Jaggonath, Year 1256 A.S.
five years after the Forest burned
Opportunities were easily made. Damien had thought hard about how to approach Narilka Tarrant, and then had decided to go for the straight-forward. Some inquiries among Jaggonath's adepts, and soon he knew of Gerald's appointment in the afternoon. With him away, he had a chance to talk to her.
"Mes Tarrant," he greeted when she opened the door, and attempted his most disarming smile. "I'm Damien Kilcannon Vryce. Please excuse the intrusion."
She was wearing trousers and a corseted leather vest over a loose blouse, emphasizing her lean figure. Her dark eyes examined him intently for a moment. "Yes," she said then, her voice calm. "My husband mentioned you to me."
He had?
Something impish seemed to shine from her eyes then. "In fact, he suggested I might go and speak to you."
"I see," Damien said, though he didn't, not entirely. "Then it appears I've saved you an errand."
"So you have." She smiled at him, almost warmly, though he'd done nothing to deserve it. What had Gerald told her? "Won't you come in?"
He followed her into the now-familiar sitting room, and accepted her offer of tea, which - so she explained - she'd just made fresh.
He sipped appreciatively, then set his cup down again. "Would it surprise you," he asked, "that he suggested I speak to you as well?"
She snorted. "With Gerald, very little surprises me." She looked him over again, and he was uncomfortably aware how very different he looked from her elegant husband, or her elegant self. Bulky where Gerald was lean, he was the physical opposite of Gerald. He was a warrior, a knight, never mind his occupation of the last five years. Then she leaned forward, intently. "You knew him, once," she said. "Do you find him ... very changed?"
The careful deliberation of her words gave her away, and he suddenly realised that she, just like him, was attempting to find a way to broach the subject of Gerald's past, sounding him out without admitting to anything.
It was then that he understood why the last day's revelations - all of them, and every moment of his conversation with Gerald - had felt so wrong.
She did know. She'd not been duped. She knew exactly who Gerald was and had been. All of this; all of Gerald's waving his new life in front of Damien like some red flag before a bull - all of that spoke of only one thing: fear. Gerald hadn't thrown himself into darkness again; he worried that he'd fallen. Damien breathed lighter.
Everything Gerald had regained - perhaps there was nothing wrong with it. Perhaps Gerald could have it all, the best parts of his old life, and his new.
His mind flinched away from the thought, from measuring it against his own life.
"Completely, and not at all," he answered Narilka's question. "But I think he's the one worried, isn't he? Not you."
"Ah." She sat back, abruptly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "He set us up. Didn't he?"
Damien smiled at her in sudden fellow-feeling. "He told me to ask you if you knew about his past. And he told you to ask me how much he'd changed; is that true?"
"Yes." Clipped. "I'm going to ... Never mind. I didn't realise he was so worried. If he's using you as a measure of his change ..."
"And manipulating us both, rather than asking."
"Naturally." Exasperation and fondness entwined in her voice. "Because it would be utterly beyond the man to simply say, 'Narilka, there's a friend of mine, and I'd like you to talk to him. I need an outside perspective.'"
Damien added, "Or, 'I'm worried about the state of my immortal soul. What are your thoughts on the matter?'"
They shared a look of complete understanding and humour.
Damien had walked beside Gerald with his eyes open, had walked the darkest of paths with him - had gone into Hell itself for him. And Narilka, as well, had chosen to walk beside him. To take him into her life - to marry him, to have him raise her daughter, even knowing what he was capable of.
Perhaps Damien could allow himself to admit, in his heart of hearts, that he was almost jealous of her.