Chapter 8
Artifice
Aveth rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he sat up in bed. Cursing both the morning light and himself for sleeping late, he donned his charcoal-hued leather armor with practiced hands. The task was enough to let his mind catch up with his body and emerge into full wakefulness. He stepped out into the hall and stretched, back popping. Soft chatter bubbled up from the common room below, but he paid it little heed. Instead, the rustle of crisp sheets from an open door along the hall caught his focus. He made for the room and spied Reina within, changing the linens of the bed.
"Need some help?" he offered, cracking his neck.
Reina jumped a bit in surprise.
"Oh! I've got it, but thank you."
Aveth nodded agreeably before speaking again. "Reina, may I ask you something?"
She paused in straightening the wrinkles from the blanket, standing and giving him her full attention. "Of course," came her earnest reply.
"What stars were you born under?"
She blinked at the odd question, and Aveth couldn't blame her.
"The Lady," Reina replied, trying without success to hide her confusion.
"The Lady," he whispered, almost to himself. Indeed, it seemed everything was falling into place. But he still had to be sure. For Nova's sake if nothing else.
"You're learning the healer's trade, aren't you," he continued. It wasn't a question.
"Yes, but I don't-"
"I know," he cut her off. "It's strange of me to ask, but I wonder if I could beg a favor of you. Could you ask your classmates for their birthsigns as well?" Her brow furrowed further, prompting him to play his most valuable card. "Nova would be especially grateful."
Reina bit her lip, but something passed behind her eyes. Aveth watched her demeanor change from uncertain to authoritative in the single beat of a heart. She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye, unflinching.
"Why do you want to know?" she demanded, though her tone was level.
Aveth fought down the urge to smirk. She almost sounded… regal. But maybe that was just his own imagining. He opened his mouth, mind working out how to begin.
"Reina," came George's voice from the doorway.
Aveth glanced back to see the man stride into the room, passing Reina a small box.
"You go ahead. I'll finish up here," George insisted.
"Thanks Dad," Reina smiled, her demeanor shifting back to her normal state. She kissed her father on the cheek before excusing herself and hurrying away.
Aveth made to follow when the man's heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
"You and I are going to talk," the innkeeper insisted, voice low.
Oh. Good.
Aveth took a deep breath through his nose and pushed away his building apprehension. "Yes, I think it's time." He walked away only to shut the door and turn back, speaking softly. Behind his eyes there was a quiet determination. George needed to know. He owed the man that much at least. Even if only half of his suspicions were correct… Reina was their best candidate in centuries, and both he and Nova knew it. Indeed, he doubted his companion could walk away from her at this point, regardless.
"You might want to sit down," Aveth said.
George didn't move.
With a sigh, Aveth began to speak, recounting the story he'd managed to pull from Nova over the decades. He told of Lucinda's reign, her fall, and her ever-present bodyguard that sat below them in the common room now. He told of his journey with her across the land in search of the queen's soul reborn in a new vessel and their quest to return her to be confirmed by the Ancestors, though he carefully omitted his and Nova's eternal natures, letting the man believe it was simply natural for elves, or half-elves. Then, at George's prompt, he told him of the island, Aelyria, Nova's people… and the dark, lupine enemy that haunted their shores.
"And those… wolf-things would have killed everyone if the queen hadn't cast her spell?" George clarified, eyes shrouded as if he didn't believe a word, but was content to humor the dunmer for a time. "Just what are they exactly?"
"From my understanding, a… sort of shadow beast. They call them garm. I don't know many details, I'm afraid. You would probably have to ask Nova."
George's face soured at that.
"She and the queen," he began, folding his arms as the immovable bastion of Reina's father glared with narrowed eyes. "Were they…?" Suspicion saturated his words.
"No," Aveth said softly, almost bitterly. In truth, he wasn't certain of the real answer, but if he knew his companion as well as he thought… "For a reason beyond me, Nova will not permit such a thing between them. Then or now." The last was whispered with an almost hostile edge before Aveth took a calming breath.
"Why do you even need the old queen? Just crown a new one," George scoffed with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if the answer were obvious.
Aveth grimaced. It was a private matter for Nova's people. He should not divulge it, but perhaps something with just enough of the truth…
"It's complicated. Even I don't quite understand it." he deflected with a meager lie. "But they need her. Without her, her people will be overrun by those monstrosities."
"This is a little… outlandish," George scoffed, shifting on his feet impatiently. "In fact, a lot outlandish."
"I know," Aveth nodded.
"And you want me to let her be taken away to some island I've never heard of to be 'tested'?" the man spat.
Aveth set a hand on the man's shoulder. He could not push him into giving up his daughter. Best to give him time to think. "For now, just consider what I've said. Who knows, maybe some things will start to make sense." He hoped that was true for Nova's sake. Would she draw her blade against George if it came to that? No, no of course not. But knocking him out? That was distinctly possible.
George gave a contemptuous grunt in reply.
"I'm not asking you to believe, accept, or allow anything," Aveth asserted calmly. "I'm only asking you to hear it without judgment, just listening."
George's expression softened marginally at that.
"I suppose I can do that," he nodded almost absently. With that, he continued tending the room where Reina had left off, dismissing Aveth with a wave of his hand, though not unkindly.
The dunmer nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind himself. He walked all of five steps in the hall before he noticed Nova at the head of the stairs.
Aveth struggled against the urge to bite his lip. Now how exactly did he tell Nova? Specifically without her throwing him through a wall.
"You have the most guilty look on your face that I've ever seen," she commented with a smirk. "Alright, out with it."
Ancestors smite him. He opened his mouth, shut it, then tried again, all the while steering her gently into their room and closing the door.
"I… asked Reina her birthsign," he said gently. "It matches Lucinda's."
Nova's jaw stiffened.
"I… I suspected as much," she finally admitted, voice barely audible. Her boots thudded dully as she walked to the window with glassy eyes. Silence trickled between them like a soft rain.
"Nova?" he pressed delicately. "What do you want to do?"
She did not answer, and again the soundless void reigned.
"Aveth?" her voice finally called, eerily soft. "Is it alright? What I'm doing…" She paused and bit her lip. "Do I have any right to ask her to give up the life she has for one she can't recall?"
"You know why you must," he said. "Without an anointed royal on the throne, without Lucinda-"
"My people will be overrun by darkness incarnate," she finished for him. "If I fail here..." she let the thought trail into nothing before trying anew. "The magic of the Ancestors keeps those monstrosities at bay for now, but it's fading. We won't be able to rely on it much longer, and I know that!" she said through gritted teeth. "But… I- I can't help but wonder… if this is fair for her."
"I... can't answer that," he admitted. When she turned to study him, he continued, "You'll have to ask her what she wants."
Nova opened her mouth, then it grew into a smile before she gave a single nod.
"I'd like that," she said softly. "I'm getting tired of keeping secrets. Especially from her."
"Well," Aveth began with something between a smirk and a grimace. "Then on that note, I should probably mention I told George... almost everything."
Nova's expression turned sour. Her eyes burned into him before she sighed through her nose. "Outstanding."
"We need him on our side," the dunmer reminded.
"I know," Nova agreed, albeit grumbling.
There was another long silence, but Aveth simply stood there, waiting patiently for her to speak. After all, he did have an eternity.
"Aveth?" she murmured at last.
"Hm?"
"I thought I'd be happy," was all she said, a strange defeat lingering in her words. "But ever since last night..."
The sadness burrowed like a needle stabbed into his chest. "Nova," he said, the name sounding much like a coo. He approached her slowly, settling an arm around her shoulders.
"Talk to me," he pressed softly. "Please."
"It's stupid," she dismissed.
"It's not, because it clearly bothers you," he said pointedly.
Nova remained silent until he shook her gently in his grip.
"It's just..." she forced out. "I really like Reina. I do. She's..." Far too many words filled her mind for her to articulate, so she let the thought fall into nothing. "But if we return her to Aelyria and the Ancestors name her Lucinda reborn… she'll become queen, and if she becomes queen… then everything changes." Nova paused and gathered her spiraling thoughts as she rubbed her weary eyes. "If she becomes queen…"
"You cannot be together in the way that you want?" Aveth supplied softly.
Nova stiffened in his grasp before struggling vainly in an attempt to break free.
"No!" she protested harshly. Too harshly. "It's not like that."
"You are your own worst enemy, old friend," Aveth said, pulling her closer.
Nova did not answer. He didn't understand. There was a simple truth in all of it.
She was unworthy. She was nothing more than a half-breed, dirty and graceless. How in the Ancestors' names could her affections for Lucinda ever be acceptable? Lucinda was a brilliant, virtuous soul, filled with kindness and a compassion beyond any mortal's ken. She had been beautiful, graceful… Indeed, she was everything that Nova was not. Yet still, she had treated Nova like she'd truly mattered when Nova had been little more than a stray dog. Always kind, always… warm.
Nova closed her eyes. She could not say the words, indeed, she could hardly think them. But she had loved Lucinda. And she still did. She always would. But Ancestors… if Lucinda had known…. Nova shuddered at the thought, prompting Aveth to hold her tighter. If Lucinda had known, she would have sent her away. It would have come from a desire to shield the warrior from the longings in her heart, to protect her from the pain such unrequited feelings would foster, but she would have done it none the less. Or perhaps… Lucinda would have been disgusted. Nova clenched her eyes shut tighter, shaking her head. She simply could not bear that. A blade to her heart would be preferable… Spirits, in either scenario.
No, it was far better to keep it hidden away. She had to bury it down deep, to carry it to her grave. That way, she would not have to risk the glares from her fellow islanders toward the dog who'd dared sully their queen. If she could only keep her silence then...
She would not have to endure Lucinda's rejection.
Because that would destroy her far more completely than any blade ever could.
Nova set a hand on Aveth's chest, silently extracting herself from his embrace. Her feet shuffled to the door like a dreamer's, far too many thoughts tearing through her mind. The cyclone drained her strength with every heartbeat. She found herself in the streets a moment later, wandering blindly through clustered buildings. She pushed into a demanding jog, letting the action eat up her consciousness until there was only the drum of her footsteps and the heave of her breath.
The day faded into late afternoon as she found herself laying beneath the sheltering boughs of a pine tree, staring up into its green needles. If she focused on it, she could almost place herself back among her forested homeland, sheltered in the whispering pines. The tree's sweet scent filled her with warm memories of home, finally allowing a meager sense of peace to wash over her. Ancestors, it had been too long.
Ralif stood beside a cart of cabbages and tried not to grimace at the smell. Despite the frigid air, they still reeked in the sun. He pushed them from his thoughts, eyes widening as a woman in black armor trotted past. Her likewise black hair set her apart from the warrior women of the nords, but even with such a clue, he would have known her. He set down the apples he was pretending to inspect and gave a subtle gesture across the market. Two men nodded, and broke from the rabble, drifting in opposite directions. He made his way at a leisurely pace toward the same alley she'd vanished into, and broke into a trot as he turned a corner, away from prying eyes.
Finding her alone was an opportunity he wasn't about to squander. If he killed her, Quintillius would surely reward him.
He pushed onward down a narrow street before coming to a crossroads. Ralif grimaced. He was never good at decisions like this. Ah, but he'd just been promoted! He'd have to start being good at it! Ralif glanced both directions, his grimace morphing into a toothy scowl. Left. No, right. Definitely right. He wheeled and ran before he could change his mind.
Nova sighed, laying in the straggly grass beneath the tree. It wasn't remarkably comfortable, but just enough like home to let her pretend.
She missed the sea. The absence of the gentle waves in the distance rang louder than she thought possible. She missed the dewy morning fog that rolled in from the great expanse. How could she have ever thought it was annoying? Of course… she shed no tears for the perpetually damp air that made her hair stick out in every direction. That she could do without. Oh but the sand. Yes! She wanted nothing more than to kick off her boots and bury her toes in it, just where the waves could wash over them. Preferably the summer waves, but the temperatures there rarely warmed excessively. None of her people ever seemed to mind the climate though, much like Skyrim's own ilk. Though the similarities ended there, she mused, as the Nords could hardly rival their craftsmanship. Indeed, the medium hardly mattered. From forging to tailoring, carpentry to alchemy, when her people set their minds to create something, they did so with an almost otherworldly skill. Perhaps it was the grace of their Ancestors, flowing through them, or the centuries worth of life to practice.
Such dedication echoed even further into their combat prowess, likely for the same reason.
Or perhaps it was the enemy that haunted their shores…
With the abominable threat just beyond their city's wall, each citizen was mandated to appear for training in fist, bow and blade, along with magic if they wished, until they reached a level of proficiency the royal guard's commander found agreeable. Nova shivered involuntarily. She was sure Commander Trentus's definition of "adequate" would make most human soldiers flee, screaming. But it meant that their borders could be defended by anyone old enough to swing a blade.
Nova's own ineptitude with archery notwithstanding….
She could still hear the old dog's barking to this day. "You call that a stance?" And the ever popular: "So, your plan is to make the enemy laugh themselves to death?" She let a smile light her face before a drumming sound came to her ears. Her eyes darted to an opening between two buildings as three men filed out. The hair on the back of her neck rose and tingled at the sight.
Nova did not pause to consider, but obeyed her instincts at once, drawing her knees to her chest and snapping her legs up and out in an arc, veritably vaulting her own body into a standing position.
"Nice trick," one of the men smirked.
She did not answer, watching them warily. Her left hand hung close to her sword's sheath, ready to grab it should she need to draw her blade. Yet she forced a neutral air, despite her welling unease. There was no need to escalate things before she knew their intentions. A detached part of her mind noted that they looked strangely out of breath, as if they'd been running through the streets all morning.
"You!" a man with drab brown hair called. His equally drab, equally brown clothes were cloaked in dust. "Do you… have any idea..." he huffed through great breaths. "You know what? Never mind. I'm just going… to kill you."
She blinked.
"You know, I almost like you," Nova quipped, a smirk lighting her face. "You don't bandy words, you just spell out your intent from the start. Makes things so much easier." Her blade came free of its sheath with a hiss.
The first man rushed her, drawing a dagger hidden in his sleeve. Nova's smirk did not falter as his strides pushed him toward her. She feinted a dodge, then cut a silver arc with her blade, cleaving the man's head from his body before she spun away from the crumpling remains. In the back of her mind, a sigh rose. She'd just finished cleaning her gear. Some people had no respect. And no intelligence, it seemed.
The second man pulled a dagger and ran for her just after the first. He saw his ally fall, but could not change course in time. She stabbed, but needn't have bothered. He was too close to dodge now, and his reckless momentum impaled his own torso on her blade before she cast him to the ground, pulling her weapon free. She stabbed again to hasten his death.
"See, here's the problem," she announced to the third man, in his drab brown everything. "I have a sword. Which is longer than a dagger. Meaning I can stab you before you stab me." Her tone was patronizing, as if she was explaining things to a child for the fifth time. "Running straight for me is a really good way to get yourselves killed. Case and point." She gestured to the dead and dying man. "In fact, fighting me in general falls under that category."
"Good to know," the man grimaced, drawing his own dagger and angling it toward her.
"So," Nova glowered. "If at first you don't succeed, redefine success?"
"No," he drawled, as if waiting for something.
Nova's face drained of mirth as her skin tingled. She spun on her heel in time to see a woman with a sword lifted and starting to swing for her neck.
Nova vaulted away diagonally, just managing to clear the lethal arc before bringing her own blade to bear as the woman recovered from her swing and raised her blade again. There was an armored man behind her with a heavy crop of black hair and an evil-looking warhammer of green metal in his hands. As they advanced, so did the drab man, far closer than she would have liked.
"How about a tip for you?" he jeered, adopting his own patronizing tone. "Make sure to prattle on during a fight. It's easier for your opponents to sneak up on you that way."
Nova flashed him a smirk. She really shouldn't, but she couldn't resist.
"Lesson two: fight smarter, not harder."
She vanished in a dull blaze of dark blue light. Before anyone could wonder what had happened, she reappeared behind the man with the warhammer, her sword protruding at an angle from the front of his throat. Nova pulled it free and vanished again. This time the woman with the sword was not impressed, stabbing for where she'd been a moment before. Hitting only air, she lashed out to either side. She turned, stabbing wildly behind her, expecting the same attack her ally had received.
Nova almost rolled her eyes. That would be far too predictable. Instead, she lifted her invisible blade and stabbed the woman through the heart. The spell shattered like the bones in her sword's path before the woman fell, convulsing. The black-armored warrior lifted her eyes to the drab man again. He tensed, no doubt expecting her to use her spell once more. But again, predictable, and as Commander Trentus liked to say: predictable was just another word for dead. Actually he'd yelled it, but that was just because he had to scare new trainees. Probably.
Nova charged with a war cry, crossing the distance between them with two powerful strides. He dodged to the side, throwing himself into a roll before surging to his feet. She followed, and did not hesitate as she swung her blade upward diagonally, cutting a dire gash across his back as he tried to flee. He staggered under the force of the blow, falling to his hands and knees as his dagger clattered to the dirt. The man rolled to the side before a heavy boot landed on his chest, pinning him in place.
"You're not just some shadow-touched lowlife, are you?" she surmised with narrowed eyes, hovering her blade over his heart.
"Quintillius sends his regards," the man smirked, spitting blood at her, but failing as it simply arced back down and landed on his shirt. "Go ahead and run me through. You and every one you give half a damn about are as good as dead, he'll see to that, don't think he won't! And-"
Nova's blade plunged downward with violent force, splintering the bones in its path as it pierced clean through his heart and continued into the dirt beneath him. She glanced back to check her surroundings, then watched the life fade from his eyes, just to be sure. It was downright aggravating when an opponent managed a life-saving spell or pulled a potion from some unseen depths. She withdrew her blade and stepped back.
Drumming footsteps made her turn and raise her sword once more. She relaxed at once when a trio of the city's guards thundered in, weapons drawn. With a flourish, she set her blade's tip against the dirt and held out her free hand.
"What's going on here?" the guard demanded.
Well, wasn't that a story. Nova pushed the thought away and resigned herself to relaying the tale. Second advantage to making sure one's opponent's were dead? Dead men told no tales.
Reina gave a hopeless sigh and once again tucked her hair behind her ear as she stared at the parchment on her desk. She should have tied back her hair. But there wasn't time now. She risked a glance up to Healer Lee's worn desk. The hourglass upon it was nearly drained of its ivory sand.
Reina looked to the final question on the page and wrote a paragraph in answer, almost without having to pause and think about it. To be fair though, it was asking about reducing swelling. Her thoughts drifted back to the wounded man. Ironheel, wasn't it? Gods, his face…. She'd looked in on him that morning to find he'd improved over the night, but marginally. It left her wondering exactly how frowned upon it actually was to throw a person over one's shoulder and carry them to the temple.
She stood, stretching her neck and picking up her paper. Placing it into the elderly healer's waiting hands, she turned back to her desk and looked again at the empty table beside her own. Raven had not made it today. Despite the young woman's lackadaisical attitude, it was unlike her to be absent. A worried frown creased Reina's face. She really should check in on her. The poor girl was probably sick as a dog.
A hand nudged her shoulder. She turned to see Vara returning from handing in her own work, along with Miranda.
Healer Lee's soft voice carried to them, "You can all go now, if you'd like." There was a smirk in the words, as if she dared anyone to linger.
None of them accepted the challenge. The trio strode out into the beginnings of sunset.
"Should we take Raven a copy of the test?" Vara smirked. "I'd hate for her to miss out."
"She'd turn you into a toad," Miranda deadpanned.
"It'd be worth it," Vara assured.
"I would like to make sure she's alright," Reina professed.
"Can I bring the test?" Vara asked, lifting a devious eyebrow.
"No," the other two answered in unison before all of them started down the street together.
"How do you think you did?" Miranda inquired of them.
"The first couple of questions weren't great," Vara admitted glumly. "But not too bad otherwise."
Reina opened her mouth to reply next, but a voice called out from the alleyway. A nord with gray hair and worn armor lingered in the shadows. His scar-littered face scrunched with worry.
"Pardon ladies, but would any of you happen to know where the temple is? My friend got himself pretty beat up and I don't know the city well."
Miranda took the lead, head raised imperiously.
"Of course, tell us what happened."
"Well, you see, I don't rightly know," he admitted, removing his horned helmet and wringing it in his hands. "He's not waking up. I… I tried. I'm not sure if I can move him. I'm… not sure if I should move him."
Miranda glanced to the others, then turned back to the man.
"I'm apprenticed as a healer. I'll take a look," she declared.
"We'll all go," Vara insisted, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Reina's lips made a thin line, but she nodded her agreement. "I'm sure between us we can either help him or get him to the temple."
"Thank you," the man sighed, relief saturating his words. He ushered them through the alley, talking all the while. "He's just over here, the small house." He hurried to the door and opened it for them, motioning them quickly inside. "I can't tell you what a relief this is, thank you."
He smiled. That was actually true. It was, after all, so much easier when his quarry followed to a place away from prying eyes. He'd almost felt bad, capturing the first with such ease. Now with these three wandering right in? Ah, some days he was just a lucky soul.
Aveth paced the room. Nova watched him from the bed, then returned to inspecting the edge of her newly cleaned blade before sheathing it. So many bones and hardly a scratch. He turned in another tight circle, brisk steps carrying him from the door to the window and back. Indeed the guard had taken her story of the attack better. But then again, in that version, the assailants had been no more than robbers after her coin. Yes Officer, all five of them. Why yes, that was strange, Officer. Big mystery.
"In daylight no less!" Aveth swore. "I did not think Quintillius would be so bold."
"Technically he wasn't," Nova commented. "He sent his underlings."
He shot her a glare and the mirth faded from her features.
"We must attack tonight."
"Won't he be expecting that now?" she asked.
"Have we a choice?" he returned, drawing to a halt.
She sighed in concession.
"But I do have a few ideas," Aveth placated, the ghost of a smirk pulling at his lips.
"Do I have to set the fort on fire?" she grimaced.
"Stone is much too hard to burn," he dismissed with the wave of his hand.
Nova blinked. Wait a moment… stone shouldn't burn at all.
"You know what? Don't tell me until tonight. I don't want to know yet," she insisted, shaking her head.
This time the smirk he gave in response made her shiver.
He smoothed his features and donned a small smile instead. "Then how about some food while we wait for night?"
"That I can agree to," she nodded, standing and offering him a slap on the arm as she passed.
Reina groaned and touched a hand to the back of her head. The throbbing pain sharpened two-fold and set tinges of white flaking through her vision. She snatched her hand back at once with a hiss.
Her thoughts felt like tar, thick and sluggish. Still, foggy images tried to push through to the surface. She had the vague sense of walking into a run down kitchen from a dark alley just behind Miranda and Vara, then… Had she fallen? No. No, she'd been… struck from behind! But who would do that? Why? Fear washed through her, banishing the confusion.
Her hand felt along the floor as she struggled to push herself up. Cold, damp stone met her touch. It brought another memory to the fore of her thoughts, in it she was being dragged down a hall, iron bars standing here and there along stony walls. Cells? Ahead of her, Miranda's fiery hair shone like a beacon in the dim light as she was carried, draped unceremoniously over the shoulder of a gruff man in iron armor. She caught sight of Vara next, or at least she assumed it was Vara. Only her russet robe was visible, poking from around the back of a shoddily armored warrior. The memory snapped into darkness, and gave her no more clues.
Cells.
Cells?
Dear gods.
Reina stared hard, willing her eyes to focus as she shuffled up to sit. A row of iron bars met her protesting stare. She turned, finding a trio of stone walls to complete her prison.
"No," she moaned bitterly, throat constricting. "No!"
This couldn't be happening. This wasn't happening. It was a bad dream, that was all. She'd wake up soon!
She couldn't be here. Gods, where was 'here' anyway? This wasn't right! She had to get home, had to get back to her dad! This wasn't happening.
It… it was the city's prison. Yes. It had to be. She'd angered the guards and her father would be along in the morning. It didn't matter that there was not a guard in sight, nor that it was dim, dirty, crumbling, and everything she could not imagine of a city's prison. She clung to the hope, though it slipped through her fingers like sand.
Her breath rushed in and out of her lungs as she surged to her feet. Panic welled in her chest, but before it could manifest, an opening door and voices broke the silence.
Two men strode into view, the first in shabby fur armor that looked as if it had… human bones sewn onto it. Dear gods. He glanced into her cell only once with remarkable apathy.
"Nord, female. Hm, probably around… How old are you girl?" he snapped.
Reina couldn't find her voice.
"Eh, put twenty… two," the man shrugged with a dismissive wave.
The man behind him, clad in a black robe held a book open in one hand and jotted down the words. His eyes flicked to her briefly.
"Pretty," he commented absently, still scribbling. "She'll fetch a good price."
Reina paled. Price?
"Where is this?" she finally managed.
They did not answer, moving on down the short hall to the last two cells.
"An elf," the armored man commented. "Not much to look at with a shaved head, but maybe we can still charge well. 'Exotic goods' and all that."
"Hey, you lout!"
Reina perked at once. That was Miranda! She wasn't alone! But all at once, she hated herself for thinking such a thing. It would be better if her friend was far from here. Miranda's continued tirade broke through her thoughts.
"Do you know who my father is? I'll have you arrested and locked up for the rest of your days! But," she offered imperiously, "I'm willing to plead leniency on your behalf. If you let us go-"
The sound of a strike resonated in the small space, followed by a heavy thud.
"Miranda!" a voice cried.
Vara!
"Shut up girl," the man spat. He turned to his companion. "Got 'em?"
With a final stroke of his quill, the robed man nodded. They left without another word.
Miranda's voice called after them, though slightly slurred as the door shut.
"You just made your last mistake!"
Reina dashed to the bars and clutched them tightly, even as the action made her head throb all the more.
"Vara! Miranda!" she cried.
"Reina?" they answered in unison. "Are you alright?
"I'm fine!" she insisted, repeating the question to them.
"Well enough," Miranda asserted. "Raven's here too, but she's just waking up. It looks like they gave her something to make her sleep..." Miranda's voice broke off. The momentary concern that touched her voice vanished as she spoke again. "Any idea where we are?"
"Not a clue," Reina shook her head.
"So what do we do?" Vara asked with a surreal calm.
"My father will find us," Miranda assured. "We just have to be smart until then!"
Reina bit her lip and did not answer. Deep in the back of her mind, there was a thought that felt strange, yet somehow… right. Nova would come for her. Nova would protect her.
She always had.
Reina found herself nodding, as if it was the most logical conclusion she could make.
George set down a small crate behind the bar's polished counter and cast a furrowed frown toward a table near the back of the room. There sat the black armored warrior and her dunmer companion… with his outlandish stories. George scoffed. He'd be dead, buried, and return as a draugr before he believed that. Or let them carry his daughter off to some gods-forgotten island. He glared anew at the warrior. It was almost a shame she didn't notice.
George folded his arms with a huff. She was getting awfully close to his little girl. Did they think he hadn't noticed? Bah! A father always noticed! It might just be time to have a talk with that warrior. Specifically while sharpening his kitchen knives ever so nonchalantly. Just so she'd understand what happened to people who broke his little girl's heart. Or put her in danger... Or filled her head with nonsensical stories… And look at that, the warrior in question was walking this way. Maybe he have that talk now before Reina got home.
He glanced at the window and stopped, thoughts draining from his mind like water cast from a bucket. It was well past dark. Reina should have been home long before now.
"George?" Nova asked, hesitation wavering in her voice.
It was fine, he told himself. She was probably just with her friends. Catching up. Because he'd made her miss so much class lately.
"George?" Nova called again.
Still, the words spilled from his mouth.
"Reina should be home by now." He kicked himself for the fear and worry in his voice. He was overreacting… Still, he liked that the warrior's hand immediately grasped her sword's sheath.
"I'll find her." The promise came at once, solemn and irrefutable.
George met her eyes for a moment. They veritably burned.
"I'm... overreacting," he admitted with a grimace, the words bitter as he shook his head.
"So am I," she said, turning on her heel and striding for the door.
George doubted he could have stopped her if he'd wanted to, and that was quite alright by him. Because he didn't want to in the slightest. Maybe, just maybe, he would only sharpen one of his knives during their talk. His favorite one, from Hammerfell. But… he'd make them tea. She seemed to like tea.
George watched the door close, then stared at it for an age before the calls of his patrons roused him from his stupor. He moved slowly, repeating the same soothing words in his head that all would be well. But it was a father's job to worry.
Nova trotted from the inn before a hand caught her arm. She turned, finding Aveth wide eyed.
"Nova..." he hurried. "If Quintillius's men attacked you earlier..."
An icy cold shot down her spine. She shook her head at the implications.
"What? No. No! That's nonsense!" she protested loudly. "He wouldn't! There's no reason!"
"You care about her," he insisted. "It's reason enough!"
No. No, no, no.
Nova's eyes narrowed as a snarl of rage splayed her teeth in feral form.
"If he's harmed her..." she growled from deep in her chest.
"Hurry," Aveth pressed. He did not need to repeat it.
She pushed ahead, running with all the speed she could muster. He wouldn't kill her. He couldn't kill her. Dear Ancestors, please… She couldn't lose her again.
