Chapter Text
Balor’s first summer in Mistria was almost over. He hadn’t intended to stay for so long, but then he hadn’t expected the disaster-stricken town to be so welcoming to a passing merchant. The gratitude was nice, and the tesserae wasn’t too bad.
True, he was barely breaking even most days, but there were other metrics to consider. He had a spacious, quiet bedroom, which was more than he could say about any he’d rented in the Capital. The food and drink was superior to most inns he’d visited across Aldaria, but Reina thought he was only flirting when he said so.
He was, a little. Mistria was full of attractive, interesting people, and he enjoyed playing his part as the charming outsider. But on warm, clear nights like tonight, making his rounds, his thoughts could turn too cloying for comfort. Settling down. Building a life, a real, honest one. Where had these foolish notions come from? Balor shook his head, sighed, and kept walking. He still had two stops to make.
The grape vines along the western river were heavy and fragrant, attracting honey-drunk bees to the water’s edge. It seemed too late in the evening for them, but Balor wasn’t sure if bugs really slept. He made a mental note to ask Luc, even as he swatted a dizzy bumblebee away.
The river’s current was slow, lethargic from the hot summer’s day, and Balor matched pace with it as he headed towards Sweetwater. A passing firefly illuminated his palm, and for a moment, Balor considered trapping the soft glow between his hands.
Instead, he let it fly away. The warm candlelight of Hayden’s farm beckoned.
Only Henrietta was home, since Hayden was at Landen and Ryis’s for the night. In fact, he had planned his errand with that in mind. It wasn’t that Balor disliked Hayden - on the contrary, he considered the man a friend. And for all their differences of birth and circumstance, they had similar values. Similar taste.
Balor sighed again. Just yesterday, at the barbeque, he’d seen Hayden clap Artie on the shoulder, his tanned, broad hand against her bare skin. It was a friendly gesture, one Balor had seen the farmer do to just about everyone in town.
He saw more than that, though. His powers of perception, once indispensable to him, were now a curse, too heightened for use outside of espionage and skullduggery. Balor watched Artie shift her weight, and lean into Hayden’s touch.
Balor’s face had betrayed nothing then, but he allowed himself a furrowed brow as he sorted through the farmer’s inventory. Lots of wool, as requested. High quality, too. Hayden made it very difficult to begrudge him anything - even the casual intimacy he enjoyed with Artie, something Balor was usually too skittish for. She once pulled some straw out of Balor’s hair, and he almost slapped her hand away on instinct. Artie had seen the flinch, and smiled softly. “There I go again, forgetting my manners.”
It wasn’t entirely hopeless. In the height of summer, Balor had hugged Artie off her feet when she gave him a perfect, fist-sized sapphire for his birthday, leaving them both laughing and shy of each other. On Artie’s birthday later that month, he surprised her with a gold coin he bought from a collector in the Capital. “He said that text along the edge translates to ‘May your good luck turn into good fortune.’”
Artie studied it close, and grinned. “It’s more like ‘bring’ than ‘turn into,’ but your man got the general idea. Maybe I’ll start beating you at cards with this.”
Balor kept his expression mild. Did Eiland know she could read ancient languages? “Well, it’s lucky, but it isn’t magic.”
“Big talk. I like it, but we’ll see what the deck has to say.”
They both lost to Hemlock that week.
Balor smiled at the memory as he closed up the farmhouse and headed east.
He’d planned his errands around Artie’s schedule, too - Balor knew she’d be home by now, either sitting on her porch with a beer or reading by candlelight with her front door open, letting the warm summer breeze into her cottage.
This habit let in a fair amount of insects too, but Artie didn’t mind. Balor got the general impression that she was used to living rough. He knew enough to understand they both had complicated childhoods, and he knew better than to pry for details.
The front door was closed this time. Artie waved to him from her front steps, dark bottle in hand. Balor waved back, and quickened his pace until the cottage filled his view. Artie stayed sitting, and smiled up at him. “Clear night. Want one?” She held out a second bottle.
“Thank you.” Balor wondered if the beer was really meant for him, but he didn’t see any point in asking. “Mind if I sit?”
Artie patted the wood beside her. “Mistria’s really showing off tonight. Look at those stars.”
The porch creaked under Balor’s boots as he took his place. “You can’t get a night sky like this in the Capital. I’ll miss it.”
“Miss it?”
Balor shrugged. “I can’t stay here forever.”
“Oh? Where are you off to then?”
He didn’t have the slightest idea. Artie sipped her beer, and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “You’ll break a lot of hearts when you leave. That’s a fact.”
Balor gripped the bottle neck, and kept his eye on the stars. “How would you feel about it?”
His frankness caught them both off guard, but Artie seemed to give the matter some real thought. Balor listened to the crickets, and the river, and the scrape of their boots against rotting old wood.
Artie cleared her throat. It still came out quiet, and halting. “I want you to stay.”
Balor didn’t have to look at her to realize there was more. He could hear it in her voice, could feel it in the air between them.
“I just… I can’t be the reason you stay.”
He supposed a blunt question deserved a blunt answer. He tried to think of a charming, diplomatic response but, finding none, he settled for a swig of beer. Another.
The drink settled strangely in his gut. “You know, I never asked for that.”
Artie wasn’t looking at the stars anymore. Her fingernails were far more interesting. “No, I guess not.”
The crickets did their best to fill the silence while Balor found the right words. “... I used to think I’d be on the road ‘til the day I died. Now, I’m not so sure. I guess it’s something I need to sort out for myself.”
She didn’t disagree. Anyway, her mind seemed to be elsewhere. “All that time in the Capital, and we never crossed paths. I just wish I’d met you sooner.”
Artie said it so easily, so unburdened. If only his timing had been better. I just wish I’d met you sooner.
Balor drained his bottle, but it did nothing to quell his nausea. He’d held a secret for almost two seasons, too petty and poisonous to spread. He felt it loosen in his throat - the words he hadn’t allowed himself to say, that he’d hoped to swallow forever.
“I think I saw you, once."
Artie’s back straightened a little. "When?"
"A year ago, maybe more.”
“Where at?”
“Some pub. I think it was called ‘The Silver Gauntlet’ then.”
She nodded, and hummed flatly. “Card table?”
“That’s right.” He braced himself for more questions.
Artie finished her beer. Then, she spoke, low and cautious. “Why’d you hold onto this for so long? And why don’t I remember playing you?”
“Well, you didn’t. You weren’t there to play. You were there for… moral support.”
Balor had tried to say it delicately, but Artie still snorted. “I guess I can see why you didn’t introduce yourself.”
Wheedle had been banned from plenty of card games, but the Gauntlet wasn’t too discerning about its customers. Balor liked it as a meeting place for his shadier contacts - contacts like Wheedle, but Balor hadn’t planned on seeing him that night. He almost left when Wheedle joined the table, but decided it’d be more fun to win the scoundrel’s money.
Wheedle was down a few hundred tesserae by the time Artie showed up. She looked like a mercenary, or a guild tough - Balor couldn’t be sure. She wore a beat up old cowboy hat over her wild auburn curls, but the calluses on her hands already told Balor that she knew how to hold a rein.
And a sword. She didn’t seem like a brute, though. Her dark eyes were lively and intelligent. Her smile was warm, and, charmingly, gap-toothed. She exchanged back slaps with a few patrons before making for their table.
Wheedle followed Balor’s sight line. Grinned. “Ah, there she is.”
When Artie reached them, she mussed Wheedle’s hair. “Hey, slick.”
He leaned back against her stomach. “My good luck charm. And not a moment too soon - this handsome rogue was about to cheat me out of my last coppers.”
Balor managed to keep his composure, but he’d never gotten used to Wheedle’s befuddling mix of sleaze and bullshit. He might’ve defended himself if Artie had bothered to glance in his direction.
“There’s no empty seats.”
“Sure there is.” Wheedle patted his lap, and wriggled his eyebrows.
Artie hadn’t accepted the invitation, but she’d laughed, and tousled his hair again. Balor wasn’t ruffled by Artie’s beauty, or Wheedle’s lecherous sense of humor - he was, however, rather disarmed by the con’s soft expression as Artie parked herself at the bar. He had the distinct feeling that he no longer existed to Wheedle in any meaningful way. There was the redhead at the counter, and then there was everyone else.
Balor lost the next three games, which was enough to get Wheedle out of the hole. Balor watched him join Artie at the bar, his hands around her middle and his goateed chin against her shoulder.
She probably didn’t remember that night as anything special. Balor was still thinking of what to say about it when Artie started talking. “We go way, way back. All the way to the beginning, almost. Probably about Dell’s age.”
It was hard to picture Wheedle as a child. Balor didn’t dwell on it. He just listened, and looked at the stars.
Artie sighed. “It wasn’t always like that. The way you saw us, I mean. Life threw us together, and then we were on the outs. Then, I don’t know. You sort of get used to a person.”
Balor had seen them with his own eyes, and he knew it was more than convenience that drew those two together. It wasn’t his business, though. That was clear to him now. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Artie. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I wasn’t trying to hold anything over you. I hope you know that.”
She nodded. “You must’ve been a little nervous about me when I showed up. Kind of strange to think about. I guess I… I thought maybe I had a clean slate.”
He understood just what she meant. For the second time that night, his heart ached. “Then I’ve robbed you of something precious. I’m sorry. But for whatever it’s worth, you showed me I had nothing to worry about almost as soon as you got here. You were helpful, and generous. You worked hard, with no promise of payment.”
I liked you right away. Balor swallowed. “I had no misgivings about your character. And I still don’t.”
Artie was quiet. Her posture had slackened again.
“I really do hope you stay, Balor. It’s hard to picture this place without you in it. Does it jerk you around if I say that?”
Balor laughed in surprise. “No, not really. I don’t think so.”
“Well, good. Oh!” Artie slapped the porch. “I almost forgot what you came here for. I’ve got more relics than I know what to do with, and Errol says the museum’s running out of room. Can you find a buyer, you think?”
“Of course. I’ll reach out to a few contacts the next time I’m in the Capital.”
Artie hummed appreciatively. “Thanks. I know some folks, but… clean slate and all.”
They sat in companionable quiet for a while longer, savoring the end of the season.