Forsaken by Shadows 64: Proof of Life

~29. Proof of Life~

Rismyn

She was right there. Beautiful and scarless and wearing a gown that would forever be seared into his memory, and Rismyn needed to get to her. Immediately. 

He’d turned away from the balcony, deaf to the shocked murmurs that had erupted around him, completely immune to the awe every one else experienced as all the priestesses on the stage manifested magic at once, and barely conscious of Ti’yana calling his name and following after him.

Get to Mazira. That was all that mattered. Whatever he would say or do when he found her, he’d figure it out. He just needed to behold her up close, to marvel at what had become of her acid brands. 

Was it all magical illusion? Or cosmetics, like she used on her face? Stars, he hoped not. He wanted it to be real. Wanted her body to be unscathed, her soul to be free. 

He wanted to be forgiven.

Please, let it be real.

But they were up two flights of stairs and down a hall. By the time he reached the colonnade, the new clerics on stage were dispersing. The crowd was absorbing them, and Mazira was nowhere to be seen. 

He looked frantically until he found her.

Wrapped in Vaylan’s arms, returning his embrace. 

Something snapped inside of him, a geyser of white-hot rage and sinister jealousy.

Mazira wasn’t wearing nearly enough for him to tolerate Vaylan’s grubby paws on her body. Her entire back was exposed, right where his hands remained as he pulled back, lingering close as a small smile flitted between them. 

Blood roared in Rismyn’s ears, drowning out the cavern around him. His body tensed until it trembled. 

His Mazira. With that elf. 

The last time he’d felt this much hate, Gylas had ended up with a knife in his skull. 

“Rismyn, Rismyn!” 

Ti’yana’s voice, followed by her hands clamping onto his arm, tugging his attention away from the scene unfolding before him, was probably all that saved Vaylan from a broken nose and a black eye. 

He shook himself, dazed, as he became aware once more of the courtyard around them. Jaunty music, laughing people. Celebrations, Serenades, Festivals. 

Gods, what was wrong with him? He’d just been contemplating murder on Launa’s streets!

“I have to go,” Rismyn said, because he didn’t trust himself to remain. Maybe he wouldn’t have escalated to murder, but violence was at his fingertips, as if the elf he’d been in Menzoberranzan had never actually died, lingering just beneath the surface of his skin, cackling as he entertained his carnal thoughts. 

His heart hammered like a caged man begging for release. He shoved his way through the crowd, not entirely sure where he was going, just knowing he needed to get away before someone got hurt. 

Someone? No. Vaylan. He was too good to miss, to let collateral get in the way. 

“Rismyn, where are you going?” came Ti’yana’s sweet voice, all choked up with concern as she fluttered at his side. “Mazira’s waiting for us.” 

“She looked quite content to me,” he growled, his eyes fixed ahead on the gap at the edge of the courtyard. Good. There was a path around there that wound around the temple, slipping between towering crystal formations and a field of phosphorescent mushrooms. With any luck, he could get lost in isolation. 

“Are you serious?” Ti’yana scoffed. “Just because—”

“Ti’yana, I don’t want to talk about it,” he snarled through gritted teeth, and immediately regretted it. 

Ti’yana froze in her tracks, her face a portrait of pain; eyes wide and watery, perfectly stained lip quivering. 

So much for not allowing collateral to get in the way. 

His shoulders sagged, and though his fury hadn’t abated, he swallowed his hateful tone. “Ti’yana—” he began.

“No,” Ti’yana snapped, her slender hands balled into fists. “No, you don’t get to just apologize this time.” 

The force of her anger knocked the wind from his lungs, and Rismyn rocked back. “Ti’yana, I’m sor—”

“Did you not just hear what I said?” She marched forward and Rismyn flinched, though he made no move to defend himself from what he expected to be a violent outburst. 

Yet her fists didn’t bear fruit. Instead, she unclasped them, snatching him by the elbow and yanking him in the direction they’d been previously headed. “I have had enough of your sulking and your attitude. We are going to talk about this, so that the next time you say you’re sorry, you actually mean it.” 

“But I do—”

“Shut. Up.”

Rismyn’s teeth clicked back together, muffling the sound of a wordless growl that tried to escape his throat. First Mazira and now this? Was the whole world going to conspire against him next? 

Ti’yana led him right to the gap he’d been eyeing, pulling him toward the path that led toward the side of the temple as he’d intended. Yet rather than take the scenic fork through the patches of gently glowing fungi, she yanked him to the left, to a walkway that hugged the walls of the building itself. The crowds thinned as they went, tapering off to occasional couples strolling hand-in-hand through the gardens. 

By contrast, Ti’yana’s lacquered nails dug into his skin as she dragged him along, though he was quite capable of walking without her assistance. She marched them with purpose, until they fell under the shadow of one of the temple’s sharp angles, where one tower met the side of the main complex’s structure. 

Ti’yana swiveled, letting go of his arm so she could shove him back against the wall, and though Rismyn could have stood his ground if he wanted, he let the force of her push situate him.

“What’s your problem?” Ti’yana demanded. 

“Me?” He rubbed the spot on his arm where her nails left crescent divots. “What’s your problem?” 

“I’ve already stated my problem,” she fired back, jabbing a finger at his chest. “It’s you. Now, tell me. Why are we here instead of in the courtyard telling Mazira how magnificent she is?” 

A muscle spasmed in Rismyn’s jaw as he folded his arms across his chest. “You’re the one who dragged me over here.” 

“Cut the nonsense, you know what I’m talking about.”

She had him cornered, both literally and figuratively. Rismyn blew out a breath and glanced away, as though suddenly fascinated by the cracks in the wall beside him. There was no right answer he could give her. She’d spit out any lie he tried to offer, and the truth would leave him vulnerable in ways he wasn’t ready for. 

After a moment, Ti’yana seemed to catch on that Rismyn wasn’t interested in speaking, and she huffed, her hands going to her hips. “We can stand here all cycle if you want. We’re not moving until you start talking.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Why do you care, anyway?” 

“Because we were having a fantastic Festival. And you’re ruining it.” 

“How am I ruining it? All I wanted to do was catch some fresh air! You’re the one making a big deal out of nothing.” 

“Rismyn.” 

The razor embedded in her tone of voice had its desired effect. Rismyn’s teeth ground together, his eyes flashing as he cut them toward her. 

“Fine,” he said. “If you must know, I was removing myself from an unpleasant situation.” 

“And what was unpleasant, Rismyn?” 

Gods, she couldn’t be satisfied, could she? “You know what,” he said, his voice dropping to a lower register. “You’re not blind.” 

It was hard to say if Ti’yana’s expression softened, or if it was just a trick of the light as she cocked her head to the side. “Say it. Out loud. You ran off because…” she trailed off, rolling her hands as an indication for him to finish the sentence. 

Reluctantly, as though the words were dragged out of him with chains, Rismyn did. “Because Vaylan was holding Mazira. And it made me want to slit his throat.” 

Ti’yana’s eyes widened ever so slightly, before she carefully schooled her expression back to stone. 

Rismyn refused to look away. She’d said she wanted him to say it. If she found the darkness of his heart too bleak, that was her problem. 

Yet the longer she stared, her true thoughts concealed behind her perfectly smoothed features, the more aware Rismyn became of just how stupid what he’d said sounded. 

He wanted to kill Vaylan, because Vaylan hugged Mazira. 

He contemplated life-ending actions, because someone who was not him dared to touch Mazira. 

As though he owned Mazira. As though he had some right to decide whom she held regard for, and whom she chose to disdain. As though her life was his to command. 

He slumped against the wall, the chiseled sandstone rough and cold against the heat of his back, his eyes drifting back to the cracks that snaked upward from the foundation. 

“I know,” he said, softer. “That’s pretty messed up. You can condemn me. I deserve it.” 

Ti’yana let out a sigh. 

Yep, here it came. Her judgment. Her acknowledgement that he’d finally crossed a line there was no returning from. How could his first reaction, after all this time, still be to end his threats with violence? He was supposed to be reformed. Good. Kind. Death shouldn’t have been his first instinct. 

“Rismyn,” Ti’yana said, softening her words as well. 

Rismyn flinched anyway.

“Why haven’t you told Mazira how you feel yet?” 

These were not the words Rismyn had been expecting. He looked up, frowning. “Are you serious?” he asked. “I’m male, it’s not my place.” 

Ti’yana blinked, then she laughed, as though she thought he was joking. When he just glared at her, her jaw dropped. “Wait, really?”

He said nothing, and she scoffed, her eyes rolling as her hands returned to her hips. 

“Rismyn, where do we live?” But before he could answer that question, her eyes narrowed. “No, no. You’re not an idiot. You know as well as I do that gender has nothing to do with who courts whom first in this city. You’re not telling the truth. Or rather”—her silver irises practically vanished as her gaze became slits—“the whole truth.” 

Damn. Cornered again. Ti’yana was supposed to be the least magical among them, yet here she was, reading his thoughts as though he’d left them in a diary for her perusal. Rismyn grunted to cover his squirming, searching for a way to escape her incessant questions. 

But if he ran now, he’d cause a rift, and rifts were nigh impossible to repair. 

“I did tell her,” he finally said, though it felt more like being violently ill than actually speaking. “Once… a long time ago. It… it didn’t go well…” 

“What happened?” Ti’yana asked, but Rismyn shook his head. 

“It doesn’t bear repeating,” he mumbled, his crossed arms becoming more of a self-embrace than a shield against her. “Please don’t ask again.” 

Ti’yana’s soft hand alighted on his bicep, her gentle touch drawing him back from dark reflection. “I won’t,” she said, and her earnest, unconditional acceptance was almost too much to endure.

Would she still look at him like that if she knew? Solaurin knew, but he’d been raised in drow society. Very little shocked him. Ti’yana was innocent. She’d heard all sorts of stories, but she’d never heard his stories. At least, not the ones that mattered most. 

Yet she had heard Mazira’s stories. So at the very least, she was aware of one of his worst sins; abandoning her to Toloruel’s wrath, pretending he was helpless to do anything to stop it, when in truth, he’d just been too afraid. He’d loved himself, his comfort, and his own quest for acceptance more than he’d loved her. 

“I was going to tell her again,” Rismyn admitted. Now that the words had started, it was easier to let the rest out. “But the day I’d planned for it, he showed up.” 

Ti’yana’s face scrunched, before understanding jumped her brows to her hairline. “Oh,” she said, then repeated with a different emphasis, “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging as much as the rock against back would allow. “Anyway, after that, we found out about the bodies, and then it became public, and then Torafein left and then more bodies and… I dunno. I guess I took it as a sign to wait and then the opportunity never really came back.” 

“Never came back?” Ti’yana said. “You’re aware we all live together, right? Like you could have just casually mentioned it at the dinner table or—wait, weren’t you two sneaking off to practice sword fighting?” 

Rismyn heaved a sigh, raising his hands as he tried to explain more clearly what he meant. “No, not like, the moment never physically presented itself. It just… it just never felt right. There were so many other things going on. And I wasn’t lying before. It’s not my place to initiate something like this.”

“Okay, well, we can both agree that last excuse is stupid,” Ti’yana said, bringing her knuckles to her lips.

“Hey—” Rismyn protested, but Ti’yana waved it away.

“And I suppose I can accept that with all that’s happened, waiting might have felt like the right thing to do,” she continued. “But what about right now? I mean, what could be more perfect than pulling her aside and telling her during the Festival?”

The blood drained from Rismyn’s face. Now that Ti’yana said it, he wasn’t convinced that wasn’t exactly what he’d been about to do, when his heart raced out to meet Mazira before his body could catch up. It would have been ineloquent, and brutal, and raw, but it would have been said. His hopes laid bare in her beautiful hands. 

But as he blinked his eyes shut, an image of someone else’s hands burned in his mind. Vaylan’s hands, on Mazira’s unscathed flesh, and her shy smile as he let her go. 

“Is it real?” he asked, running a hand over his slicked back hair. “Her skin, I mean. The scars… are they really gone?” 

Ti’yana pursed her lips. “You’re going to have to ask her that. I’m not allowed to say, it’s her story. And you’re avoiding my question.”

Rismyn grimaced. He’d rather face Mazira’s scars than his own, the deep, fresh wounds cut into his soul. “No,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t.” 

Ti’yana’s face remained perfectly still. “Why not?”

She might as well have just let her disappointment scream out from her. The pretending not to be bothered was worse. 

“Because,” Rismyn said, scuffing his boot against the ground. “She might… maybe… prefer someone else.” 

Ti’yana blink once. Twice. Two slow shutterings of her perfectly lined and colored eyelids. “Unbelievable,” she finally said, tossing up her hands. “You think she prefers Vaylan to you?” 

Rismyn glowered, despite Ti’yana’s reaction serving as a point in his favor. If she, who had replaced Rismyn as Mazira’s closest confidant, thought the idea sounded ridiculous, then that ought to have been a good sign right? 

And yet, despite himself, Rismyn found himself speaking in the sun elf’s defense. “Well she should,” he said, some of the heat returning to his voice. “He’s someone she can relate to. Someone who’s experienced what she’s experienced. Someone who understands her.” Not to mention, objectively handsome and probably capable of protecting her with his stupid stunning fist fighting style, but Rismyn couldn’t stomach voicing those words.

Ti’yana arched a skeptical eyebrow. “And you’re… not?”

“Vaylan’s never stood by while his brother dripped acid on her back,” Rismyn hissed. “Vaylan doesn’t have the same face as the monster who tortured her every day of her life.” He jabbed a thumb at his left cheek as he said it, lightly brushing the scar he’d asked to keep for the sole purpose of ruining as much of the family resemblance between himself and Toloruel as possible. “Vaylan doesn’t carry the surname of her slavers. She deserves someone who doesn’t remind her of every awful thing that’s happened to her.”

For the first time since she’d cornered him against the tower, Ti’yana shied away. She took a step back, her eyes glistening and her lip quivering as they had the first time he’d taken this tone with her. 

This time, Rismyn didn’t regret it. Why couldn’t she just understand, and leave him to his own misery? 

Well, now she would, now that he’d spelled out a small fraction of what he’d done to Mazira. He held back the worst of it, too selfish for Ti’yana’s affection to dump it all on her, but still. This ought to have been enough. 

But then she swallowed, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks and setting her jaw in that stubborn way he’d grown used to. “You were a child, Rismyn. You didn’t know any better.”

“Yes I did,” Rismyn said, flexing his hands. “I knew the difference between right and wrong. We all do. We just pretend not to until we’re numb to it. Because wrong feels so much better than right, in the moment. Instant gratification. But it always bites in the end.” 

Ti’yana let out a frustrated breath. Rismyn didn’t blame her. He was annoyed with himself. 

“Look, fine. I get it.” She lifted her chin, gripping her arms. “You want to hate yourself. I’ll let you sort that out with my father. But you cannot convince me Mazira would be happy with Vaylan. You just can’t.” 

Rismyn stilled, somewhat taken aback but the passion in her voice. He’d not realized Ti’yana had this strong of an opinion on the matter. She’d always been friendly with Vaylan, the few times Rismyn wasn’t able to escape their mutual company. 

Yet her face twisted with disgust, her eyes darkening. “You’re not usually with us at lunch,” she continued, “so you don’t see it, but he’s not kind to her, Rismyn. Oh, he acts kind. He’s funny and tells stories and is generally enjoyable to be around, but we’re not stupid. He manipulates her. He sulks so she’ll devote all her attention to him. He throws fits when she does anything he doesn’t like, and then she blames herself when it’s not remotely her fault. He tried to talk her out of being a Songblade, for the Seldarine’s sake! He’s not good for her, Rismyn. He doesn’t have her best interests at heart.”

The murderous intentions, which had long since subsided, threatened to make a comeback as Ti’yana made her report. Rismyn had noticed some of that behavior, but had never quite trusted his own assessment, recognizing his own bias against the sun elf. But if Ti’yana had seen it, and Solaurin…

“But you’re good for her.”

His thoughts came to an abrupt halt as Ti’yana spoke her next words. She wasn’t even looking at him anymore, so absorbed was she in her speech. Her hands articulated her words as she paced in little circles.

“You don’t just listen to her, you hear her. You care about the things she wants, whether you like it or not. We all know you hate religion, but here you are, at one of our holiest ceremonies, Just to support her. And I bet if I hadn’t made you, you’d have waited here the entire Festival just to make sure you didn’t miss it.”

Well, she hit the nail on the head with that assessment. Was he really that predictable?

“I can’t fix what face you have or what you did or didn’t do in the past, but names can be changed, and so can hearts. So don’t you dare give up the fight without even trying. At least give Mazira the chance to make her own decision! Don’t make it for her by staying silent.” 

Something dangerous stalked across Rismyn’s heart, more deadly than the impulsive desire to hurt Vaylan. A thread of searing light, a toxin that tasted perilously like hope. 

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to drink up her words and march back into the courtyard, sun elf be damned. 

But the sun elf wasn’t damned. He was with Mazira right now. Possibly running his hands over exposed back again. 

No, no. Don’t go there. Homicide was frowned upon in this city, regardless of whether or not you got caught. 

“And what if she does tell me no?” he finally said, a slight tremor in his voice. He thought of his last attempt to confess his feelings, the state of confusion he’d been in, the absolute stupidity of the lies he’d chosen to believe, about how she’d enchanted him against his will. 

How she’d shoved him away and told him he wasn’t capable of love. 

How he’d carried that belief as well, far longer than he should have. 

He couldn’t endure again the way she had looked at him then. With malice and disgust, emotions he deserved for his own vile behavior. 

“Then you get your heart broken. And you eventually move on.” 

Rismyn blinked. She’d said it so simply, like it wasn’t the answer to the most important question he had ever asked. As if it was easy to pick up the remains of a broken heart. Like it could function properly again after being torn to shreds. 

Six years later, and his broken heart was still aching.

“It’s not that easy,” he said.

“I never said it was easy. I just said you do it.”

“Speaking from experience?” he said, sarcasm saturating his words. Ti’yana had made no secret about her distinct lack of love life. She was quite proud of it, considering how many hearts she herself had broken. Though, he supposed, in her experience, those broken hearts usually mended as soon as her charm wore off. 

“Not my own,” she said, equally wry. “But Father survived it, and I’d wager my mother’s betrayal was a lot more visceral than anything Mazira might do to you. One person isn’t your whole world.” 

For as long as Rismyn could remember, he’d never ceased to think about Mazira from the day she first caught him crying in the chapel. His interest had become attraction, his attraction an obsession, an un-healing bruise he carried with him all five years of their separation. He’d thrown his whole future in Menzoberranzan away for her, he’d survived the Wilds for her, he’d followed her to Launa, and took up his gem-cutting profession just for her. 

In a very real sense, Mazira was his entire world. 

“I’ll never love anyone but her. If she rejects me, I won’t recover.” 

He expected Ti’yana to understand. After all, he habitually read books of elven love poems, which could span several volumes, depending on how long the writer took to compose it. She was a hopeless romantic, a believer in beauty and true love.

And yet, for the second time, she rolled her eyes. “Really?” She drew out the word with disbelief. 

“Yes,” Rismyn ground out, offended by her callous reply. 

“Wanna test that theory?” 

“What?” 

“I said,” Ti’yana repeated, stepping closer to him. “Do you”—she took another step, now invading his personal space—“want to”—she raised her hands, pressing the tips of her fingers against his chest—“test that?” 

Rismyn was utterly paralyzed, breathing in sharply as she slid just a little closer. But breathing in was a mistake, because along with the oxygen he inhaled her fresh, flora scent, which somehow made him more aware of her nearness, and the way her midriff hovered just out of reach of his abdomen, and the curve of her neck as she tilted her face ever so slightly to align with his own. 

“T-ti…” he began, his lips barely moving, but that was as far as he got. 

She placed a finger against his lips to silence him. “Shhh,” she said, returning her hand to his chest—his very bare, very exposed, very much not-wearing-a-shirt-because-the-Festival-is-stupid chest—and this time, spread it flat, her whole velvet-soft palm resting on his ribs.

No, this was wrong. Ti’yana was his sister and Mazira was the woman he loved and he needed to shove her away and demand to know what the hell had gotten into her, because this was too much, too close, too wrong.

But he couldn’t move. The same beast which called for Vaylan’s blood held a morbid curiosity to know how far this was going to go. His mouth went dry and his throat bobbed as he attempted to swallow nothing. 

Ti’yana was almost his height, so she didn’t have far to go. She slid in, closer and closer, her hands spreading across his chest, until her right hand landed on heart, which beat savagely against its bone cage.

“Do you feel that?” she whispered, her breath warm against his lips. They were so close, it was a marvel her lips didn’t brush his. “That’s life happening. Right there in your veins.” 

And then, she shoved away from him. Had he not been pressed against the wall already, he would have stumbled back. Instead, she moved back, her hands leaving his body, the space between them returning, and his lips blessedly unscathed. 

“And it happened without Mazira.” Ti’yana’s grin was unbecoming, or rather, the fact that it came at his expense made it unbecoming. Had he really once thought she wasn’t capable of mischief? “So don’t tell me you aren’t capable of moving on. You’ll figure it out.” 

Rismyn gaped at her, still flattened against the wall where she’d left him. It took him several long, arduous seconds for his brain to catch up to what had just happened. Coherent thought returned with a rush of boiling blood to his face, and his features contorted with rage, though more out of obligation than actual feeling. 

“What the hell, Ti’yana!?” he demanded, putting a hand to his mouth. “What… what the hell?”

Ti’yana laughed. “You should see the look on your face! What, did you think I was going to kiss you? You didn’t look all that upset about it in the moment. So I guess, point proven!”

She looked positively delighted and Rismyn just stared at her, aghast, while his heart jumbled all over the place and the beast beneath his skin growled in disappointment.

“Yes I thought you were going to kiss me!” Rismyn said, lowering his voice and glancing around, assuring himself that no one was nearby to witness or overhear his statement. Stars, what a moment for Solaurin to walk in on, had he been lurking! “You were—we were—what if I got the wrong idea and kissed you? Did you ever think of that?” 

Ti’yana shrugged. “Yes, I did. And I decided I was okay with it.” 

“That’s what I—wait, what?” 

This time, Ti’yana blushed, glancing at him sheepishly. “What? There’s so much pressure with first kisses, don’t you think? I mean like, first first kisses. Before you’ve ever kissed anyone outside of family. Everyone’s always like, give your kiss to your true love, but what if we mess up and we kiss someone we think is our true love and then they’re not and now we’ve wasted it?” 

“Uhh…” Rismyn said, not entirely sure he’d followed her words. He was still reeling over her actions. 

“But then I thought, if I gave it to you, it’d be safe. Because we’re not true loves.” She made a face. “No offense, you’re just way too emotional for my taste.” 

“None… taken?” 

“But you are my friend. My very dear friend.” Ti’yana’s hands hooked behind her back. “So if I gave you my kiss, I’d never regret it, and all the pressure would be over. Because we’re friends, not lovers. You can’t break a heart that hasn’t been given to you. Understand?” 

Rismyn blinked at her, shaking his head mechanically. No. He did not understand at all. First kisses and heart breakers and friends? It all sounded like girl stuff. Romantic education beyond his schooling. He hadn’t been taught about the emotional side of relationships. The lectures he’d endured had always focused on his physical responsibilities, and how he was to behave if a woman took notice of him.

Notice that he’d gone out of his way to avoid. 

But Ti’yana stood before him, babbling about kisses and risks and not being afraid to give her first kiss to him, because it would be safe, and telling him not to be offended that she didn’t have romantic interest in him while, quite possibly, paying him the greatest compliment he had ever received. 

She trusted him with her kiss.

Lip kisses, he had been taught, were only permissible if the lady granted it. It was why he had gone for Mazira’s throat, when he’d desperately wanted her mouth. Etiquette demanded as much. There was something sacred about lip kisses, something he had no right to violate unless asked. 

And she trusted him. Even implied she would have liked it. 

“So, anyway,” she said, brushing back her hair. She giggled a nervous, un-Ti’yana like giggle. “There was never a risk. For me, anyway. I sure did get your heartrate up. Oh! Uhm… please never tell my father about this…” She giggled again. “He might not… like my teaching method… and I swear it was just for you. I’m not usually like this…”

She started to turn away, but Rismyn snatched her wrist.

Ti’yana froze, glancing at his hand, then at his face. 

He said nothing, because there were no words he could say. She’d done so much for him. Took him in, tolerated his moods, befriended Mazira. She cared enough to meddle, to tell him hard truths, to force him to face himself. She’d cooked most of the meals he ate for the last year and tidied up after him. True, it was part of the general chores of living in the same house, and she did as much for every member of the family, but it struck Rismyn again how much Ti’yana meant to him, and how irreplaceable she had come to be in his life. 

Ti’yana searched his eyes, and must have read his mind again. Her expression grew serious, and she pivoted to face him directly. 

This time, her arms slid around his neck.

This time, his hands slid to her waist. 

And when their lips touched, something fluttered in Rismyn’s stomach. 

But that was all. Just a small flutter, a reaction to something exciting and new and interesting. Her lips were as soft as the rest of her, warm with a slight citrusy taste, probably from the stain she’d used. There wasn’t anything remotely unpleasant about the sensation, and yet…

She wasn’t Mazira. The flood of passion, the flurry of desire that accompanied the slight touch of Mazira’s hand lay still and undisturbed. Ti’yana was beautiful and precious to him, but she wasn’t Mazira. 

The whole event lasted no more than two seconds, before she pulled back, though she lingered close, her lips hovering over his, as though contemplating trying again. 

Rismyn considered it as well, curious to know if all kisses were like this, or if they came in different varieties. 

Yet something told him if he followed that curiosity, it wouldn’t be long before he woke up that flood of passion, manifesting it for ill-gain. And that, he knew to the very core of his being, would be disastrous.

They let go of each other at the same time, stepping back. Rismyn hid a smile, Ti’yana bit her lip, glancing at him through her lashes. 

“Thanks,” she said. “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Probably not,” he said, with a rueful smile. “But… will you do me a favor?”

“Perhaps. What is it?” 

“When we get back to the courtyard, can you distract Vaylan for me? Mazira and I need to talk.” 

Ti’yana grinned. “Absolutely.” She turned on her heel and headed back toward the courtyard, Rismyn moving to keep up with her. 

“Oh, and Ti’yana?” he said, as they got onto the path. “I really am sorry for ruining your Festival.” 

She glanced at him, still grinning. “I know you are.”

And with that, they returned to the courtyard, heads swiveling for a splash of wine-red and a pair of perfect, amethyst eyes.

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 CoastLLC.