Forsaken by Shadows 61: Uninvited

~26. Uninvited~

Dreder

Dreder was running late, not that he cared. The fact that he was being summoned at all, after they’d just barely gotten back from the most boring escort mission in the history of escort missions was the literal definition of bull… 

Scat. 

Scat?

Mmm, no. Didn’t have the same umphf as the original noun he’d substituted it for. But he was trying to avoid that word, and others like it, even in the safety of his own rambling thoughts. Ti’yana wouldn’t like it, according to Riz, and since following Riz’s nonsensical advice had thus far seemed to actually work, he was willing to try it. 

Not that it mattered much at the moment, since he had been summoned from his excursion to see her before he got the chance to show off how pristine he could clean up. As usual, Kalos’ timing was impeccable, always calling when least convenient for Dreder.

What the… abyss… did he want, anyway? The Launites had their stupid ships back. Might as well have been a pleasure cruise for all the danger they’d encounter sailing out to meet them.

And he’d been having such a good time with Ti’yana, too. Making actual progress, after two tendays of courting her father’s friendship and playing by Riz’s dumb rules. His first real conversation with her, and what a conversation it had been!

Be careful. 

Her final words flit through his mind as he slipped from alley to alley, bathed in the miserable blue light that marked the morning, and his stomach churned with that strange fluttering sensation he’d become afflicted with since the moment he first laid eyes on Ti’yana. 

Be careful.

He couldn’t help but smile. No one had ever said that to him before. He wasn’t even sure what she’d meant by it at first, as the last thing he was made to be was careful. 

Battleaxes weren’t careful. They were lethal, designed to obliterate. His whole existence had been ordained to be the exact opposite of careful. 

And yet she had said it, and the more he thought about it—and he had thought about it a lot—the more convinced he became that when she had said be careful, what she had really meant was, be safe. 

Of course, she’d followed it up with a scathing remark to drop dead, but that was just flirting, as far as he was concerned. And if she was flirting, and paying for his sweetened cream, that only left him with one conclusion: their romance was inevitable. Just a matter of days. As soon as he finished up with whatever Kalos wanted from him, he’d be back on the road to see her, escorted or not. 

The harbor was almost completely deserted when Drede returned to it, a stark contrast to the night before, when the streets had swarmed with the Launites gathered to receive the three black ships that now listed gently against their piers. The silence was almost eerie. He actually kind of missed the music.

Pain seared against his sternum, and Dreder nearly yelped, snatching the rune from around his neck as it blazed for a second time, demanding his immediate return to the smaller vessel commanded by Bregan D’Aerthe.

“Yeah, I fff…” He caught himself before the oath could fall from his lips, though an adequate replacement failed to come to mind, leaving him to conclude his statement with a less than impressive, “know.” He growled out his frustration, repeating, “I know.”

Still lacked the umpf. 

He ought to walk slower, just to really… upset… Kalos. What was the hurry, anyway? It was way too early for this bull… scat… and judging by the smothering silence broken only by the trickle of water and the creaking of boats, there weren’t any dire emergencies that required his urgent attention.

But choices came with consequences, and he was already going to pay the penalty for getting caught defying the don’t wander offorder they’d all received the night before.

So, reluctantly, Dreder picked up the pace, his gaze sliding over the hulls of the Fleet ships that had caused such a fuss. They were massive, consuming most of the view of the harbor and the mushroom grove that populated the far shore of the river. Hard to believe the Launites found wide enough passage to sail them all the way to the surface.

He rounded the curve of the riverwalk and his gaze was drawn instantly to a small group of elves lounging against the supply crates on their pier, halfway between the street and their floating barracks. 

He groaned. Looks like he wasn’t the only one summoned. His whole squad was assembled, geared up and looking ready for patrol. This did not bode well for his intentionally planned unintentional rendezvous with Ti’yana.

Kalos stood on the street before him, speaking to two other elves with their backs to Dreder. Even still, he recognized them at once. That classic Xarrin silhouette, that always made Dreder do a double take, gave Ardyn’s identity away. The other was a female, the red haired half-elf who always hung around him. Jessa, maybe? Jazzie? 

Whatever. Her name didn’t interest him nearly as much as her presence, which wasn’t as remotely fascinating as Ardyn’s appearance, stirring a host of questions Dreder would have to wait to get answers to. He’d just caught sight of Kalos’ expression, and boy did it look grim. 

A look that grew darker still as Kalos glanced up from Ardyn and caught Dreder’s gaze. With a single, fluid motion, he signed the command, ‘Gear up,’ finishing with a jerking motion toward the boat. 

Ugh. They were going on a patrol. What the h—abyss? Their squad had just had their rotation. It was supposed to be his day off. 

But there was no point in arguing. He’d learned the hard way it didn’t end well when he tried, and it wasn’t a fight he felt like having. So he turned off, descending the stairs to the pier where the other five members of his squad waited. 

“About time you turned up,” said Guldax, their wiry team leader. He wore his silver locks braided into neat rows against his scalp and had a scar on his lip that gave him a permanent sneer. “Mind sharing with the class where you’ve been?” 

“What do you care?” Dreder shot back. “I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“You’re late,” said Nymin, in his usual bored way as he inspected the edge of his dagger. “And that makes us all late, so yeah. We care.” 

“Late for what?” Dreder snapped, not bothering to mask his disdain for the older elves. “Unless my dates are confused I shouldn’t have to put up with any of you for another three days.” He moved to brush past them and gear up as he’d been told, but Guldax caught his sleeve.

“Plans change,” he said. “Orders don’t. Where have you been? We were supposed to stay put.” 

“My deepest apologies,” Dreder said, without an ounce of actual remorse as he yanked his sleeve from Guldax’s grip. “Nature called and I got lost.” 

“Nature?” laughed Sarric, who practically reclined against the crate he leaned on. He smiled indolently, rolling a gold coin over his knuckles. “C’mon, kid. We’re not stupid. How’s that pretty little faerie-drow of yours?”

Dreder’s teeth clenched faster than he could mask his reaction. Faerie-drow was not a compliment. 

Unfortunately, the others noticed. Snickers rippled around the circle of mercenaries, followed by their unsolicited commentary. 

“Peeking in her window again?” 

“Have you ever actually talked to her?” 

“How could he, when he’s too busy drooling whenever she comes by?” 

“Now, now,” Guldax interrupted with a vicious smile. “Be nice to Dreder. It’s not every day a cripple gets attention. Pity from a faerie-lover is about the best he can hope for.” 

They broke into laughter, and after a moment’s hesitation, Dreder laughed with them, though anger seethed under his skin. He’d like to see them try and court a lady—oh wait. He had. And go figure, Riz was right again. Being a mercenary didn’t earn you any favors in this town. They had no room to talk.

But he was the rookie, and rookies were meant to be trodden on. It didn’t matter that he was just as competent in a fight as the rest of them, even with one hand and at a fraction of their ages. Societal norms had pinned him to the bottom rung, and only time or an exceptionally impressive feat would free him of the torment. Until then, it was best to laugh along, and keep his retaliatory thoughts to himself. 

Well, mostly to himself.

But just as he opened his mouth to offer a scathing retaliatory remark, a shout from the road cut their chit-chat short.

“I’m willing to take that risk!”

All eyes shifted upward as though tugged by a string, drawn straight to the half-elf girl whose voice had risen above proper Underdark etiquette. She seemed to realize her volume, casting a furtive glance around before lowering her voice, her face turning a shade similar to her fiery hair. 

Kalos’ expression remained flat and unimpressed as he shook his head. More quiet words were exchanged, and then the girl spun away, storming off down the road. 

“What’s that all about?” Dreder asked, his curiosity overcoming his general dislike of the elves around him.

“What do you care?” Guldax said, throwing his words back in his face.

Dreder glared, but the time for bickering was over. Kalos and Ardyn were heading their way, so Dreder shut his mouth and melded seamlessly into the group in a way only drow could accomplish. One didn’t have to like their companions to work well with them. 

“Glad to see you all could make it,” Kalos said, his malevolent stare lingering on Dreder before drifting over the rest of them. “You all remember Ardyn Xarrin?”

Heads bobbed. Of course they remembered Ardyn. He’d joined them on their escort mission just the night before, acting as a liaison between Bregan D’Aerthe and the Fleet, lest any misunderstandings of intent occur. 

“Good. He’s joining your squad for patrol.” 

Six voices of protest all clamored at once, Dreder’s not the least among them.

“Shut up!” Kalos barked, and the disgruntled mercenaries fell silent. “This isn’t up for debate. His father is missing, and I know that doesn’t mean jack to any of you, but I happen to like my parents, so I can sympathize with his plight. You’re taking Ardyn and you’ll treat him like one of our own, understand?” 

Indistinct muttering followed the demand, but this time Dreder didn’t participate. He studied the younger Xarrin, as he’d seldom had opportunity to do so since their first brief meeting in the Sunglow Tavern. He didn’t come to the docks with the rest of his patrol during the lunch hour the way Riz did, and Dreder had to admit he was a bit disappointed. 

He’d spent a full year and then some hating this half-drow’s father. At first it had just been a loathing of Torafein’s clumsiness in shooting him instead of Riz. But then Mindra Tear had spilled the truth. 

Torafein hadn’t accidentally shot him. He’d done it on purpose. 

Riz had been easy to forgive. Dreder had been goading him, after all, and attempting to kill him. Not to mention his own behavior toward the faerie girl, and the previous days of taunting, and just, in general, being better than Riz at absolutely everything. Honestly, losing a hand had been getting off easy. 

But Torafein was a different matter. His betrayal had… hurt. An entirely foreign concept. Betrayal was as natural as breathing, so he ought to have expected such treachery. 

Yet he’d spent more nights than he’d cared to count seething over that fight above the Academy, replaying the moment over and over in his mind. Torafein’s fake warning. The sting of the crossbow bolt. The weight of the sleeping poison. Waking up in the infirmary less than whole. 

And Ardyn Xarrin was the fruit of the traitor who’d caused it all.

The gloam-drow bore a remarkable resemblance to his father, save for the hue of his skin and a distinct softness to his face that didn’t suit Torafein’s prodigy. Probably the result of the faerie blood in him, diluting what was otherwise hundreds of generations worth of carefully selected breeding to produce perfect drow killers. 

Still, there was nothing soft about his broad shoulders and corded muscles, and as he stood glaring back at them, Dreder couldn’t help but wonder what else he’d inherited from his father. Temperament? Skills? A similar disdain for loyalty?

If Torafein was dead, then Ardyn would have to answer for his lost hand. Blow for blow, cut for cut. 

“—Got that?”

Aw, scat. Kalos was still talking, and he’d been drifting off. Dreder stiffened and nodded alongside his compatriots, even though he did not, in fact, get whatever it was he was supposed to get. But the last thing he needed was more reasons for Kalos to dole out his version of swift justice. Being forced out into the caverns again was punishment enough. 

Yet even as he thought it, those glacial blue eyes found him, and Dreder grimaced. 

Here it came.

“Why aren’t you geared up yet, Ti’glath?” Kalos asked.

“Yeah, Ti’glath,” Guldax echoed, shoving him in the shoulder. “Why aren’t you in gear?” 

Dreder stumbled from the force of the blow, but recovered quickly, swatting at Guldax, though the older drow had already pulled out of reach. “I was working on it,” he growled. “But someone decided to get in my way.” 

As if to mock him—no, not as if. For the express purpose of mocking him, Guldax and Nymin parted from the center of the pier, gesturing for Dreder to move past as though all he had to do was ask. Dreder stalked away fuming, heading for their boat, but not before he overheard Kalos’ soft spoken question.

“Having second thoughts?”

Ardyn’s reply was short, but carried all the force of a hammer striking steel. “No.’

***

When Dreder had been top of his class in Melee-Magthere, he’d been able to lace himself into his armor and assemble his favored array of weaponry in under four minutes. Since he’d lost his fight with Rismyn, that time had increased exponentially. Armor, unfortunately, was designed with two hands in mind, and no one wrote tutorials on how to manage with only one.

It had taken him almost a full hour to don his gear back then. A full hour of frustration and curses, and a staunch refusal to ask for help. Now he had it down to a science, albeit a seven minute and nine second science. Not quite up to his original four minute standard, but still pretty darn good, all things considered.

Unless you were already late, and your squad was already upset. Then seven minutes became an eternity.

An eternity for them. Dreder couldn’t care less about enraging them further. To that end, he took his time, finishing his routine by pre-loading a sleep-laced dart into his hand crossbow and concealing it beneath his piwafwi at nine minutes and some change. 

Not that he was counting. That would be petty. 

The gathering on the dock had moved to the road by the time Dreder returned, divided into two distinct parties. His squad on one side and Ardyn alone on another. Kalos had disappeared, though to where, Dreder couldn’t say. There hadn’t been anyone on the boat with him, a phenomena which in itself conjured myriad questions.

Where had everyone gone? Surely they weren’t all out in the Wilds. That wasn’t how their rotation worked. Someone had to be left to guard the ship, if nothing else. 

“My gods,” Guldax groaned, as Dreder finally reached them. “It’s about time. Could you be any more irritating?”

Dreder arched an eyebrow. “I can always try. Why? Do you have any requests?” 

Guldax just shook his head, straightening from where he leaned against a shop wall. “Alright, boys, let’s get—”

“Hang on,” Dreder interrupted, completely immune to the promise of death in the look Guldax shot him. “Isn’t anyone going to tell me what the—” he ground his teeth over the word he wanted to say and amended, “what’s going on?” 

“What’s going on is that you’re making us late for patrol,” Guldax replied. 

“You know what I mean,” Dreder said. “Why are we even going on patrol? Where’s everyone else?”

“Oh, you don't know?” Guldax’s eyes widened with false concern before hardening with contempt. “Then don’t run off next time, and maybe you’ll be around to hear instructions.” 

The squad leader turned away just in time to miss the rude gesture Dreder shot him, signaling to the rest of the squad to move out. Then, with a glance in Ardyn’s direction, he added, “That means follow. In case they don’t train you right out here.” 

The look Ardyn returned could only be described as murderous, and with his face the mirror image of his father’s, the silent threat was probably less empty and more guaranteed. Yet he said nothing, falling into step as though he’d been drilling with them for decades. And as the newest addition to the team, that put him right beside, and slightly behind, Dreder.

Well, at least he wasn’t the only fish left to rot at the bottom of a barrel. 

They set off down the street, and Dreder slowed his pace to match with Ardyn’s, allowing for an unobstructed view to feed his ravenous curiosity. Even these tendays later, the younger Xarrin’s existence was a marvel, a plot twist Dreder never would have guessed if he’d had centuries to ponder it. Proof that the great Torafein, renown for his deadly skill and numerous obliterating surface raids, had been seduced by the very creature he’d been designed to slay. There were even rumors that a second Xarrin child existed, implying that the seduction had been more than a one time tryst. 

Dreder had questions. So many questions. 

‘Hi,’ he signed, even though they were still in the city. Talking wasn’t forbidden, but the others had a low tolerance for what they considered unnecessary chatter, and Dreder had a low tolerance for their unnecessary attention. 

Ardyn’s eyes slid briefly in his direction, before returning to the scrutiny of the back of Sarric’s head, his posture stiff and rigid. 

Like he’d spent ten years at Melee-Magthere learning how to be boring. 

Dreder frowned and tried again. ‘I said, hi.’ He made his gestures more dramatic, more difficult to miss, so that Ardyn had little excuse outside of poor manners to ignore him.

The bait seemed to work, or at least, snag his attention. Ardyn glanced his away again, though the set of his jaw wasn’t exactly inviting conversation. 

Fortunately, Dreder had never needed an invitation. ‘Don’t they teach you how to sign out here?’ he asked, spelling out the words that required two hands to sign. It made for more clumsy communication, but was still effective.

Ardyn just stared at him, showing no indication of comprehending his motions. Dreder was just about to open his mouth to verbally, and sincerely, repeat his question, when Ardyn finally moved.

 ‘Of course they do,’ he signed.

At last! Progress. Dreder grinned. ‘Ohhh. Good. I was starting to worry.’

Ardyn’s next breath exhaled with a little more emphasis as he turned his gaze straight ahead.

‘Hey, I’m talking to you,’ Dreder signed, waving his hook to get his attention back. ‘So they teach you to sign but not how to behave? That’s a little messed up.’ 

‘What do you want?’ Ardyn returned, his sharp gestures accentuating his apparently sour mood. 

‘Just being neighborly,’ Dreder signed, the same excuse he’d given when accused of starting fights with Riz. The expression was another one of those colloquialisms that Kalos had brought with him from the surface, meaning to be open and welcoming, which made absolutely no sense. Where he came from, they actively tried to keep their neighbors out of their boundaries and only let someone in when they wanted to show off.

But Launa was a weird place, and he suspected his meaning wouldn’t be missed. 

Ardyn’s eyes narrowed and he looked away, increasing his pace ever so slightly to move beyond Dreder. 

Yikes, did he ever lighten up? 

‘Did they at least introduce you to everyone?’ Dreder asked, keeping pace with the gloam-drow. 

‘I’m well aware of who you are,’ Ardyn replied. 

Right, because he was friends with Riz. And based on the passive aggressive comments Riz’s friends levied his way during the occasions he joined them at the tavern, Riz had run his mouth to all of them about their sordid history together. The whiney version, probably, where he bemoaned how he was victimized as opposed to just failing to play the game well. 

‘Well do you know who they are?’ Dreder signed. ‘I dunno, maybe you might need that information, if we actually find ourselves in a fight. Might be nice to know the names of the folks you’re trusting to watch your back.’

‘I’m not trusting any of you,’ Ardyn retorted, and Dreder rolled his eyes. Taking situations way too personally must have been a common deviant trait. 

‘Fine, go ahead and isolate yourself. See if I care. Just trying to help. Would be a shame to lose two Xarrins to the Wil—”

His gestures were cut short as Ardyn snatched his arm mid-sentence. 

Dreder glanced at the smokey fingers encircling his wrist, then to the backs of the mercenaries who had yet to pick up on the squabble happening behind them, and finally to Ardyn, raising his brows in an unspoken question.

You sure you want to do this here? 

A muscle twitched in Ardyn’s jaw, but he let Dreder go, moving to close the small gap that had appeared between themselves and the others. 

Dreder smiled, taking his time catching up. This younger Xarrin was far easier to rile up than the elder one. Perhaps this patrol might turn out to be more amusing than their usual routine stroll through the bland caverns. 

‘The bossy one up front is Guldax,’ Dreder offered, though Ardyn had shown no inclination of being interested in the information. But, surly mood aside, knowing names could be useful, and the better informed they all were, the more Dreder’s own survival chances increased. ‘He’s the squad leader. Behind him is Nymin, his second. Then you’ve got Kelzaer with the axes—don’t get in his way if he starts swinging—and Tsabed, our sharpshooter. The…’ Dreder hesitated. The noun he wanted to use to label Sarric was on his list of words he was supposed to be avoiding. Pursing his lips, he concluded with a vapid,  ‘That’s Sarric.’

Ardyn took three more silent steps, before his fingers twitched in a curt, ‘Thank you.’

Dreder nearly fell over from shock. It was a miracle, the elf could have a civil conversation. 

‘So,’ Dreder signed, encouraged by their progress. ‘Your lady friend seemed to be quite upset. What was that all about?’

‘Lady friend?’ Ardyn said, his nose scrunching. ‘Jezzra?’ 

Dreder shrugged. Her name was irrelevant to the question asked. 

Ardyn looked away, and for a brief moment, Dreder thought he wasn’t going to answer. 

Then his hands moved. ‘She wanted to come. Kalos wouldn’t let her.’

Dreder snorted a laugh, which earned him an accusatory glance from Sarric. He smiled innocently back, until the older mercenary returned to minding his own business.

‘She’s mad about that?’ Dreder signed, incredulous. ‘That’s stupid, what was she expecting?’ 

Ardyn bared his teeth. ‘You know, I’m starting to truly grasp why no one likes you.’ 

‘Thank you.’ Dreder beamed. ‘I do my best to vex. But seriously. Your lady should be grateful. We don’t take faeries on drow hunts, that’s common sense.’ 

It seemed the more annoyed Ardyn was, the more willing to converse he became. ‘First of all,’ he signed, with emphatic motions, ‘She’s not my lady. We’re just friends. Secondly, Jezzra’s as skilled a fighter and as good a tracker as any drow I’ve met.’

Right. Common sense. 

Dreder resisted the urge to roll his eyes again as the son of Torafein continued to fail to impress him. ‘I’ve no doubt that she is,’ he signed, though he absolutely doubted it. Maybe by surface standards she was skilled, but the Underdark required a special brand of finesse. ‘But that’s not the point. She’s a faerie.’

‘And I’m half-faerie,’ Ardyn snapped back, his expression growing viscous. ‘What’s your point?’

Dear Dark Seldarine. These deviants were so testy. And completely clueless. It seemed Ti’yana wasn’t the only Launite who suffered from a giant gap in her understanding. How did this society even survive? 

‘My point,’ Dreder signed, with slow, patient motions, ‘Ought to be obvious. What do drow do to captive faeries?’

For a moment longer, Ardyn’s face remained murderous. But as Dreder’s silent words hung between them, the hate seeped out of his features as his skin went ashen. His fingers twitched, as though he had something he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words. 

Satisfied in his victory, Dreder let the moment hang. They were almost at the wall, anyway, which meant they’d soon be through the narrow door and onto the concealed walkway that served as the only way in or out of the city that could be tread on foot. Their window for conversation was drawing to a close.

Yet their forward progress came to a halt as the guards at the gate barred their way. The small delay was expected; the Launites were fanatical about keeping a record of who went in and out. But when the eyes of the soldiers landed on their fellow citizens, it grew… complicated.

An argument ensued. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time Ardyn had tried to leave the city to hunt for his father, and apparently, it was well known that he was forbidden to do so.

But this time he had written permission to join Bregan D’Aerthe in their work.

Except that the permission the gloam-drow brandished had been for the cycle before, when he’d joined them in the escorting of the Fleet. 

But the language was vague, Ardyn argued, and could be applied to any mission. 

Back and forth it went, until Guldax, appearing ready to throttle anyone and everyone, cut in.

“Look,” he snarled at the gate guard. “I really don’t care what you do with the cur.” He shot Ardyn a nasty sneer. “Just open this”—cue a string of words Dreder added to his list of forbidden phrases—“door, before I permanently remove your ability to record anyone’s name.” 

The soldier made a motion as though he wanted to personally explore the depths of Guldax’s challenge, but Ardyn grabbed his arm before his hand could make contact with the hilt of his blade. 

“Let it go,” the gloam-drow muttered. “I’ll take responsibility if Mother Lara says anything. Just… please, Davion.”

The guard huffed and spat at Guldax’s feet. “Fine. Get out, so we can start our Festival.”

Guldax merely smiled, the same unpleasant smile Dreder was growing tired of as it was usually aimed in his direction. 

The guard jerked his arm out of Ardyn’s grip and signaled for his compatriots to open the gate, and the others perked up, as though finally interested in what was happening now that the argument was over. 

Dreder, on the other hand, went stiff. 

Get out… so they could start the Festival? What did their patrol leaving have to do with the Launites and their big fancy party he’d been hearing about? He’d been under the impression it was supposed to start the moment their Fleet boats arrived. 

Unless…

An idea took root in his mind as the gate swung inward, bringing with it a swell of black water that sloshed around their ankles. To the casual observer, the opening in the wall spilled them straight into the river. Only a trained eye or those who’d been let in on the secret knew that just below the surface, a narrow stone bridge stretched from the wall to the dry stone on the other side. 

Guldax wasted no time leading his team out, each member falling into line as they’d done half a dozen times before, on their usual scheduled patrols. 

But this wasn’t a scheduled patrol. And the barracks boat had been empty. 

Dreder looked to the stretch of water and then back to the guard—Davion, as Ardyn had called him—the question forming on his lips before he could decide if it was worth asking. 

“Are we being kicked out?” 

Only Ardyn and Davion remained within the wall, as the others trekked across the harbor. The Launites exchanged glances, then Ardyn asked, “What do you mean?” 

“He said to get out so you could start your Festival. Like we’re in the way or something.”

Ardyn and Davion’s faces took on markedly different expressions. Ardyn’s mask softened, melted by conflict until he scarcely resembled his father, whereas the guard’s steeled over. Guldax’s unpleasant smile must have been infectious, for he wore it now as if it were his own.

“That’s right,” he said, shifting a little to usher Dreder toward the open gate. “This cycle is dedicated to the holy worship of our goddess.” 

Dreder allowed himself to be shepherded beyond the wall, his back to the river as he moved to keep Davion in view. 

“It’s one of our most sanctified events,” Davion continued, arms crossed as he stood framed by the open gate. Ardyn slipped past him to stand beside Dreder on the short ledge that hugged the wall just outside the gate. “You’re not invited.” 

The gate slammed shut on a command Dreder didn’t catch, and he found himself staring at the smooth ebony wall of the city, with nothing but wilderness behind him. He glanced at Ardyn. “Is that true?” 

Ardyn, still looking guilty, shrugged. “Yeah,” he said, and then added belatedly, “Sorry,” before trudging off across the hidden bridge. 

Dreder blinked after him, utterly perplexed by how much the rejection stung. 

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