreder was a portrait of what Rismyn could have been, and he didn’t like what he saw. 

“You tried to kill me,” Rismyn reminded him.

“Pfft. So?” Dreder laughed again. “Aw, c’mon, Riz. You’re always so sensitive about everything. No wonder you turned out to be a deviant.” 

Rismyn just stared at him, expression flat, and to his immense surprise, Dreder actually looked away first. 

“You really ought to let it go,” he said. “It’s not like it was personal.” 

“You taunted me every day of our life in the Pyramid. You tormented Mazira just to provoke me. You nearly got her killed by Gylas, and you announced to the class that I was a deviant, effectively slaughtering my reputation if I had tried to stay.”

“Yeah. And?” 

Rismyn tossed up his hands. “How is that not personal?” 

“Simple,” Dreder said. “It was strategy.” 

“What?” 

“Think about it.” Dreder leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “I was top of the class. You were, what, eighth place?” 

“Sixth,” Rismyn corrected. There was no way Dreder had forgotten. Rismyn had stood right behind him in formation for over a year. 

“Right, sure. But that was just in class. Outside of class, in the rest of the world, you were the highest ranked student in our year. The second son of the fifth house. And your brother was already a legend.” 

Oh, no. He was starting to make sense. 

“It would have been stupid of me not to ruin you while I had the chance, before you had time to come into your own abilities. Cripple your Matron Mother. Set back her plans for you and her house, make her look weak so perhaps another house would seize the opportunity to destroy House Tear and we in Ti’glath could move higher without actually raising a blade. So no, it wasn’t personal. Just an accident of your birthright.” 

Rismyn said nothing, unwilling to admit that, in his old way of life, Dreder wasn’t wrong. Rismyn had been so caught up in just making it into the top five students, he hadn’t once considered life outside of Melee-Magthere. Meanwhile, Dreder had calculated his way into the first seat and set his ambitions on life beyond the Academy. The logic was twisted and wicked, but before he’d known any better, he would have applauded it. Apparently, in addition to being irritating and obnoxious, Dreder was also incredibly smart and deviously cunning. 

“I wish you could have seen your face when I called you a deviant,” Dreder sneered. “I won’t lie, I didn’t think you were going to lean into it so hard. Admittedly, chasing you out the window wasn’t necessary, but what can I say? Bloodlust got the better of me.” 

Rismyn released a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. The hand attached to the arm which had lost its sleeve. He’d forgotten all about it in the shock of seeing Dreder, and realizing how ridiculous he appeared in front of his old enemy made him flush. He whipped his hand back and turned a little, so he wasn’t facing Dreder straight on, not that it would matter by now.

“You still can’t be here,” Rismyn said. His feelings were growing complex, and he was too tired to want to sort through them. “Not without permission. Can I trust you not to burn the street down if I run inside to change? Then I’ll escort you back to the river.”

“Mmm. Pass.” Dreder leaned back again, his head lolling. “See, I didn’t tell the whole truth. I’m not only here for you. You just showed up first. I’m actually here to see that sweet, beautiful broad you live with.” 

At first, Rismyn thought Dreder referred to Mazira, and every word of Solaurin’s request to keep his temper flew right out of his head. But just before he could lunge forward and throttle the mercenary, he caught sight of the dreamy look that had clouded Dreder’s usually mocking expression. 

A look he knew too well. 

“Ti’yana?” Rismyn asked, incredulous. 

“Is that her name? Gods, she’s gorgeous. You know it’s really not fair, you getting all the pretty ladies. What is it, the height? The tragic story?”

“The hands?” Rismyn asked, raising both of his intact appendages with an arched eyebrow. 

“Ouch. Low blow!” But Dreder grinned. Mercy, he really did have a skewed perspective on friendship. “Anyway, yes. Her. I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m going to reintroduce myself.” 

Rismyn just gaped at him, his brain needing a moment to reset before he engaged in this idiotic turn of events. He flipped through about a dozen responses before finally settling on, “You’re wasting your time. There is no right foot with Ti’yana.” Not for him, anyway. “And besides, you’re not thinking clearly. She’s bewitched you.” 

“Yeah she has,” Dreder said, and Rismyn could swear he was drooling. 

“No, really, she’s literally bewitched you,” he said. “It’s in her blood. An enchantment that charms you. Trust me, it’ll wear off in a few cycles.” 

Dreder’s expression darkened. “What, and then she won’t be pretty anymore?” 

“No, she will be—” Rismyn cut off with a violent shake of his head. “Look, she is pretty, but this feeling you’re feeling isn’t real, it’ll fade. Please don’t make a fool of yourself. You’ll regret it.”

Rismyn would personally make sure he did, since Dreder didn’t possess an ounce of shame, charmed or not. 

As if to prove Rismyn right, Dreder’s smile turned coy. “Oooh, speaking from experience? What’d you do, Riz? And how was it?” 

The longer this conversation went on, the filthier Rismyn felt. He shuddered, trying not to think too deeply about the implications in Dreder’s words. “What? No. I didn’t do anything, I’m—” But he snapped his mouth shut. 

He’d almost said, I’m in love with Mazira, but that would have been a disastrous confession to make to Dreder, even if Dreder had been one of the first to call him out on it. 

“Excellent. Then she’s all mine.” 

“You are drastically missing the point.” 

“Blah, blah,” Dreder said, waving his hook flippantly. “She’s got witchy blood but I’ll still think she’s lucious when it’s all over. I don’t see a downside to this.” 

Rismyn raised his hands, sorely tempted to wrap them around Dreder’s throat and shake him. “She will hate you. Trust me. I live with her. She’s like a sister to me.” Which meant entirely different things to Dreder, with his broken view of family, but Rismyn chose to just press on. “Nothing will go well for you if you try to talk to Ti’yana, and if she doesn’t kill you, her father will.” 

“Her father?” Dreder frowned. “What does her father have to do with anything?” 

Right, broken view of family. “Families are different here. Think of him like her overprotective Matron. He adores her, and he’s a powerful cleric. I’ve watched him take on dragon turtles and resurrect the dead, which means he can kill you, bring you back, and kill you again. Look, you called me your friend. As your friend, I’m telling you, stay away from Ti’yana.” 

The words left his mouth, and something clicked in Rismyn’s brain. Oh, gods. Had he really just said that? Had he accepted the label of friendship Dreder had thrust upon him? Dreder could say what he wanted about strategy, he had still ruined Rismyn’s life and made him miserable for five years. Whether or not it was personal didn’t matter. There was no version of reality in which Rismyn would consider Dreder a friend. 

And yet, Dreder actually looked thoughtful, like he was considering Rismyn’s advice. “You really know her that well?” 

“Yes.” And he was going to protect her this time, the way he hadn’t when he’d not warned her to avoid the docks when the mercenaries first arrived. 

Dreder rubbed at his chin. “Then you can help me.” 

“No!” Rismyn tossed up his hands in exasperation. 

“C’mon,” Dreder said. “You tell me how to behave and I’ll do it. I’ve never felt this way about a woman before. I didn’t even know it was possible.”

“That’s because you’ve been enchanted.”

“And may the enchantment never wear off.” 

If Dreder hadn’t been between Rismyn and the door, Rismyn might have gone up to it and smacked his forehead into the zurkhwood. Repeatedly. It would be more effective than trying to talk sense into the mercenary. Better yet, maybe he ought to smash Dreder’s head into it, and see if he could soften his skull enough to get reason through. 

But in lieu of any solid objects on hand, and out of respect for Solaurin, who had enough to deal with as Mother Lara’s new self-proclaimed public relations ambassador, Rismyn just massaged his temples, begging the shadows for an out.

Unfortunately, sometimes the only way out was through. 

He was going to regret this. He was already regretting it, and he hadn’t even said anything yet. But the words were piecing themselves together in his mind and he could see where they were going. 

“You’re not going to give this up, are you?” he asked. 

“Nope,” said Dreder, grinning as though he sensed Rismyn’s resolve crumbling. 

Why did he ask? There was a really simple solution to this problem. Get Dreder arrested. It wouldn’t even be hard. All he had to do was casually mention to Solaurin that a mercenary had come skulking around, looking for Ti’yana with decidedly irreverent intentions. Dreder would disappear into a dungeon so deep Rismyn would never have to think about him again. 

It wouldn’t even be undeserved. Yet as Rismyn held his gaze, all he could see was the black eye and the split lip, and the future he had been ransomed from. Something twisted inside of him, a feeling he decided not to name. 

“Fine.” He already hated this, but if Dreder wasn’t going to go away, he might as well try to use the situation. “I’ll help you—but.” He held up a hand to forestall whatever it was Dreder was about to say. “There are several nonnegotiable conditions you have to agree to. And I’m not promising you anything over bare minimum effort on my behalf.” 

Dreder still grinned, and Rismyn had to admit, his delight softened his features. He almost seemed civilized. “What’re the conditions?” 

“First,” Rismyn said, and as he said it, he glanced up the road, and tensed. Solaurin had appeared at the end of the street, making his way back home from wherever he had been. Which meant Rismyn had precious little time to commit to his course of action.

Yet oddly, the appearance of the priest at such a crucial moment only seemed to confirm that the plan he was crafting was the right one. Eilistraee help him.

Not that she ever had before, barring blessings she offered to Mazira that he benefited from.

“I meant what I said about Mazira back at the tavern,” Rismyn continued, and his tone brooked no argument. “You stay away from her. You don’t talk to her. You don’t look at her. And if at any point she starts remembering you, and those memories cause her pain, you get back on your mercenary ship and never leave it again, or so help me your body will be the next one the dredge out of the river.” 

Dreder’s smile faded, and Rismyn thought that meant he had taken his threat to heart, but when he spoke, all he said was, “She doesn’t remember me?” 

He had the gall to sound wounded.

“Trauma leaves all kinds of scars,” Rismyn said, second guessing his course of action. Solaurin had seen them now. All he had to do was let Dreder reap the consequences of his own actions. “Memory loss is one of them. She’s come a long way since we left and you will not threaten that.” 

Dreder didn’t understand. It was written all over his face. But rather than spark Rismyn’s ire, the phantom of empathy lurked just beneath his threats. Dreder didn’t understand because he couldn't understand, because fate hadn’t gifted him a little faerie girl to teach him about mercy and kindness. He had no box for trauma because trauma had been his daily bread, his constant norm. 

It made him pitiable. 

It made him dangerous. 

“Alright, alright,” Dreder finally conceded. “I won’t bother her. I only did it to mess with you, anyway. Though she is cute.” 

When Rismyn exhaled, his breath came with a low, throaty growl. “Well it all ends now.”

“I said alright,” Dreder said, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, you’re so dramatic. What are your other conditions?” 

“You will do everything exactly as I tell you, no questions asked. And if you don’t, this deal is done, and I’ll have you arrested.” 

“Like, everything in general, or just in regards to—” He gestured to the courtyard around them, then sat up, having finally noticed Solaurin approaching. Time was running out.

“Everything I tell you while you’re away from those merc friends of yours.” Rismyn waved away Dreder’s protest before it could properly form. “Now, you really want to know how to make a good impression on Ti’yana?” 

The hungry gleam in Dreder’s eyes was confirmation enough. 

Rismyn swallowed, his mouth going dry. If Ti’yana ever found out about this conversation, she would probably slit his throat, in the manner of traditional brother/sister relationships among drow. Hopefully, she’d let him live long enough to explain why he’d thought this the best way to protect her, how the more you told a drow not to do something, the more likely they were to try and do it. 

At least this way, Dreder could be watched, managed, even. 

“Don’t try to befriend her,” Rismyn said, finalizing his plan. “Instead, befriend her father.” 

“What?” 

Rismyn smirked, enjoying Dreder’s disappointment a little too much. “Befriend her father. I told you, they’re close. In fact, don’t even talk to Ti’yana for the rest of the tenday. Not a word.” 

“This is starting to sound like a shit deal.” 

Rismyn shrugged. “You want my advice, this is it. Every male Ti’yana meets falls madly in want of her for at least three cycles before the charm wears off. She won’t even look at you before then and honestly, probably not after, either. You’re a sellsword. That’s even less appealing in Launa than it is in Menzoberranzan.” 

Defiance colored Dreder’s expression, and he stood. With his feet on the bottom step, he was able to look Rismyn in the eye. “You better not be setting me up for failure, Tear.” 

“What, you don’t trust me?” Rismyn asked, the picture of innocence. “I thought we were friends.”

“Is that really a question?” 

“Think what you want,” Rismyn said. He’d been watching Solaurin’s continuous approach out of the corner of his eye. His benefactor had just entered the courtyard. “But you have to decide quickly.” He turned to receive Solaurin, and the suspicion in the priest’s gaze made him flinch. 

“Company, Rismyn?” Solaurin asked, eyeing Dreder distastefully. “I hope it was invited…” 

“No,” Rismyn said, quite truthfully, but the lie was quick to follow. “But not unwelcome. Dreder came to apologize for the tavern incident.” 

Rismyn sensed, rather than saw, the shock rippling through Dreder. He didn’t blame him, he was still in a state of shock himself. He was actually helping Dreder. Granted, his plan was twofold. 

“Really…” Solaurin said, drawing out the word with evident disbelief. His eyes raked over Rismyn’s missing sleeve, apparently assuming the blame lay at Dreder’s feet. 

Okay. New plan. One that didn’t involve falsehoods. Rismyn smiled ruefully, hanging his head with contrition. “No. But can we pretend he did?” Then, shielding his hands from Dreder’s view with his body, he signed the words, ‘I promise I’ll explain everything.’

Solaurin’s eyes narrowed, and he studied Rismyn with meticulous calculation. The scrutiny made Rismyn uncomfortable, but he didn’t look away, and he did his best not to squirm. His motives were pure, he had nothing to hide from Solaurin. There was no reason to behave like a scolded child. 

After a moment, Solaurin’s expression softened. He wore exhaustion like a mantle, but offered Dreder a pleasant smile. “Are you hungry, young man? I’ve just come home for the mid-cycle meal. You are welcome to join us. Rismyn, why are you dallying out here and not preparing lunch for the family? And what happened to your shirt? We have too much to do without adding mending to the list.” 

Rismyn relaxed, stopping short from releasing an audible sigh. He’d risked his own reprimand, or worse, by defending Dreder, and while he was certain he was going to hear about it when he confessed this whole conversation to Solaurin later, for now, he was just grateful Solaurin trusted him. 

Dreder stepped aside to allow Solaurin to pass to the door. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he said, and Rismyn could tell the deference was physically paining him. He actually looked nervous as Rismyn gestured for him to follow after Solaurin, then took up the rear.

It was all set in motion now, for better or worse. Dreder had been invited inside. With any luck, he would actually follow Rismyn’s advice, and Ti’yana would be spared his unwanted attention for the rest of the tenday, long enough for the charm to wear off and for Solaurin’s prying questions and incessant sermons to drive the mercenary away. And if, by some cruel twist of fate, Dreder’s interest persisted, well, then Rismyn could only hope time spent with a real family, forged by bond over blood, might have some manner of positive effect on the prince turned sellsword. 

After all, but for the gift of a faerie girl who’d change his heart, Rismyn wouldn’t have been any different.

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