To say I had mixed feelings about the Hellsbreath Tavern would be an understatement.
Memories of my heated kiss with Valen bombarded me the moment the warmth of the building hit me. I could only hope that the tiefling assumed my blush was from the sudden heat hitting my cold cheeks.
I found his eyes and the knowing curve to his lips and his replying blush told me my answer. Gone was the seething man of weeks past, his barely contained anger evident in the swirling colour of his eyes. Gone was the demon that killed a devil-blooded man just for looking at me the wrong way.
At the thought, I let my eyes roam past him to the adjoining room and, like a bucket of cold water, I remembered the bloodstained table beyond.
The beer helped. On both fronts.
I was half way through my second drink, the dark liquid warming my throat and chest all the way down, when I noticed that something drastic had changed. I noticed, with sudden surprise, that it wasn't just Valen that was different. The tavern was different. The ghosts were gone. The pilgrims too.
And I knew, with a deep shudder, where the ghosts had gone. Mephistopheles had built his army; the ghosts serving as fuel for his undead hordes.
But the green-skinned pilgrims? They were nowhere in sight. And I wasn't sure what that meant for the Sleeping Man or the temple…
That just left — lucky-us — the devils and devilspawn.
They left a wide berth around us, considering eyes falling on Valen and his massive flail. Thankfully, they paid absolutely no attention to me. We'd been tense at first, expecting reprisal for our mistreatment of one of their own, but they seemed more cautious than anything.
He'd evidently left an impression after our last stay.
I finished my drink and motioned for a third.
As the imp placed it on the table, beer sloshing everywhere, I shifted position to avoid the mess. Valen and I sat at our own table in the corner of the main room, my arms crossed atop the small surface. We were both perched atop uncomfortably tall — at least for me — barstools.
Deekin didn't drink, and had chosen to unpack his belongings in our new room, his little head bobbing to the music as he'd disappeared from sight. Since entering, the little imp's hadn't let up with their ministrations of their instruments, their small hard fists continue their incessant beating of the drums overhead. The sound left me wishing for Deekin to return and play his own music, even the Trumpet of Pandemonium beginning to seem preferable.
The drums seemed to vibrate through my entire body, each beat putting me that little bit more on edge.
I had to admit though, it might have been nothing to do with the music, and everything to do with the impending fight that I knew was coming. My insides clenched tightly and my teeth were gritted in place.
Even trying as hard as I could to focus only on this drink and this moment, my mind kept straying ever forward to what tomorrow would bring.
Freedom, yes. And blue blue skies.
But also Mephistopheles.
And after that — if we were lucky enough for an after — who knew?
I swallowed another mouthful, starting at the realisation that Valen's eyes were on me. Blue and unblinking.
I inhaled my beer the wrong way and spluttered in surprise, earning a small smile from him. I motioned in embarrassment at his unfinished glass.
"You're not drinking?" I managed through another cough.
"One was enough."
I pulled his glass towards me. "Suit yourself." I shrugged. "I mean it's no Muse's Verity, but…"
I trailed off, taking another sip. Despite the alcohol I still felt tense and on-edge. Like I'd forgotten something. Like I wasn't ready.
I took another deep gulp of the drink.
Last one, and then I'd be able to sleep.
At Valen's vacant expression, I forced what I hoped was a convincing smile over the rim of my glass. "You know; the purple drink from Lith My'athar?" I pressed with a raised brow.
He seemed to consider his words. "I did not realise you knew what it was."
"Well… not at the time." I felt my cheeks colour as snaps of memory from that night came filtering back to me.
"Nathyrra?" he hummed.
My heart clenched painfully at her name; shame building up and turning to anger. I swallowed it down and waited for it to pass.
"The Seer." I said.
The drow and I had spoken the morning following my embarrassing foray into drow society.
I'd answered a light knock at my door, opening it and fully expecting one of the usual serving women. Instead, the Seer alone had been standing there, a small cloth of fresh pastries in hand.
We'd talked over breakfast about things that had seemed so very incidental at the time — her morning prayers, how the pastries were made, the festivities of the night before — didn't she know we were going to be fighting to our deaths in a matter of hours? But — looking back — it had been exactly what I needed.
A fact that I had no doubt she'd known.
The Seer had seemed happy to learn that I was able to experience some of the finer aspects of drow society, lips curving up and eyes narrowing at my mention of the tiefling's presence. She had been all too willing to answer my questions about the drink, her eyes lighting up in pride as I'd jotted everything down. She'd given me pause at the revelation that, in some, it caused temporary telepathy.
If my failed attempt at reading a cantrip scroll in Hilltop hadn't been enough evidence, this solidified my suspicions — once and for all — that I had absolutely no natural nack for magic.
But did Valen?
I considered the tiefling's pursed lips and chewed at my own.
"She mentioned it could cause telepathy in some drinkers," I started, unsure.
He smiled flatly, raising a large hand to his chin and scratching at the growing stubble there.
My eyes widened.
"You knew!"
I felt a laugh building in my chest, forcing its way through the twisting of my insides, through my fear and anxiety, and making its way to the surface.
I laughed once, sudden and hard, before planting a hand to my smiling mouth to hold the rest of my snorting laugh at bay. The sound surprised Valen just as much as the surrounding devils, a few of them glancing in our direction, before shifting further away.
"You are... not mad?" he pressed carefully.
His eyes crinkled in the beginnings of a smile, despite his uncertainty.
I shrugged, the motion pulling at the bandages on my neck uncomfortably.
"You wanted to see if I planned on betraying the Seer?"
He smiled sheepishly.
"Well, it obviously didn't work, or else you'd have known about my… history… before now."
I searched his face for any sign of my earlier betrayal, but found none of the anger and hurt from before.
I found my smile forcing its way across my face, an answer to his own.
Whatever this was — this easy back of forth between friends — was uncharted territory.
And, maybe it was the beer, or the very real possibility that Mephistopheles might simply crush us before I even thought of his True Name, but I found that — for one of the few rare times since coming here from my own world — maybe I could enjoy myself.
He reached across the table, taking the cup from me. Warm fingers brushed against my own.
My eyes snapped to his and he offered me another tentative smile.
He took a long couple of mouthfuls, eyes hard on me, before placing it back between us.
"So you didn't read my mind?" I raised my eyebrow, before giving into the impulse and lifting them once.
He coughed lightly into his sleeve, colour darkening his cheeks and widening the smile on my lips.
He turned over my words. "Turns out I'm not very…" he hummed thoughtfully.
"Open minded?" I pressed, good-naturedly.
"...receptive, when it comes to magic."
I chuckled, reaching for the drink and letting my fingers graze his own, an exact mirror of his earlier move. I enjoyed the warmth of his hands for longer than strictly necessary before pulling back and draining the last of the beer.
"I caught a glimpse of …something," he shrugged. "Once or twice. But that's it."
I swallowed, motioning for another drink absentmindedly.
He raised an eyebrow at me.
"Its the last last one," I insisted.
Once the imp dropped off the drink and snatched a handful of the coins from the tabletop, I turned back to the tiefling.
"So… something?" I pressed, curiosity getting the better of me.
I smiled despite my discomfort, noticing he was just as embarrassed. I gave him my best shit-eating grin, the darkening blush on his cheeks giving me more confidence than I had any right to have.
He scratched at his face again, attempting to hide his burning cheeks from view, eyes anywhere but on me.
"I had thought…" he paused, cheeks still that wonderful dark red, before shrugging. My grin faded at the change in his tone. "I realise now you were thinking about your husband." It almost sounded like a question. "His eyes were brown?" His words got quieter towards the end, and I could practically hear the moment he realised that he hadn't wanted to say any of this.
The memory that flashed through my mind wasn't one that I expected — It wasn't of my husband — but of a night technically not too long ago. But a night that was a literal lifetime ago.
Our skin glowed, casting shadows through the dark streets of Lith My'athar.
Valen's hands were on my shoulders, his head dipping down towards me.
I leant forward, eyes fluttering closed and breath shaking, but Valen held me in place; an arms length away.
I opened my eyes at his rigidity. All I wanted to do was sway and move and enjoy our last night alive.
His eyes showed the kind of gentle concern that had brought to mind my husband — blue eyes turning brown…
I leant back on the stool, raising an eyebrow as he maneuvered the drink from me, taking another mouthful, eyes everywhere but on my face.
Only when I was sure my voice would be steady, I spoke, forcing lividity and enthusiasm into my tone, when all I felt was nerves.
"Way to kill the mood."
His eyes snapped back to me, surprise clear.
"The mood?" he eventually pressed.
I waved a hand. "You know the mood. Good vibes. That kind've thing?"
He nodded once, clearly unsure.
But, despite wanting to power through, the clenching in my gut was back, and I realised that — no matter how right this had felt only moments before — it had an expiry date on it.
And, if it wasn't tomorrow — I shuddered at the memory of my recent death at Mephistopheles' hand — then it was the moment I found a portal home.
Valen sensed the change, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders. He pushed the drink back towards me.
The silence stretched between us as I finished it, and I surprised both of us when I didn't order yet another last one.
We both waited for something; the other to bring back the easy camaraderie of before, or to let things lie and declare it was officially time to sleep. But we just sat there.
The silence stretched thin as Valen shifted the empty cup between one hand and the other, his eyes roaming around us with the practiced discipline of a warrior, rather than the paranoid anger of a demon in hell.
I swallowed at the memory of our last stay.
He seemed to notice my discomfort, turning back to face me with a considering tilt to his head.
This was it; he was going to break this stalemate and declare an end to the day.
"I have been meaning to thank you properly."
I frowned.
His voice was soft and he spoke formally, clearly; the words something that he'd obviously rehearsed in his mind.
"…for?"
He frowned, as if it should be obvious.
I blinked back at him.
"For what you did," he swallowed. "For using my True Name the way that you did. I can never repay you for it."
I let my shoulders relax, allowing the smile that pulled at my lips. "You don't have to thank me. It's…" I raised my hands in defeat. "Well, it's the least I could do. Really."
He smiled easily, before looking around the room in wonder. "By the hells, but I did not think I would be here again."
I frowned. Again.
His eyes snapped to my own. "I was prepared for you to leave me out there," he admitted quietly, voice breaking.
I leant across the table to hear him better, swallowing through the sudden lump in my throat at the sincerity of his words.
"The most that I hoped to achieve was getting you as close to the Knower as I could…"
I paused, realising that my hand had snaked across the table to reach for him, fingers just shy of his hands. I paused.
"I would never have left you." I promised him, surprised by the truth of my words. I cleared my throat. "Not out there."
He looked down at the space between our hands.
"You would not have had a choice."
He shut his eyes against something only he could see, shaking away the unbidden memory.
I looked down at our hands and considered closing the gap. I wanted to.
But my hand remained where it was.
"But then you freed me," he said with a ghost of a smile.
He opened his eyes; clear and blue and beautiful.
Snaking out his hand, he grabbed my wrist, warm fingers holding my hand in place. Before I could do anything, he pushed back his stool, standing and leaning across the table.
For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me.
The thought brought with it a swell of need and shame and fear that froze me in place.
But then he paused, just shy of my ear.
"Murdus the Wild," he whispered.
His breath was hot on my neck.
It took me a moment to process what he'd said, my heart and body seizing, before my brain finally caught up. It was worse than the geas, the tugging of my soul. Everything around us seemed to fade away, until there was only him and me and the need to listen above all else.
I scrambled to recall his own Name, ready to put an end to whatever he was about to do.
But the words died on my lips.
At first I thought it was the power of my own Name, stilling me.
"Valen?" But then I whispered his name and I realised what had stopped me.
I trusted him.
Gods, I didn't want to. But I did. I trusted him fully.
He took a deep breath. I held mine.
"Forgive yourself, and let go of your past."
The drums beat all around us, thumping in time with my thundering heart, and I realised that maybe I shouldn't have.