Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thirteenth of Blue Sea Moon, 1157

Rainy, with strong winds. Received orders to escort a Cardinal to the monastery on our way back from Enbarr. Hope this detour doesn’t end up making my life harder.

Remire. It was one of those specks of a town on the map that many travelers skipped. Were he given a choice to set up a camp off the main road or detour to stay in what passed for an inn within Remire, Jeralt would choose the former. At least that is how he would have behaved under normal circumstances. These last few unseasonably wet days prying wagon wheels out of pockets of mud and drenched through their surcoats down to the bone had him praying for relief with whatever amenities could be found.

Shortly after all traces of light left the overcast skies, the glow from the village windows came into view. The dense forest thinned away from the road around them, though spindly branches arched overhead providing some semblance of cover from the worst of the storm. Here, someone had mixed gravel into the trail to keep the water from completely ruining it; he thanked the Goddess for that small mercy.

When they got into town Alois, his squire, and a few of the other men could sort out the finer details of where they would bunk. Since the one thing this area of the Empire had in abundance was grazing land they were at no loss for places to stable the horses. He secured Abraxas first and latched the shutters along nearby openings to ward off rain. His knights had their duties, but saw to their mounts in turn. The weather brought on a dour mood which had them going about their business in silence.

Jeralt left the stables, but stopped abreast of a gap between the buildings designated for horses and cows. Here he had ample awning over his head and the harsh gusts from the storm were mostly blocked without sacrificing the relief of the chill in the air. The inside of his thighs ached and he was sure he’d have a brutal rash come morning. Worst than that his nuts were wet.

He rummaged through the waterproofed satchel on his belt to find his pipe and sack of spiced tabacco. It took him a few minutes to load the coarse leaves into the head. Some centuries ago he had taken an Almyran prisoner after a fierce battle for the peaks of Fódlan’s throat; the man had been a musician before he’d been press-ganged into war and he gifted the pipe to him when he had been sent back to his people along with the minor fire spell Jeralt still used to spark it.

“Take it my friend, take it—a pipe is like a good woman, what’s the point if you can’t share her, huh?”

That peak where men died to hold the border had been chiseled and hewn away to make way for the Locket, a fort that served as East Fódlan’s defense at the far edge of House Goneril’s lands. In all this time it had never fallen and here he was still using a pipe given to him by one of the few Almyrans to ever push that far into Fódlan.

A man with a back that hooked forward like a crowbar cornered him between the buildings. He remembered him as the village Reeve. Some twenty years back the two of them had met, but Jeralt doubted the old man could recall the encounter

“My eyes are not what they once were, so I wasn’t at liberty to judge the insignia on your banners—from where do you hail my good knight?”The Reeve raised his bushy, white eyebrows, as he leered forward. Somehow the rain seemed of little concern to him.

Really, the question had been a pointed one to try and discern the intentions of Jeralt’s force. “We’re with the Church of Seiros,” he offered out his hand. “Captain Jeralt Eisner.” 

Though they tried to make themselves less conspicuous, Jeralt had made notice of the armed men that flanked him at a distance and the archer with the bow trained on his chest.

The old Reeve leaned closer, a hand cupped around his ear. “Did you say Jeralt? As in the Blade Breaker?” The man staggered back to take the full picture of him in and then shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve been hearing tales of him since I could barely see over the tavern counter.”

Jeralt hated this part, but he had gotten much better at dispelling any suspicion. “Must be my old man, even been told I look like him,” he said scratching at the hair slicked down to his head. “Look, we’re looking for someone, a traveler we’re meant to escort—with this weather, we might need to dry off for the night and start the search in the morning.”

All he could think about in the moment was putting a little hot food and some drink into his belly and drying off. As a boy he’d swam along the eastern bank of Lake Teutates and he’d still never been as wet as he felt standing in front of the Reeve.

The Reeve nodded. “It looks like your people could use some help getting themselves situated, then?”

“Well, that depends. I’m willing to buy out any free rooms in the inn and pay double to anyone who will put us up in their home. If you could let the people know.”

When they had parted ways, Jeralt stalked across the mud laden road to where he knew the tavern and inn to be housed in the a meek two story building all too ready to get out of the elements.   

Thankfully the resin coated fabric of his rucksack had kept his change of clothes dry. He found himself a washing tub on the upper floor and filled it with a mixture of room temperature water and some heated over the coals to scrub off in before he dressed.

The risers of the stairs dipped and creaked under his weight as he descended to the common area tavern. He had passed through and paid in such a hurry to get out of his wet clothes, that he hardly had time to survey the place. The golden air was musky with smoke and the sour scent of the house brew. At the center of the room was a stew for anyone to help themselves to, so he made his way to the cauldron to serve himself.

That was the kind of tavern in the kind of town it was. No menus, no real choices, and there had been no name on the outside of the building. People had nowhere else in the town to take their business because Remire was the kind of place you could sneeze too hard and miss on account of your eyes being closed.

At least a minstrel at the corner of the bar plucked away on a lute to provide some music, though there was hardly anyone about to hear it. A couple of miners traveling between the mountain range and their permanent homes were apparent on account of their gear stowed beneath the table and a few gruff villagers huddled around another table near the fire with their coats drying on a rack.

Jeralt dragged the ladle through the stew, dredging up the ingredients from the bottom, and filled his bowl. As he made his way to a table besides the staircase he passed cloaked figure sleeping at a table with no drink or bowl to call their own.

It wasn’t uncommon for a man to value his alone time even when he had been out on the road. Jeralt’s own men would probably sat up in the stables for a few hours glad to be out of the rain and play cards as rowdy as they pleased. They rarely wanted to be around him if there was drink to be had.

When he had a little of the stew in him finally, he took out his pipe and packed it to smoke as he watched the minstrel play and let his bones rest without the feel of a horse trotting beneath him.

No wine or drink in side of him and he had already started to drift off. The girl who sidled up to his table could have killed him had she desired. Without sight of her, just from the sense he got of her standing nearby and her soft impatient breathing he could tell she was harmless.

Jeralt opened his eyelids enough that he could spy through the narrow slit. Her hands were clasped behind her and almost as suddenly as he peeked at her she leaned in to leered at him, taunting him with the fact that she could tell his eyes were open. She could tell he was awake.

Best to ignore her. It was the first thought to cross his mind. She couldn’t have been looking for much more than a handout: some coin or food. Couldn’t have been much else she hoped to find. Remire didn’t have prostitutes due to there not being enough paying clientele to support that kind of trade, unless livestock and grass found a way to make coin.

Maybe a girl like this could have been a prostitute in Enbarr or near one of the larger towns, but everything about her said she wasn’t from around here. The people of Remire were stout and rough. Even among the children there was this wary look to them, from what he remembered. This woman had a lithe form draped in a white dress, though she looked well fed enough. More than anything, she didn’t have the wisened look of a cardinal so she couldn’t have been his charge.

All Jeralt needed to do was finish his smoke, get himself some ale and get some sleep. She blinked and there was a rapid flutter of her eye lashes and her full lips hitched to one side in a wry smile.

“You’re aware that I can tell you’re awake, right?” Her voice was both bright and sarcastic with a kind of energy to it that he didn’t expect out of someone so frail.

Jeralt quit his failed ruse and opened his eyes. “I thought if I pretended to be asleep you’d get the hint and go about robbing me or whatever it was you planned to do.” 

“Do you know what day it is, sir?” Her tone had the confidence of someone educated and more sure of her cleverness than she ought to be.

“Thursday,” said Jeralt.

“No, I mean what today’s date is?” she asked.

“Oh, you could have been more specific,” he said through a smile, knowing full well what she meant. “It’s the thirteenth of Blue Sea Moon.”

“Right!” She said pointing at him with a dainty finger. The woman climbed onto the seat across from him, folding one leg up under her while letting the other dangle to the flor. The glow of the lantern overhead flickered, painting the forest green bushel of her hair a sepia tone. “And do you know what’s special about that day?”

After over three centuries of this life, the dates ran together. Often it happened he couldn’t remember his own damn birthday, let alone anything else. “Since I don’t think there is anything special, I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s your birthday?”

“Whatever could there be more special than a girl’s birthday?”

“Oh, I can think of far too many things.”

“Name them,” she challenged him.

He had to chuckle at that. She was annoying in that cute way that only a woman could be. Her voice might have grated on him for being too chipper if it hadn’t come out of those lips beneath those big green eyes. Now that she leaned forward with her dress taut against the table he could see curves that abundance of white fabric had concealed.

“You know what, I’m actually at a loss for words.” Jeralt pressed his back against his chair to lean back and extinguished his pipe with the small tool. “So, now that it’s the big day what are you going to wish for?”

“Well, I want you to celebrate with me.”

“Me?”

“It looks like you’ve had a hard day and you could use a little liveliness, so yes.”

“Something tells me that you don’t want to get up to the kind of celebration I’m used to?” he said.

“What? Like you go around stabbing people for fun or something?” she asked.

Jeralt clutched his pipe over his lap, massaging at the weathered woodgrain with his thumbs. “No. I only stab people if they’re really asking for it. S’not really the kind of fun I go looking for.”

“Well, so long as you promise not to stab me we’ll be fine.” She shot a glance toward the bar. “Tell you what, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“On your birthday?”

“I can’t drink it, bad constitution and all. All you have to do is drink it in celebration of me,” she said as she got up from her seat. “I’ll be right back.”

Jeralt put his elbows up on the table as he watched the woman saunter over to the bar, surveyed the area with each step as if she had to be very cognizant of her movements. Maybe she was a bit of a klutz, that seemed to fit with the rest of her. As she walked, it looked like she were speaking to herself for a second.

He scooped a spoonful of cool stew into his mouth and muttered to himself. “Sothis, what have I gotten myself into now.”

“He’s going to think me some manner of loon,” Sitri waited by the bar, muttering to no what appeared to be no one in particular. She had learned to hide her mouth behind her hair or shoulder or just by turning away from people when necessary. If no one quite heard her it might serve as plausible deniability that she had been speaking at all.

“You’re never controlling our body again around handsome men,” she whispered before she chanced a look at the table where the man sat.

Phooey, you’re no fun at all. And after all that effort I expended to do a stellar impression of you.

“That was supposed to be me?” Sitri asked. It was nothing like her at all, for one, she could cross a room without looking like a drunken hen with its head hacked off!

I heard that last bit! My walking was immaculate. That is how humans walk as far as I can tell.

“You’re walking with our feet turned out to the side,” Sitri said.

That’s how you walk!

“Shut up,” Sitri hissed as the barkeep approached her with a mug filled with an amber colored ale.

“Were you saying something, Miss?” Asked the barkeep.

“N-no. It’s just, well, it’s my birthday.” Sitri didn’t know why that was what had come out.

“Well, happy birthday. This first one’s on the house.”

Sitri bowed her head. “Thank you and may the Goddess be with you.”

“And also with you,” he said in reply, though given her circumstances it almost felt like a snide curse.

For the entirety of her life this woman had been inside of Sitri’s head giving commentary, guidance, and, at times, mocking her. As far as she could tell and as far as the woman could remember, she was no ordinary person like Sitri, but their Goddess, Sothis, reincarnated within her by some miracle.

Of course she didn’t let others know about this, which became harder when she couldn’t willingly talk to Sothis without actually talk out loud. The only exceptions to this rule were when she fell asleep or unconscious. She grabbed the mug by its handle and supported the weight of it from the bottom to walk it back over to the table where the man she had been speaking to before sat.

Well, she hadn’t actually spoken to him, that was Sothis doing a poor imitation of her, but to him it would be the same thing. He would only see her, Sitri, standing there. She placed the mug on the table near his bowl.

“My apologies about all that. I didn’t think ordering a mug would take so long,” Sitri said.

The man looked up at her and she felt her heart lose its place and skip a couple of beats. Even inside of her, she could feel Sothis swoon if that was a thing it was proper to say a Goddess was doing. There was just something about the way the baked smell of tobacco smoke and dried leather clung to him like a perfume and how his honey brown eyes had a seemingly permanent summer-narrowed squint to them.

Though he was seated and hadn’t stood, she could tell by the way he bent his knees with his thighs aimed upward and feet tucked back under the chair that he stood well above her height. Sometime ago Sitri and Sothis had decided as a collective that they liked big, older, rugged looking men; the kind of men who could scoop them up with one arm and carry her across the threshold of the cottage home she someday dreamed of owning.

How this idea had got into her head, whether it was some residual memory left over from Sothis and the before—she couldn’t exactly be sure. But it felt like part of them, their desire.

“Thanks,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want to get yourself anything? I can put up the coin or—”

Sitri cut him off, waving her hands in front of her with her palms up. “It’s fine. Really. You just enjoy your drink sir.”

Jeralt gave her an odd look. “Okay.” He lifted the mug to take a pull from it. “Mmm,” he placed the mug beside his hand. “Are you going to have a seat? You seem a little jittery.”

And you said my acting was bad. You’re being entirely too awkward.

Right. Sitri sat in the chair, folding her hands down over her lap. “How is it?”

“Passable. Though, not what I’d order if given options.”

“I can imagine. I’ve heard people talk about the different things in the brewing processes that can change the taste and color. It seems that some get very passionate about their ales, beers, and the like.”

The man’s laugh was deep and hardy. “Booze, as they say, is the universal language—the great equalizer. You can put two men across from each other on a battlefield and they’ll be ready to rip each other’s throats out, but you sit them down with a pitcher and a couple of pints and they might tell each other their deepest secrets, hopes and dreams, all that kind of thing.”

Sitri rested her cheek on her hand and stared across the table wistfully. By the time she realized it, she’d look too awkward trying to cover up her mistake. “Are you going to start regaling me with all of your hopes and dreams?”

“Heh, it’ll take considerably more of this before I squawk like that,” he said. “I mean, you never even told me your name.”

“Goodness, that’s right. I’m terribly sorry, my name is Sitri.”

“Sitri? That’s a beautiful name. Well, Sitri, I’m Jeralt Eisner.” Jeralt took another pull from his mug and as she watched him she couldn’t help but think that even his name had that rough, virile feel to it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jeralt,” she said.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Okay, so now you need to ask him what would make him say a think like that.

“Oh! What would make you say something like that?”

Jeralt hunched over the table, his eyes scanning the room. “People in backwater villages this far from the center of the Empire and Kingdom have a certain look to them.”

“And what kind of look do I have?” Sitri asked.

Ooo, good follow up.

“Soft. Educated. If I had to guess from just the look of you, I’d say nobility. But seeing how you interact with people—it makes me believe you’re not some stuffy noble. You seem more like you’re raised around them. Maybe some highfalutin merchant’s daughter?”

Sitri cocked her head to one side. “It’s a nice story, except for the part where you tried to insinuate that I’m pretentious.”

“Knighthood is all about being pretentiousness, so you’d be in good company,” he said.

“Where are you from?”

“Originally, little town south of Lake Teutates, though I haven’t been back in so long I’ve probably forgotten how to say the damn name of the place,” he said with a chortle.

Sitri perked up, they were a long way from the Kingdom’s north western shore. All around Jeralt sounded well traveled and she loved to hear a good travel story. “What’s a Kingdom of Faerghus Knight doing all the way down in the Empire?”

“That was a long time ago. I’m with the Church of Seiros now, Captain of the Holy Knights, actually,” he explained.

Wait, did he just say what I thought he said?

Sitri’s eyes widened and she knew there were no way to hide it. “You’re a Knight of Seiros?”

“Yep.”

“That must be interesting…”

“I’ll say this much, it keeps me busy.” The ale was nearly finished now and as he set it down, Sitri grabbed for the handle.

“I’m going—to get you another one!”

Jeralt shook his head. “Come on, Miss Sitri, I don’t want you spending all your birthday money on account of me.”

Sitri bolted up from the table. “It’s fine really, he said that first one was compliments of the house. Besides, I just need to stretch my legs a bit,” she said.

Jeralt raised a hand to speak, but before he could offer up any protest she whirled around to head for the bar. “What are we going to do?”

What’s wrong with you?

“He’s a knight that reports directly to mother. What do you mean, what’s wrong with me? You don’t see how this is a disaster waiting to happen?”

I don’t know. I think Lady Rhea must see something in him. And did you see the way he smiled at us. A flash of an image of Sothis pacing in front of a majestic stone throne marred her vision. This was the other thing that happened from time to time, she couldn’t see the Goddess at all times, but in moments she got blips and vision of her. This lithe, regal woman draped in purple and gold who observed the all that Sitri did from atop a throned dais.

“No, she’ll be upset with me,” Sitri muttered. “I won’t be allowed to finally come to the monastery. I’ll have to go back to that place.”

You are being far too irrational about this. Fear of not being accepted by Rhea is causing you to act out. Calm down.

“You going to have another ma’am?” The barkeep called as he walked over to her.

“Actually, no, do you have something better?” Sitri asked. She almost hadn’t noticed the man there. If he had seen her talking to Sothis it might make this night go from bad to worse.

“Better? Like another ale?” He asked.

Sitri shook her head. “No, like some kind of liquor—or a whiskey, yes that’s it.”

“You know, I got some Dusk from a trader that passed through. No one drinks the stuff here though,” the barkeep said.

“Dusk, that sounds good. Go ahead and fill this mug up and then make me a second, please,” she said.

What are you doing?

“Miss, I barely have enough to fill two mugs. ‘Sides, a mug of this would be enough to kill a dragon—it’s more of a sipping whiskey. It’s made from a malted barely, kind of a speciality in Duscur, hence the name.”

Sitri nodded. “Right, get me two of those in…whatever size glass you serve them in and then top this off with some ale, please.”

Have you gone mad?

“Yeah. Oh and can I get a little tray to carry it all on.”

“Sure thing.”

You can’t drink! You just told Jeralt this. And if you do manage to get drunk without dying I’m going to be drunk and trapped in a stupid body that doesn’t heed my commands!

“You were waddling around the tavern like a duck before, you’ll mange,” Sitri said.

I don’t get how you can be worried about what Rhea is going to say about you coming back wrapped around some sexy knight and you’re going to go out of your way to pour a bunch of poison in your body brewed up by heathens!

“Please, just stop nagging me. Take a nap or whatever it is you do when you’re being quiet in there for hours on end.”

This is a team effort.

“Then help me.”

When the man returned with the tray, he held it out for her to take instead of sitting it down on the counter. She grasped it carefully between two hands. In the center of it was the mug of ale, flanked on either side by smaller glasses with dark brown liquor. Their smell had this hint of vanilla that she didn’t expect with a roasted undertone.

“Thank you.”

The barkeep gave her a wary nod before she headed across the room.

“What’s all this?” Jeralt asked.

“Um, he called it a Dusk. Here’s yours and then here is your ale.”

“I thought you didn’t drink?”

Sitri took a seat facing off to the side toward the door. “Probably shouldn’t be, but oh well, here goes nothing.”

Jeralt took a sip of the Dusk first and licked his lips. “Double malt. Aged just enough—I didn’t think they would have anything like this back there.”

“Yeah, we’re all full of surprises tonight, aren’t we?” Sitri said. She tried to avoid eye contact with Jeralt as she took the small glass from the tray and placed it in front of her.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes, why do you ask?” She reached for the glass and lifted it to her nose to sniff it, the rich aroma flooded over her and she decided that it had a much fresher smell than the ale. There was a sophistication to it and something that felt almost regal. Lost in the complexity of the scent she attempted to down the whole glass in one go, but it started to burn the moment the first of it went down her throat.

Jeralt was staring at her in wide eyed disbelief.

“Goddess,” she coughed. “It burns.”

The tempo of the minstrel’s song became lethargic. At first Sitri assumed this to be the effect of the whiskey, until Jeralt stirring at his stew turned listless too. A wave spread from Sitri and Sothis like they were a stone cast into the still waters of reality itself. Eventually the distortion overtook the entire room drawing everyone to a halt and then forcing them backwards through whatever they had been doing.

Sitri hated the way it felt when food and drink were taken from her body by Sothis dragging them in reverse against time. It was not so much that the drink got siphoned out of her throat, that would have been unpleasant enough. But no, the feeling was more akin to it being poured from her mouth into the upturned glass.

“Cut it out,” she muttered quietly as she could before lifting the glass to her lips to drink it again.

“What?” Jeralt asked.

The flow of time moved in reverse again and, once it had finished, the ability to control their arm was ripped away from Sitri as Sothis batted the glass off the table causing it to shatter on the hardwood floor.

“Put it back or I am going to scream like I’m possessed,” Sitri said.

“Are you okay?” Jeralt asked.

“Put it back right now,” Sitri screamed.

The minstrel in the corner grabbed the neck of his lute causing the strings to screech and everyone turned to look at her and Jeralt.

“Put what back?” Jeralt surveyed the room, trying to figure out what was going on. The concern on his face seemed genuine, more than that, he looked almost pained.

“Please, just put it back.” Tears welled up in the base of Sitri’s eyes.

Fine. You juvenile, insubordinate child. See if I help you again!

The hands of time wound back to the moment before she took the first drink, her hand clutched the glass and she waited for Sothis to next make her move. None came. Sitri took a small drink from the glass this time and though it burned, the effect was greatly reduced. Still, her throat had the ghost of the sensation that it had burned with last time.

“Yeah, that’s pretty good,” Jeralt said with a wide smile.

Sitri nodded as she took another drink. “Oh yeah, the good stuff.”

“Sodisstopah. Allyerlaughingisnthelpring.” Sitri had managed to get into a second glass of the Dusk and then she stole a few drinks from Jeralt’s second and third mug of ale too. Her facilities had dulled and then completely faded to the point that she was hearing laughter where there was none and making nonsensical pleas to the Goddess.

Her antics were about to put centuries of Jeralt’s practiced tolerance to the test. She had slumped against the wall beneath the stairs, though she had enough alertness to aim those big green eyes in his direction even if they were half-lidded.

“No one’s laughing at you, Little Lady.” He stood over her, trying to figure out how to negotiate this situation. “She’s got a room here in the inn, right?”

The barkeep was cleaning up as he answered. “Yeah, she was sharing with another traveler, though they’re not here.”

Thank the Goddess, probably her father. If he saw her like this with me—probably have another damn fight on my hands.

“I would take her up to her place, but I don’t want her choking on her vomit in her sleep,” Jeralt said with his hands on his hips.

“You’re with the knights that rolled into town a few hours ago?” The barkeep asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I would hope I could trust one’s in the service of the Goddess to keep the lady’s virtue in tact.”

The phrasing of that bothered Jeralt, he could no longer steal a woman’s virtue than she could his. Small village people, small village thinking. “It’s good you’re looking out for her, but I’m not that kind of man.”

“What’s your name, traveler?” The barkeep asked.

The rest of the patrons had shuffled off by this time so Jeralt wouldn’t have to deal with too much hoopla if he said his name out loud. “Jeralt Eisner.”

“The Goddess-damned Blade Breaker?” The barkeep laughed. “If I had known that was you, I wouldn’t have served you based on the stories I’ve heard.”

Even this far off the beaten path his reputation for being something of a rowdy drunk proceeded him.

“Your bar’s still standing, isn’t it?” Jeralt asked. “You want to keep it that way?”

“Look, do what you’ve got to do, but I better see that girl safe and sound in the morning, you hear?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jeralt looked down at her. “Okay, Sitri, nod your head if you’re still with me.”

She managed something like a nod, though as soon as she leaned her head forward she nearly dove off her chair. He caught her at the shoulders to keep her from fully toppling over. “Damn, I guess we can look at it this way, you found yourself to a proper birthday celebration. You feel like you’re going to throw up?”

“Nah.”

“That’s good, that’s real good. Okay, I am going to put you over my back and carry you upstairs. Then we’re going to get those shoes off and put you to bed. We can get let you use the chamberpot or get some water if we need to also.”

“Sounsgood.”

“That a girl. We’re going to get through this together.” Jeralt rubbed his hands together. “Here we go.”

He squatted down lifted her over his shoulder, this way he could still use one hand to catch the stair rail if needed. As he stood to his full height she let out a small squeal.

“Weee,” she said before bursting into laughter.

“Oh yeah. We’re having a grand old time.” Jeralt made his way up the stairs and he thought she had passed out on account of how her arms were dangling out in the air behind him and flailing against his back. “At least you’re light,” he said as they crested the top riser.

“Mabonesarehallow. Likeahbird.”

Jeralt shook his head and chuckled. “I get some Sitri lore and a conversation companion for the night—couldn’t have asked for more.”

He had her on the bed on top of the covers in no time and took her by the leg to slip her shoes off. Her skin was eerily smooth, he didn’t know any person could be this soft. Laying down seemed to do her some good because her speech became clearer.

“Jeralt?” She asked, her voice heavy with sadness. “Do you hate me?”

“No, Little Bird. I don’t think I could hate someone as beautiful as you if I tried.” He tossed her shoes near the door of the room. “Do you need to use the chamberpot?”

“No.”

“I don’t care if you piss the bed on account of it not being mine, but let’s try not to shit or throw up because that’s—a fair bit more cumbersome.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead and it smelled like her, like a mix of flowers and fresh fruit.

“Got it.”

“If you need to go, we’ll just put you on the chamber pot and you can hold onto the walls. You can use the dress there to cover up your forest and—uh—lady bits.”

Sitri got this real serious look on her face and he could tell she had entered a state of deep concentration. “It’s okay if you see me, I think, I mean—”

“—no, no it’s not. Just because you’re drunk doesn’t mean we’re going to deny you privacy and decency,” Jeralt said.

“But if anyone wanted to look at me or—you know. I’d want it to be someone like you.”

“I’m sure there’s a better guy out there for a sweet woman like you, that’s just the Dusk talking. Does weird things to your head.” Jeralt slipped out of his boots and went to sit down against the wall. It wasn’t the comfortable bed he had been expecting, but it was far better than sleeping out in the rain.

“Jeralt?” Sitri asked. “Can you lay in the bed with me and just—hold my hand?”

“Hold your hand?” Jeralt asked.

She nodded. “Just until I fall asleep?”

He paced along the foot of the bed. “Now, I don’t know if that’s the wisest course of action—”

“Please?”

The wall beside the door creaked as he leaned against it and folded his arms. The numbness in his head and the twinge of pain at the center of his chest weren’t real, he told himself. Sitri lay on his bed on top of the covers, her body twisted to one side so that she faced him with a curtain of green hair cascading over her chin and down her chest.

She looked like the kind of woman he shouldn’t lay eyes on, even in his position; like butter wouldn’t met in her mouth. If he climbed into that bed next to her he knew nothing would happen. Sitri wasn’t the kind of lady you let things happen with and, besides, he didn’t intend to try anything.

As she fell so still that she could have been mistaken for sleeping if not for her eyes watching him, a part of him did want to get in the bed with her and hold her hand. He wanted to comfort her and care for her, tell her all of this would be alright. It wasn’t like him to be sentimental and yet…

“Look, Little Bird, I’ll sit down over here next to the bed and you can hold my hand like this.” Her eyes followed him as he walked to her side of the bed and propped his back up against the side of the mattress and frame. He put one arm up on the bed to rest, fully intending to take her hand, but she rolled over until her stomach was against his back and draped one arm down over his shoulder.

Now this has to be the most awkward way I’ve slept and that’s saying something.

They lay still in the room until her breathing softened. Then as time stretched on she began to snored, but it was mostly lost beneath the sound of the rain pecking at the window.

“It’s all going to be alright,” Jeralt said, though he could not be sure if it was for her benefit or his. “Being drunk around strangers can be scary, but it’s that morning after that’ll really get you.”

Sitri curled up against him and he let his head rest against the edge of the bed and her stomach. She had this kind of heat radiating from her, though not in the way that a person possessed when they are feverish. It flowed down into him and before long Jeralt had been lulled to sleep.

You doomed us. Doomed!

“I’m sorry.” From where Sitri lay on the floor of Sothis’s domain she could spy the Goddess up the multitude of steps sitting on the high dais and resting her back against the base of the throne.

Do you realize that your body is my body and because about half of your senses leak in here to me I’ve become drunk!

“I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”

A mistake I vehemently tried to keep you from making—don’t forget that part.

“Sorry.” A thunderous sound rocked the throne chamber with a continuous, rhythmic thump. That hadn’t been a thing before. Sitri tried to concentrate on it instead of the heaviness of her head and limbs or the way that the world seemed to flip when. “Sothis,” she had to raise her voice, on account of the sound.

What?

“Can’t you, like, speed up time so we’re not drunk anymore?”

Sothis leaned forward, her arm resting atop her knees. When have you known me to speed up time? I stop it, slow it down, or reverse it. If speeding it up were something I can do, I don’t remember how. And you want me to make a first attempt while we’re drunk? Just what do you take me for?

“A Goddess?” Sitri said through a chortle that caused her temples to ache. “Sorry, it was just an idea.”

Why won’t that insistent noise stop?

Sitri smiled. “I sure hope it doesn’t. I think that’s our heart.”

Oh. Huh? Why can we hear it all of a sudden?

Sitri’s back shifted against the cool stone of the floor as she shrugged. “I drank too much and broke us.”

They suffered in silence as the beat of their heart continued. It became monotonous to the point that it faded into their surroundings; it was just another feature of the chamber.

“Do you like Jeralt?” Sitri asked.

He’s not unpleasing to the eye. I’d judge him to be a well meaning man. Oh, plus he is blessed with one of my crests!

“Really? Which one?”

Sothis tilted her head to one side, poking her dagger-like ear into the air. Seiros—a very strong Seiros at that.

“Same crest we’re supposed to have. It’d be poetic if I weren’t lying to everyone about what my crest truly was.”

Well, he never needs to know that. Do you like him?

“I think I do. Most men would probably find me strange or they’d try to take advantage of me. I can still feel him there, resting his head against me”

I think being drunk has you halfway asleep. It feels as if—Sothis yawned—you’re still out there too.

“Goodness, what if we just never wake up. Or worse, what if we wake up but we can’t remember how to breathe!”

If you stay asleep in a comatose state my power will probably sustain you for the foreseeable future. I doubt our body would even decompose.

“Really?” Sitri asked. “Kind of weird if you ask me.”

Yes. Now be quiet. I think the rhythm of our heart is starting to lull me to sleep.

Chapter Text

The gray morning brought more rain. If the words of the innkeeper were to be believed heavier storms were on the way. Far west of Remire a massive storm had come ashore and spread across most of this side of Fódlan bringing gusting winds and the consistent deluge they’d been trapped under.

Jeralt returned to the room with a plate smelling of warm cinnamon, butter, and vanilla. He sat the crepes and a glass of water on the bedside table and scratched at his head.

“S’not a cake, but I had the innkeeper’s wife whip you up a little birthday breakfast.” His eyes had this downturned sadness to them and the way he hunched over made it feel like the food served as his apology, though he had done nothing wrong.

“Thank you.” Sitri reached for the plate and as she extended her arm the muscles tightened and the joints of her elbow and shoulder ached.

Hearing talk of bottle ache and experiencing it were worlds apart, though most of the symptoms she’d heard described came off as more debilitating than her current condition.

“How are you, uh, feeling?”

The side of the fork cut into the crepes and she lifted it to her mouth. “Like a ballista flung me into the middle of the Valley of Torment.” She chewed through the food and washed it down with the water. “I’ve never had the displeasure of going to the place and I would say given how I feel, there’s no reason to now.”

“The trick is to keep yourself good and hydrated while drinking. Kind of my fault for not getting some water in you at the table last night,” he said. “You’ll be better before supper, if I had to guess.”

“These are really good; did you try one?” Sitri shoveled another slice of the crepes into her mouth and then carved out the next.

Jeralt shook his head. “Nah, but I could tell by the smell that she did right by them.”

“You have to try it.” She skewered a piece on her fork and lifted it into the air.

“I’m fine, really. They’re for you.”

“Just give it a try.”

“That’s okay.”

“What?” Sitri asked. “Promise I don’t have Red Tear Plague or anything like that.” 

Jeralt stooped over accept a bite of the food on her fork and his honey colored eyes locked with hers just before they came alit.

“It’s really good. Isn’t it?”

He got to his full height, nodding. “That’s really good.” Sensing the bit that she had dribbled on his chin, he ran his hand across his goatee. “Better than anything in this little town has any business being.”

As Sitri ate more, she couldn’t shake the thought that her fork had been in his mouth. Sure, she had eaten after people before, but this felt different. And the fact she’d been able to feed him had to mean that he trusted her, at least a little.

“Yeah, kind of makes me mad that they weren’t feeding me like this before,” Sitri said.

“How long have you been in town?”

“Three days, well, four now.” Best to keep her answers short, direct. He didn’t need to know everything. He didn’t need to know about her being the Archbishop’s daughter.

Jeralt took a seat on the corner of the bed. “You traveling with your folks?”

“He’s like a childhood friend, except he’s more here to look out for me. Make sure I don’t get into any trouble.” Sitri rolled her eyes.

“This friend wouldn’t happen to be a big fellah, would he? Does he have a lot of axes and swords around and the like?”

Sitri laughed through a full mouth. “No. Really, I’m more likely to come at you with a sword than him. And I’m not likely to do that at all.”

“Oh. You’re not betrothed, are you?”

“My, sir Eisner, we’re being a little direct, aren’t we?”

Stop teasing him, you fool.

Sitri concentrated on the idea of yelling shut up, hoping that Sothis got the message.

“That’s not an answer. Don’t need some noble getting the wrong idea about what happened here.”

“No, doubt a man would have me,” she said. “I was born rather frail, spent a lot of time sickly in monastery infirmaries and working with healers to try and sort out all my problems.”

“Oh. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

“I’ve gotten a fair bit better, but there are some days where all I can do is lay in bed with pains that don’t heed any of the common remedies.”

“Wish I had known before I let—”

“—let me drink some Almyran pirate last night? Don’t do that, Jeralt.” She took another bite. “Don’t start to feel sorry for me. To hear physicians tell it, I wasn’t supposed to live as long as I have. They still don’t know on account of what.”

“I’ve lived way longer than I expected to too. But you never should start wanting for death.”

“I don’t. I thank the Goddess for every day. And right now I’m really…thankful to have I met you.” She hurried the last of the words out and began to stuff her face with more crepes. While Sitri was no stranger to actual vomit, when her condition was at its worse she struggled to keep any food down at all, word-vomit came with a different set of necessary precautions all together. The only course of action available to her: more food.

Couldn’t talk if your mouth was full…not that it stopped her most of the time.

“Talking to you has really taken the sting out of being trapped here for a few more days. Report came in from the sky watchers this morning and it looks like there’s no point in me making for the Oghma Mountains for at least another day.”

“Has it gotten that bad?” Sitri asked, despite the crepes filling her mouth.

Jeralt sighed. “Well, the wind is pretty bad down here, but up higher it’s  a real shit show. Even if that weren’t the case there’s the flooding to contend with.”

“Looks like you’re stuck with me for a while longer.” Stifled joy bubbled up through in the form of laughter. When they took their leave of this place the illusion she had let him maintain of her in his head would crumble: Stiri the snarky daughter of some wealthy merchant. It felt like a carefree life, the kind of life she often times found herself day dreaming about.

“I’ve been stuck with far worse company and far less comely.” He took out an ancient pipe and examined it via touch. The way he gazed off into the empty space of the room and let his fingers trace their way over woodgrain of the pipe reminded Sitri an old, blind monk she’d known at Limwood Cathedral in Tarbh. It felt as if he were trying to discern some meaning from it, picture something from long ago.

She lifted the plate off her lap to place it on the table. “Do you have any family where you’re from still, Jeralt?” The Central Church holdings had very little in the way of villages or towns as a source of their knights. From what she understood many came from one of the others lands seeking glory or running from shame in search of penance.

“Anyone who knew me back home is rotting in the ground by now. Hell, the last time I traveled through the place it was barely recognizable,” he said.

Sitri nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. I imagine when you get a few more years in you, it’ll make sense, but it’s not exactly sad.”

You two sure make for some lively conversation.

“Do you want to—well, no. I was going to suggest we go for a walk, but  that wouldn’t be the best idea given the weather.”

“If you’ve got a poncho or something to cover up with, we could go out and check the horses—make sure my men aren’t getting up to anything,” Jeralt said.

Sitri stepped down out of the bed and even the bottom of her feet had a dull ache to them. Though she was sure was all the fault of the whiskey, she was used to chronic pains. “Let me go grab it from my room.” She raced for the door, pressing the skirt of her dress down as she bent over to pick up her shoes. “I’ll be right back.”

When the door shut behind her she made her way up the carpeted hall to her door, whispering to herself. “Exactly what am I supposed to talk about?”

You’re about as nervous as I’ve ever seen you. It’s just constant at this point, so I’m getting used to it.

“You probably have more experience with men than me,” she said.

Not that I can remember.

“The fact that I have to maintain this lie and non mention Mom or the Church or any of it is making this extremely difficult.”

Let’s try discussing the small details. That might work.

Sitri tried her key in the door. “My mom is…let’s say important. Don’t know my dad, Mom never mentions him and I’m an only child. Oh, I could tell him that I like to read.”

That’s a start and we love flowers.

She clambered through the door, using her shoulder to unstick it from the frame. Sitri dropped her shoes to the floor and lifted her dress to her nose.

“Do I smell bad?”

I wouldn’t know, we have the same nose.”

“I think I might need to shower.”

Don’t human men like that kind of thing?

“What? Stinky women? Wouldn’t know. Men don’t like me,” Sitri said.

Right and we usual keep pretty clean, so I guess we’re trying something new. Keep the dress and just put the poncho on over it. You’re just going to get wet anyway.

“Okay, we’ll bathe when we get back. And we’re going to need sensible boots so I don’t ruin my good shoes.”

Sitri leafed through her clothes to find the dark hide cloak sealed with deer fat to water off water. She’d slip this over the dress, fix her hair, find the boots and that should be sufficient.

Never in her life had choosing clothes been this hard, but most of her things were varying types of church regalia. Some featuring the Crest of Seiros embroidered into their design—she couldn’t wear those. Sothis had been right, keeping this dress would have to do.

Fifteenth of Blue Sea Moon, 1157

More rain. Met a woman, Sitri, last night. Being trapped in Remire village is undesirable, but it’d be more miserable without her here.

Abraxas took too Sitri quite well, considering his generally wild demeanor. He had asked that she stay clear when they first arrived, but she ignored him straight away and approached the horse from the front. She raised a hand, her arm bringing the poncho up with it, so that the horse could meet her smell.

And for his part he had sniffed at her hand and deemed her worthy of his trust. He then nuzzled his face against her arm inviting her closer.

That girl is not good at taking directions, but the best women rarely were.

When he had tended the hay and given Abraxas a snack the two of them walked through the center thoroughfare of the barn, so close to one another that they could touch. The wild green hair bunched up in the air from where she had pulled her hood back giving her the appearance of some mischievous nymph.

Though the stable area’s size was nothing to write home about, they walked for maybe a dozen minutes to one end and turned to go back to the other. The conversation turned from questions about Abraxas to her telling him about a book she’d once read. As rapidly as that had come on, she slipped into telling him of the flowers she used to grow back in the city.

“What city was this?”

“Tarbh.”

“That’s in the Ochs Barony. Were you born there?”

Sitri shook her head. “Not really sure where I was born. I’ve moved around. A lot.”

Right. These treatments and physicians and healers she spoke of. Best not to harp on that subject.

“Rare that I end up that deep in the Western part of the Empire,” said Jeralt.

“If you ever have need to go you could take me, um-uh, hypothetically I mean. Tarbh has one of the tallest towers in the South West of Fódlan at its cathedral.” Her grin practically encompassed her whole face. “Mother set me straight, but I swear on a clear day you can see all the way to the Sea of Ethadon from in that tower.”

He chuckled at her slip up in asking him to take her somewhere. “Your mother, she still around?”

Sitri nodded. “I grew up somewhat separately from her, because of my health.”

“Your father?”

“I never knew him. Mom never speaks of him—I think the tragedy of it all is too much for her.”

Jeralt sighed. “So you grew up alone mostly? No family?”

“Oh no! There’s always been people around me, trusted friends of my mother or the people treating me. When I went to school the people were nice enough.”

Small wonder she turned out as well as she had given how much it sounded like her life had been one long series of misfortune. Better than just doing well, actually: Sitri was well read, friendly, and funny in that way a woman was when she grew up around a heaps of older men. Her youthful face seemed to cover a kind of old soul that if he didn’t know better was at odds with the rest of her.

“And let me guess, you were a geography whiz even then?” Asked Jeralt with a smile.

“I just like reading about places,” she said as she nodded. “Have you ever been to Almyra? I know that’s a bit of a stretch.”

“Been close. Far East of the Alliance.”

“Never been into the Alliance, but I kind of want to go. It’s different than the Kingdom or Empire, I hear.”

“They’re all different from one another, but not in the ways you’d notice right across the border. A shoemaker in Pwyll and the same sort of man in Mugruith probably see about eye to eye on most matters, they probably have roughly the same sort of day, too.”

Mugruith sat fairly close, but not right on, the border between the Kingdom and Empire, but on the Empire side while Pwyll stood in roughly the same place on the Kingdom’s land. Jeralt had found in every city and town, most people were just people.

“Pwyll, that’s near Arianrhod, right? Always wanted to visit it someday. The Silver Maiden,” her voice took on an airy, dreamlike tone as she said fort’s moniker. “You know what they call it that, right?”

“Because if you’re launching an attack from the outside, you’d be better off fucking yourself. You’re not getting in.” Jeralt spoke the old saying before he really considered his audience. Gruff knights or mercenaries were used to that kind of talk and with paid courtesans, their laughter at your crass jokes were just about the only thing that didn’t cost extra.

But Sitri burst into a fit of laughter, cackling until she sauntered away from him doubled over. “Oh, Goddess. That’s great. Did you make that up?”

Jeralt made no attempt to hide how stunned he was at her reaction. “It’s just a thing people used to say, but it’s pretty true. When you see the place you’ll understand full well why.”

The Empire’s loss at Arianrhod had been enough to cede their lands to the Kingdom and the fact that they had never managed to take it back even with their military might was proof of its namesake. The place probably could be broken, but not before Kingdom reinforcements arrived and not without a sizable commitment of troops.

“You offering to take me?” Sitri asked.

He wanted so badly to say yes, but he knew when this storm broke and they went their separate ways he’d never see the woman again. Maybe one day in a far flung future when she was gray and old and her beauty had ripened with time he would spot her with some nobleman and a couple of grandkids nipping at her ankles. He’d be little more than a ghost in the flesh who looked like a man she once knew in the springtime of her life.

“Captain? What’re you doing out here, Captain? You’ll catch a cold!” A familiar voice called to Jeralt from behind.

“Shit, here we go,” Jeralt muttered. By the time he had turned, Sitri was already looking back to see who it was. “Alois, you’re not my wife. I assure you I can take care of myself just fine.”

Alois jogged up, his baggy trousers and loose tunic whipping about in the wind and rain. “Right, who’s our friend here?”

“My name is Sitri,” she offered out her hand. “Captain Jeralt here just brought me out to meet Abraxas.”

“O-ho, he’s a mean one. He’s that gift horse you do not want to look in the mouth,” Alois said. “Because he’ll bite ya!”

“Really? He seemed sweet,” Sitri said.

“Then you must be one special lady!”

“Sitri, this rude man who failed to introduce himself is Alois, my squire,” Jeralt said. “What do you want Alois?”

“Right, sorry ma’am,” Alois said with a salute. “Report from the town guard: it seems our man the cardinal and a few others went west from the village yesterday morning to deal with some injured folk. There’s apparently some small settlement, problem is the lowlands there are prone to flooding. Nasty stuff.”

Jeralt poised his hands on his hips. “You don’t think your captain knew enough to ascertain all that for himself? I spoke with the Reeve and the innkeeper about as much this morning.”

“Oh, really?” Alois scratched at his head.

“Yeah.”

Sitri placed a hand to Jeralt’s chest. “Jeralt, come on now. He just wanted to make sure the information got passed down through the proper avenues to the rest of the men. You did a good job, Alois.”

The young knight blushed. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome.”

With a hand pressed to his brow, Jeralt shook his head. “Go ahead and disseminate the situation to the rest of the men. Let them know we might be dug in for a few days and see that they help the villagers out in any way they can in that time.”

“Aye, sir. I’ll see that it’s done!” He turned to leave but paused. “Nice to meet you, Miss Sitri.” Alois darted off in the direction he came.

“Nice to meet you too, Alois.”

When she had touched his chest his heart had started to thunder and he couldn’t even be mad with Alois. He was just doing what he figured was needed of him.

“Sorry about all that. Alois can be a bit much to deal with, but he means well,” Jeralt said.

“He seemed fine to me, just very excited. I’m sure there’s never a dull moment with you two traveling together,” she said.

“Eh, I guess you could put it that way.”

Morning bled into midday with low lazy clouds swirling overhead. After a brief lunch, Alois requested that Jeralt help him catch a problematic mouse that had made its home in the cupboards of an old woman’s kitchen. Sitri watched, clutching her cloak at the front as the tense chase whittled away at their daylight. She had insisted that they capture the poor thing and put it out at the tree line at the edge of the village in the hopes that it moved on and left the people of Remire alone.

The evening brought a cacophony of thunder and rain that made the old boards of the inn shiver and shake. The knights packed into the tavern until the owner had to put out the extra tables. They numbered six in total, not counting Jeralt and Alois. Despite all of this Sitri and Jeralt had their table besides the stairs to themselves in the perfect position to watch the bard play for his dinner.

The whole place had a sort of homey aura that hadn’t been there on any of her previous visits.

On occasions Sitri had been in bars and taverns, but those stays had more often than not been brief. She’d felt like a spectator, standing apart from the world of the kind of people who hunkered down over the bar, sitting atop narrow stools to drink and tell stories about their life or a thing that happened two towns over.

Most of the stories she had belonged to others. They were things remembered from books or overheard, not anything she had lived herself. She knew that she’d never have an occasion to experience the kind of full anyone else in this room must have had. At best, she would take her mother’s place someday, though even that seemed impossible.

“Hair of the dog that bit you,” Jeralt sat two glasses on the table, a much smaller mug filled with ale for her and a normal sized one for himself.

“You think it will be okay?” she asked.

Jeralt pointed to her water and tapped at the plate of hardtack. “You’ve got some water and your bread, plus you had some of the stew earlier so your belly is full. And one this small isn’t even enough to get that rat we liberated earlier drunk.”

“If you say so,” Sitri said. “I’ll be in your room again tonight if things go badly, just so you know.”

“Is that a threat?” He asked as he took the seat across from her.

“More like a promise.” Sitri sniffed the ale, she knew she had tasted some last night, but after the whiskey her tastebuds had been unable to care much what flavor anything had. This had a sour smell with a hint of something like citrus. She tasted it. “It’s odd, doesn’t burn like the whiskey.”

“Duscur makes drinks that will put hair on a baby’s chest, you really jumped right into the deep water downing that stuff,” Jeralt said.

“Just what I wanted: more to shave.” Sitri raised her glass toward his for a toast and thunder rocked the building.

You need to be very careful. We can’t do another night like the last one.

He clinked glasses with her. “Don’t down it all at once and you’ll be sober again by the time you’re ready for bed.”

Sitri pressed the rim of her tiny mug to her lips waiting for Jeralt to ready himself to drink, but he lifted his own glass and tilted it back before she could react. She followed his example, taking a swig and then sitting the glass on the table. The ale had a surprising sweetness with a sour undertone. The tanginess of it stung at her tongue, but it was an overall pleasant experience.

“You’ve been to Duscur?” Sitri asked.

“Only a few times. The Church typically chooses to stay out of the place when they can. It’s not like the people there have much to do with the Goddess.”

Odd to say when they occupy my lands.

“Yes. But they are still in the land of the Goddess. Even though they might not accept her, they’re still her people,” Sitri said.

Jeralt chuckled before taking another drink. His golden eyes watched her over the top of his mug.

“What?”

“That’s quite the progressive stance. You’d almost never hear anyone from the Kingdom say such.”

Sitri snapped off a piece of the hardtack and slipped it into her mouth. It crunched under her teeth, though it was much harder to bite into than she expected every time she tried some. “But you see what I mean?”

He nodded. “But things aren’t that simple. Sooner or later the situation between Duscur and the Kingdom will come to a head and because the Church favors the Kingdom and has a special relationship with Faerghus that’s whose side they’ll take.”

“You mean whose side you’ll take,” Sitri said. “You wouldn’t part ways with the Church over Duscur, right?”

“I suppose you’re right. Wish it didn’t have to be so, but the Kingdom of Faerghus is in a precarious situation between their relationship with Sreng and Duscur. I mean, sure, the Alliance has Almyra knocking on their door and the Empire has been invaded from across the sea, but the Kingdom expects Houses Gideon, Pryderi, and Gautier to its border and so much of all their resources are already stretched thin. Whole thing is a massive powder keg.”

“Powder? What kind of powder?” Sitri asked.

Jeralt set his glass aside and leaned forward on the table. “That’s right, you wouldn’t have any reason to know about weapons of war—don’t think you’ve seen many battles.”

“Actually never seen one. Despite the borders we live in a time of relative peace.”

At this Jeralt laughed. “Some years back alchemists experimenting with sulfur and saltpeter stumbled upon an exploding powder while looking for the secret to eternal life. I’ve heard the stuff referred to as bang powder or blackpowder, but basically the stuff explodes when fire touches it.”

“Goddess...” Sitri touched her fingers to her bottom lip.

This sounds like something I’ve seen before, but I just can’t remember. Sitri would have put more stock in Sothis’s words if the Goddess hadn’t said that exact same thing about all manner of topics ranging from the fabled javelins of light to clothes dying.

“When I say the Kingdom of Faerghus is a powder keg—”

“—you’re essentially saying that with one spark it could blow up.”

He nodded to her, taking another drink. “It could be a good thing in the long run, maybe the Empire and Alliance will be forced to back the Kingdom if they want to keep from being neighbors with a country under the rulership of a Sreng warlord.”

Had this conversation been described to her as happening between two other people she would have thought it to be boring. This wasn’t what one wanted to talk to a gorgeous man about, but Jeralt also had a level of respect for her that few others in her life had. Though he might need to explain a thing or coach her though the proper way to drink, he didn’t baby or belittle her. He let her make a mistake and then showed her how to rectify it.

All of this had happened over the course of less than a day, but it made her excited to go to the monastery. She wouldn’t just be there waiting around for her mother or working on her studies. Jeralt would be there. Perhaps there would be more people like him. Open minded, thoughtful individuals who would chat with her over drinks or teach her things she’d never learn in the dilapidated, southern churches cut off from everything.

Let’s be honest, girl, the real reason he’s so open with you now is because you’re not the daughter of the Archbishop to him.

“Yes, I know,” Sitri muttered.

“Did you say something?” Jeralt asked.

“I was asking did you know—Lady Rhea? The Church’s Archbishop,” she said, the words spilling out of her.

Jeralt squinted at her as if he had heard what she truly said, but chose to ignore it. “Pretty sure I’ve spoken of her. I know her pretty well, I’d reckon.”

“How did you come to meet her?”

“I did a stint as a mercenary and she hired our group to guard her along with some of her normal knights. I took an assassin’s attack meant for her and—well, let’s just say I’m lucky our Lady of the High Church is a miracle worker. Wouldn’t be speaking with you here and now. Since then I’ve served as her lance.”

Sitri couldn’t believe that he had known her mother so well and she had never heard a story about this in all of the times she’d met with mother or in any of the letters. “Wow, that’s not a story I’ve ever heard before.”

“Lady Rhea is a private person in some ways and with good reason.”

“What else can you tell her about me, without violating that privacy, obviously.”

He sat back in his chair, spreading his legs wide. “Well, she’s much more beautiful than most people would imagine. But she’s also fierce and fearless. Not many realize she can actually hold her own in a fight, too.”

“Really?” Sitri asked.

A sigh escaped Jeralt. “Still, she is overall a kind woman.”

“You make it sound like you’ve got a crush on her.” Sitri said as fear gripped her chest in anticipation of his answer.

“Nah, she’s not at all my type. I mean, a man can describe the good qualities in his friend even if she happens to be a woman. Plus, Rhea is married to the Church of Seiros with her entire body and soul.”

Well it’s a good thing he didn’t say anything about one crazy night years ago. I worried he might be our father!

Sitri banished Sothis’s words from her head. “Have you ever known her to be interested in a man or get married and the like.”

“This is not the line of questioning I expected,” Jeralt said. “But no, not unless she did so in secret.”

As Sitri thought it might be time for something a little risky, Sothis pleaded. Don’t do this. This is a terrible idea.

“So Captain, if she’s not your type, who is?” she asked.

“Like what, you want me to name names?” Asked Jeralt.

“No, it’s not like I would know them having spent most of my life as a caged little bird.” She remembered him calling her this nickname last night, though he couldn’t figure out where he had gotten the idea. “Just describe your ideal woman—or man, you know, no judgment.”

“Don’t like men that much, I can hardly stand being around myself. If I had to describe her, I would say she’s worldly and beautiful, of course…”

Jeralt trailed off as a commotion started at the opposite side of the room. A bearded man with sun-kissed suede colored skin produced a fiddle from his belongings and went to join the minstrel at the corner of the bar.

“Captain Jeralt, Figghus is going to play with the chap!” Came an excited cry.

“Sing with us, Captain Jeralt!”

Alois leaned down over the table and in the lantern from over his shoulder, Sitri could see the meager beginnings of a beard at his chin as wisps in the light. “They’re going to do one of your favorites, you have to lead,” he said. “We can teach you the words, ma’am, just follow along.”

Sitri nodded. “Right.”

The fiddle started and the lute chimed in to match, complimenting it until the two harmonized. Feet stomped the tavern floor in time with a beat she didn’t know. Much to her surprise and without any further prompting, Jeralt rose to his feet with a sloshing mug of ale clasped in one hand to lead the men in song.

“We’ll drink the wine till the cup is dry,

“And kiss the girls so they’ll not cry,

“And toss the dice until we fly,

“To dance with the Reap’r o’ Souls.”

My Goodness, well didn’t that get dark fast. Sitri laughed at Sothis’s comment. Have to admit, that Jeralt’s got some pipes on him.

“We’ll dance all night until the moon runs free,

“And dandle the lasses upon our knee,

“And then you’ll ride along with me,

“To dance with the Reap’r o’ Souls.”

Other knights were on their feet and even the barkeep had joined in to sing. As far as Sitri could tell every fourth line was the same, but she didn’t feel comfortable singing in front of a crowd of raucous men. She did rise from her chair, cup in hand to clap with the beat, choosing to put her palm to the hand holding the glass. Alois stomped and rotated, dancing through the open space between tables to take her by the arm and lead her to a more spacious area near the bar to dance.

Though her body still ached, as it had a wont to do, she danced to keep up. Her heels thunked against the hardwood, the point of her boot tilted toward the ceiling and then she stomped back down with the first foot alternating to the second, just as she saw him do.

Warm ale splashed over her fingers and her skin seemed to hum, like a friendly colony of bees had made home of her body, buzzing in time with the vibrations of the music. Sitri ignored the pain as she took another drink to keep more from spilling out. One of the men let out a piercing whistle at the far end of the room where the temporary tables had been set up.

“Look at the Captain’s girl go!”

“That’s it, Miss Sitri!”

Two of the other Knights shoved at Jeralt to join her and Alois and though he swatted at them, trying to ward them off at first he quickly gave in and shambled over. His squire handed her off to him and he slipped her fingers into his palm and let his thumb caress her knuckles.

Alois danced away to stand nearer to the fiddle and lute, leaving the two of them to dance. Slowly the attention of the men in the room faded from them and the song bled into another instrumental piece that was only accompanied by clapping and the knock of soles against the floors.

Sitri and Jeralt danced until they finished one mug and then they took another at the table with their hardtack and stew. Knights trickled out of the room to their sleeping places until most of them had gone to bed.

At the top of the stairs they stood side by side with their backs pressed to the wall. He cracked a smile at her. “What did I say, you’re still stone sober. You’re a professional now. You’ll be drinking my men under the table in no time.”

“If it were possible to dance the drink out of yourself, I’d say that’s precisely what happened,” she said.

“Maybe. You even managed to break out sweating—wasn’t sure that were possible for you.”

Sitri pushed against his arm, but it was taut with muscle he barely budged. “Stop. I’m perfectly capable of sweating.”

“I see that now. But I had some suspicions.”

Downstairs the remaining knights were singing a new song, this one far more raunchy when compared to the others. Their words filtered up the narrow staircase and into the corridor, but they sounded more distant than she thought they should.

“If my lass was a boat

“And I was the sea

“I’d send her a wave

“So that she could ride me

 

“Roll yer leg over

“Roll yer leg over

“Roll yer leg over

“And sit on my face”

 

Sitri cocked her head to one side. “What in the Goddess’s name are they singing about now? Is the woman going to smother the man?”

Jeralt slapped a hand to his face. “Cichol’s balls! You’d think they’d use some discretion.”

She laughed. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl, well figuratively…and not compared to some people.”

“If all them young ladies was Pegasi

“And I was a Wyvern,

“I’d buzz their behinds

“Roll yer leg over…”

“You think you’ll be able to get some rest with all this noise?” Jeralt asked.

“They’ll stop soon enough,” Sitri said. Outside the storm had swelled; wind pushed at the inn until the walls pulsed and creaked.

Jeralt glanced to the end of the hall. “And you’ll be fine on your own?”

“Jeralt. Don’t.” She circled around him until she was staring him in the face. “I want to—” her words came to an abrupt stop, her heart jumping in her chest as if it wanted out.

“Maybe you do. But when we leave Remire and when your friend gets back, well, you’re going to go back to your life and I’ve got a duty to—” the words caught in his throat as he leaned toward her and pressed his fingers into his sternum.

Sitri, do something!

Her eyes flicked downward and she felt them grow weighted with tears.

I didn’t mean cry! Let me take over! People telling her not to cry when she was on edge tended to have the opposite effect, so she trusted in the Goddess and handed over control. Just as fast as the first tears had fallen, Sothis stifled any others. Instead of an argument he couldn’t counter, she grabbed the front of Jeralt’s shirt with two balled up fists and jerked him close.

Their lips captured Jeralt’s with savage, reckless abandon. His shock rooted him in place, but he didn’t pull away nor did he make any sound of protest.

“If all the girls were bells in a tower

“And I was a clapper,

“I’d bang one each hour

“Roll yer leg over…”

With in their head, Sitri screamed. Though as long as Sothis had hold the sound would be contained to their mind. “Goddess, what are you doing. He’s going to shove us away! He’s going to—kiss us back? That can’t be right.”

A rough hand broke their hold over his shirt and he cupped her jaw. Sothis let their lips part and  their tongues brushed past one another in messy desperation. He tasted of tabacco, ale, and salted broth from the stew. As the moment burned slow between them, he pressed her into the wall at the shoulder and braced himself with one that same wall.

Sitri was shoved to the helm again, her chest a mess of nerves as thunder rumbled through the wall at her back. Naught existed between them but wetness and warmth until the song below ended.

She pressed her fingertips against his chin to stop him, but found his way to her neck. Her stomach seemed to float straight up, like the bubbles from the bottom of the ale mugs. “It might be best…if we…moved this elsewhere,” she said between gasping breaths. “Before your men glance up these stairs.”

Jeralt grazed her cheek. His fingers whispering down from the lobe of her ear and along to the apex of her chin. She gazed into his eyes and when time stopped this time it did not move in reverse, because it wasn’t Sothis nor was it tied to any form arcanum or magic. The night stood still while she awaited his answer.

He took her hand in his and turned to lead her toward his room. They broke into a jog to make sure they cleared the hallway before Alois or one of the other knights or even the innkeeper saw them in this state.

The rustic, nondescript trappings of the inn-room had transformed in the scant time between Jeralt changing clothes after taking Sitri to meet Abraxas and the moment they re-entered the room with their hands clasped. In his recent past there weren’t many days he could point to in a positive light. He managed to drift through the decades until they piled into full centuries moving from war to skirmish to the relative peace of stopping the odd bandit brigade while having nothing for himself. No real home to call his own, despite a permanent quarters at Garreg Mach monastery.

Maybe it was a sophomoric thing to think, especially given his age, but as he stood in the doorway watching Sitri fluff out her green mane of hair before turning to face him, the room felt more like theirs than any place had ever been his own.

In the golden light of the room’s lone burning lantern her skin took on this glow, glistening with the fresh, clean sweat she’d accumulated from dancing (and as a natural effect of just drinking). Sitri smiled, her eyes sparkling with the light of the flame that lit the room. “What?” Sitri said.

“What-what?” Jeralt took a step forward only to freeze again.

Sitri scrunched her face into a smirk, her eyes narrowing into one of those expressions people tended to make when that late night second-wind of confidence hit them. “You’re staring at me like there’s something off.”

Jeralt shook his head. “It’s nothing. I just—”

“I knew I should have taken another bath. And I know, I bathed after lunch and that whole mouse debacle, but—”

Her words were lost to her when he closed the gap between them, the line of conversation a casualty of the anticipation of his aims. His mouth brushed hers in a bid for permission, the bittersweet mixture of the ale and salted hardtack still fresh on her lips.

When Sitri’s response came it was not the chaste, cautious kiss he expected. A carnal hunger spurred her forward so that her kiss was sloppy and trembling with urgency. Jeralt’s hands grasped her hips and without being pulled forward or beckoned, she pressed herself to him. The warmth spilling over through her clothing. Somehow he had missed how intoxicating the scent of her hair was in their other interactions.

Sitri touched his bare chest through the opening at the top of his shirt, smoothing her hand through the thin layer perspiration and hair. Out nowhere she jerked her head away from his and burst into a fit of laughter.

“What?" He whispered into her hair near where her ear would be.

She covered her mouth with the back of the offending hand. “It’’s just—sorry, I thought of something in my head just told me to slap my hand up there.”

“You’re a strange woman,” he said.

“I know.”

“That’s a good thing.” He kissed the side of her face, working down in a line until her reached her neck.

“Can we take off your shirt?” Sitri stammered. “Please.” She had to fight to keep herself from giggling, but a bit of it bled through.

Jeralt did as requested, stepping back to pull the shirt up over his head and fling it across the room. By the time he had sight of her again she had backed up against the bed to sit down. He moved closer to her and she palmed his chest again, tracing a line along his defined musculature with a curiosity. Her gaze met his, her eyes brimming with an eagerness that made him actually consider where this was going.

He bent down to give her a peck on the list, her fingers lighting a fire in their wake as they moved down his stomach until she was forced to remove her hand. Jeralt needed to sit, the difference in their height dictated it and he couldn’t very well keep craning over her like this without some risk of toppling into her.

“Should I…take off my dress?” Sitri asked as he sat down next to her.

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“I can help.”

He hooked a finger through the neck hole of the dress over her shoulder and tugged in his direction slipping it down her arm until she was able to shuck out of either side. The dress crumped around here waist and down onto the mattress. The type of brassier she wore had a lace stitched pattern that extended down from the cups and it featured no straps instead wrapping around the breasts and stopping halfway to the navel. It was the kind of intricately made garment only available to those near noble status.

Anything with that manner of complex stitching tended to be.

Jeralt kissed Sitri’s bare shoulder and he could feel her skin tense before she spoke. “We can take this off too.” Even as she spoke she moved to get out of the brassier she reached up with her free hand and raked her narrow fingers through his beard. He sucked in a breath against her skin at the rough pull against his facial hair and it caused her to shiver deliciously.

The brassier came away leaving ghosts of the pressure it had applied to her pale skin in the form of thin, reddened indentions in her flesh.

“What do you want to do?” she asked, blinking over at him.

He chuckled. “That’s kind of an odd thing to ask now.”

“I want you to say it.”

“What do you want to happen?” Jeralt couldn’t help but take in the full sight of her: naked from the waist up with flawless skin that glowed gold in the lamp light. She was even more perfect than he had thought in those fleeting moments when he had allowed himself to think of her. And he hated to admit that he had. His mind had wandered astray at times and slipped into questioning how she must feel to touch, to hold.

“I just want to—I want you to tell me what you want to do with me. I mean, in truth.” Her big eyes shimmered as he stared at him and she pushed her curled knuckles against the discolored skin, running down just to the left of the center of his chest. The scar that had earned him this quasi-immortality.

Jeralt knew what he wanted to do; maybe the song the men had last sang had upset him so because he wanted it to be prophetic in a way.

Even like this now that truth was too crude to speak out loud. “Can I give you a proper birthday gift?”

Chapter Text

Sometime before dawn a mouth seized Sitri’s neck in the darkness, kissing and sucking at her sensitive skin to wake her. This was the way part of the night had passed, with them kissing and playfully exploring each others bodies between bouts of sleep. Nothing as eventful as what happened earlier had occurred and a part of her worried for when the storm passed.

They spent most of the rainy night curled up together beneath the thick layers of sheets and blankets and each time the exhaustion had inevitably taken her, it was one so deep that she didn’t bother to try and speak with the Goddess or mull over all that had happened.

“Sitri.” Jeralt let his head fall to rest against her shoulder. “What do you say if we just go away, just you and I?”

His disembodied words felt as if they were coming from all around her, like the spillover of the waking world into a dream.

“I could resign my post when this assignment is done and we could go to Tarbh or the Rhodos Coast. We could see the where the sea really is East of the Empire and even sail to Brigid.”

What does he mean? Run away?

The silence in the darkness was filled only with the rain and the slow steady breathing of Jeralt waiting on her to answer. Could she really forsake Mother and leave with a stranger she had just met? True, he knew her mother well and he was a stranger who had served in the Church’s knighthood, but could he leave all that behind.

No, you don’t want to do this. It’s a bad idea, Sitri.

“If you need time to think it over, return with me Garreg Mach. While we’re there we could see if the healers could do something for you,” he added. “And if not, there are healers in other lands, wonders that I myself can’t explain.”

“We can’t, Jeralt.”

A future where she and Jeralt walked in the distant waters along as warm waters licked at the sandy shore, just as she had seen described in many books raced through her mind. The pair of them at the towers of the nearly abandoned Church tower in Tarbh or strolling the busy streets of Enbarr or intermingling with the tanned peoples of Brigid—all of these were visions of a future she wanted.

“If we do,” Sitri added. “We have to leave tomorrow, come rain or shine. No return to Garreg Mach Monastery, no word to your men. We just disappear and no one is the wiser, but you have to promise me we cannot go back to the monastery.”

Jeralt made a confused sound. “Why? I’ve got to deliver the cardinal and his entourage to the monastery, that much I must see through.”

“Do you?” Sitri asked in a rush. “What’s one more man to walk a few of the clergy up the mountains?”

“We can’t—I can’t do that to my men or to Lady Rhea.”

“But you want me to leave my life behind for you, paltry though it may be in your eyes. I have a life. I still have family and-and a friend. There were some plans made for me and arrangements that I would not be able to fulfill if I were to run off with you. I have the rest of my life and my life may very well end in the next three years, but you think I can just disappear and that you cannot?”

“Sitri, I didn’t mean to say your life is unimportant—I thought you wanted to travel and you planned to see the things you talked about again and show them to me. And there’s things I want to show you.”

Those desires and plans sounded like the ramblings of a little child now. The reality of their situation was they both had lives and though her want to go with him may burn, he didn’t know the truth of anything.

“You know only my good days. You haven’t seen the seizures. Or how I’m unable to move for hours or keep food down. How I bleed sometimes so profusely that servants have to swap out my bedding and keep me in towels hours on end. You’ve seen a fairytale version of me.”

Calm down.

“Then I was too forward, can I at least ask to get to know you? To travel with you where you’re going after my work is done.”

Sitri tightened in on herself, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I’m a sinful person. There are times where I use my illness as an excuse to avoid people. Or lust after men I cannot have, a lust that comes out in strange ways. I’m a liar and really worse. Not a woman fit for a Holy Knight.”

“Where did all this come from?” He wrapped his arms around her to hold her close.

“You might as well hear all this now, because you’re going to come to hate me,” Sitri said. She should shrug him off, tell him she needed to go to her room, but she loved the way his skin felt against hers. She loved the way he smelled like her now.

“What reason would I have to hate you?” Jeralt said.

Sitri don’t. There are better ways to do this. Think.

“Sothis, shut up.” She shook her head, angry at her own outburst at a person he didn’t know existed. “I lied to you, okay? I’m not here with some friend, I’m with the cardinal you came to see to Garreg Mach. And I’m not a merchant’s daughter. The Archbishop Rhea is my mother.”

You insolent, sorry excuse for a woman. Why would you do this when I strictly forbade it. Sothis may holler and protest from within her chamber, but she didn’t reverse time. She didn’t take control of Sitri, though she could have.

When Jeralt reeled back, letting her out of her grasp she moved to sit up on the edge of the bed with the sheets swaddled around her thin form. The room would be black as pitch til the morning came as the candles in the hall were either too far from the door or out and the one in the room had been extinguished.

“Lady Rhea’s daughter? How—”

“I’d assure you that it must be in much the same way anyone becomes someone else’s son or daughter. I told you, I know not who my father was or if he still draws breath, but I doubt that side of my family matters as much to you given that you called my mother friend shortly before I allowed you to unknowingly bed her child.”

Behind her she could hear him muttering, trying to sort out the time scale of how this could have happened. “I can’t remember the last time that Rhea was out of my sight for long enough to become pregnant and have a whole child only to not tell me.”

“Goddess, you and Mother never—you were never involved with my mother, right?” Sitri asked.

“Rhea’s secretive, with good reason, but this would be huge.” He rambled on, too distracted to answer her.

You may not want to know the answer to that. Remember, I cannot erase your memories of a thing.

“Jeralt! I need you to tell me true. Did you ever sleep with my mother?” Sitri had a sick feeling gathering at the back of her throat, what if Jeralt was this mysterious father of hers?

“Calm down, of course not. I’ve never seen Lady Rhea be romantically involved with anyone, until you spoke of being her daughter. For all I knew she’d never known the touch of a man.”

Phew. At least we’re not in an even more contrived and gross conundrum.

“Just forget it, forget what happened with me,” Sitri said. “I’ll leave you be as it was my inaction that caused this whole mess.”

“Why? You were interested enough in me to lie about this, right? Isn’t that why you did it?”

Sitri buried her face in her hands. “I did it because you would have never looked at me otherwise, whether you were a Holy Knight or not.” And she wanted him to look at her, needed him to, but she left that part unsaid.

Jeralt sighed. “Look, we’re all hiding a bit of who we are from everyone else. I’m upset that you lied, but I don’t think I could hate you for it.”

“What do you think my mother will do when news of us gets back to her?”

In truth, Jeralt spent more time around her mother than she. His position as a Holy Knight and his proximity to her probably allowed him to know a part of the Archbishop that few people ever got to see. To her, her mother had always been just that—her mother. She never saw her as the leader of the Central Church or this political figurehead.

He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, but he was tall enough that he had to bend his legs awkwardly to keep his feet planted firmly. “Look, only the two of us know, but I would hate to try and keep anything like this from Lady Rhea.”

She and her mother had been apart so long and now the first impression that the Archbishop would have of her was this? Something told her it wouldn’t be positive.

“Can we just wait? Try to feel it out once we get to the monastery? Please?” She wished Jeralt could bring her breakfast in bed again, that they could go back to the way things had been yesterday.

Jeralt gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “We’ve got some time until we’re going to be back at the monastery, so we can come up with something different before then if need be.”

“I had better go bathe—and get ready for the day,” Sitri said.

That’s for the best, you just need some time away from him for now—let him think about how much he misses you, and how dull it is around here without you!

Fifteenth of Blue Sea Moon, 1157

Another gray day, no rain. Things have become far more complicated than I ever wanted, but no matter the severity of her lie I can’t bring myself to be mad at her or banish the thought of her from my mind.

Stables in the morning. Then shoring up equipment for travel with the men before taking a late breakfast. If Jeralt kept himself busy, kept moving, he figured he could avoid the worst of being alone with his own thoughts. The centuries of multitasking had damned him to thinking about Sitri while he went about his work. Despite washing and brushing his teeth, he swore he could still taste the creamy salt tang of her body, still smell her on his hands whenever they ventured too close to his face.

If the knights suspected anything, they didn’t let on. But when he went to one of the tents the men had pitched just before lunch he caught one of the Knights of Seiros with a village girl, he should have been mad about them shrugging off duties, but all he could think of at the sight of her was Sitri. She couldn’t have been much older, though she had that hard-life look that was common of everyone in villages like these.

He said nothing about it to any of the village folk and sent the girl on her way. With the rain finally having cleared they could be rid of this place, be back at the monastery where he would have more distractions, more room to be away from her. At least for most of the morning she had stayed in her room in the inn, doing what, he didn’t know. Alois had gone to check on her a few times and she had answered through the door that she was busy, but never named the activity that kept her occupied.

After lunch a young man in priestly robes entered town with two knights who were older than him and dressed in full plate, one of them had a standard armor set and the other a more feminine cast set of armor—though it seemed to be in bad repair. Knights from the remnants of what would have been the southern church, he guessed. And this younger man would be the cardinal and friend Sitri spoke of.

Officially the Empire had no direct dealings with the Church of Seiros and the Southern Church had been forced to shutter. No heir to the Imperial throne had been to the Officers Academy at the monastery in the last one hundred years, but there were devout worshipers within the Empire and many of the Church holdings were being operated quasi-independently within the Empire’s borders. Knights chapters that had existed before the Insurrection of 1065 functioned and networked within the Empire too, though they had limited contact with the Central Church and even less funding and support.

It surprised Jeralt that Rhea had named a Cardinal who had been within the Empire and brought him to the Central Church and allowed her daughter to live under the fractured Southern Church’s watch.

The young cardinal had none of the haughty nature of his counterparts from the Central Church, he dismounted and stalked up to one off Jeralt’s men and promptly engaged him in an almost jovial conversation.

“You must be the man we’re here to see,” Jeralt barked as he walked away from where he had been eating, leaving his plate atop the sawed down stump that had served as his seat. He had figured the less time he spent in the tavern and inn proper, the less his chances of being forced to interact with Sitri.

“I hadn’t expected you to meet us so deep into the Empire,” the cardinal said. “You’ve been waiting for us a while, it seems?”

Jeralt reached the man, offering out his hand. “Just a couple of days now. Jeralt Eisner,” he introduced himself.

“The Jeralt Eisner? The Blade Breaker? I didn’t think I would be escorted back to the monastery by a living legend!”  The young cardinal’s eyes brimmed with an excitement Jeralt knew all too well. “I’m Aelfric, Aelfric Dahlman.”

Weak handshake with three quick pumps. Though Aelfric stood a hair shorter than Jeralt, he had a frailty to him. His face had yellowed like the pages of an old tome, though he possessed the dark eyes and hair found in many southerners of Fódlan. Though it his youth was easy to spot, he had the easy, carefree smile of an old man.

“Blade Breaker is a name that’s been passed down through the family.” The lie had become  more like a reflex to Jeralt, a reaction to being questioned. “But it does suit me, so I’ll wear it.”

“Even so, I trust that you would have no problem if we began our journey to Garreg Mach this afternoon?”

Jeralt glanced to one of his knights that had been standing nearby, the one Aelfric had gone to meet and then back at the cardinal. “I usually like to start these kinds of things before dawn—”

“I only ask because I would like to be on my way, we can set up in a town not far from here and continue onto the pass from there in the morning, but the sooner we can depart the better.” Aelfric’s eyes met his.

“Okay, I’ll see that we’re on the road within the hour,” Jeralt said.

“There was a friend with me, a Miss Sitri? You wouldn’t have happened to have seen her?”

“I’ve seen her for sure, she’s been in the inn mostly.” No need for him to go saying any of the things Sitri had gotten up to without her permission, especially if she were going to tell a different story. He didn’t know their relationship; a protective friend might even become upset at hearing of her drinking and dancing around with the knights.

Aelfric nodded. “I’ll go and collect her and see that she’s ready to depart.”

“Your guard, the two knights that accompanied you, are they going to be ?” Asked Jeralt.

“The Archbishop left that to their choosing and it seems they have decided to accompany us. I hope that will be alright,” said Aelfric. Before Jeralt could fully respond, Aelfric called to his knights. “Livina, Eike—” he motioned with his hand. “Come here, please.”

The pair had dismounted and hitched their horses to some fencing near the front of the town. They jogged over, the metal of their amor clanking as their feet formed divots in the mud. The female removed her helm to reveal a layered jet black mane of hair and piercing gray eyes. “Livina Arundel, sir—it is an honor to meet knights such as yourself under the direct command of the Holy Mother of Garreg Mach.”

“Just Eike, your lordship. Nary a last name nor title to speak of.” Though he had dropped to one knee, Eike’s head nearly came up to the center of Jeralt’s chest. He removed his helm and clutched it to his breast revealing dark skin contrasted against close cropped, silver hair. A man from Duscur?

As Jeralt bent forward to tap Eike’s shoulder he spotted the ring-like scar encircling the man’s neck—a grim indication that he’d had a close call with the gallows. “No lordship to speak of here, really. Just a knight, the same as yourself. Come on, on your feet, Son.” When they were both standing before him with a slightly more relaxed posture, he shook their hands in turn. “I take it you’ve chosen to come with us?”

A nervous glance passed between them and then they looked back at Jeralt and nodded.

“We’re happy to have you then for sure, but one thing we’re going to have to get straight: when you address me it’s just sir or Captain or, Hell, even Jeralt. No need for all this bowing and bellyaching. And when you do meet Lady Rhea she prefers just that, Lady Rhea, or the Archbishop if you’re feeling formal.”

“Got it sir!”

“Yes, sir.”

Jeralt nodded to them. “It looks like our charge wants to be rid of this place sooner rather than later. I’ve got a few things I need to stow before we head out.” He set off toward the inn and entered through the front door, to his surprise Sitri was sitting at their table by the stairs, a little way from another man who seemingly had already had his fill for the day at such an early hour.

With her so close to where he needed to go, he couldn’t very well ignore her and though she had her nose in a book she noticed him enter. “Your Cardinal friend is back and he wants to leave today.”

“Oh, Aelfric’s here?” She sighed and closed the book over her hand. Though it she seemed shocked he was talking to her here, her mood had shifted some since earlier and she had calmed. “He’s always in such a hurry to be somewhere. Shouldn’t we wait till morning?”

“His instinct may be right in this instance, this might just be a lull in the storms, if we can get into the pass before too long,” Jeralt said.

“I might try to convince him we could use a little more rest,” she replied.

The longer that they stayed in Remire, the longer Sitri had to think about what to do with her mother and the longer that she could keep avoiding the reality of what would eventually have to happen when they arrived at the monastery. He understood her apprehension and if she convinced Aelfric and the others they were better off waiting in the village until morning, it made no difference to him.

But it did make a difference to him, at Garreg Mach this whole thing would blow over. He was sure that so long as they kept living their lives like the last night hadn’t happened, Sitri would move on. And he knew the same would happen for him, because in all his years he had lost more loves than he had ever kept and even as the famous Blade Breaker he thought back more on the bouts he had lost than those won.

One more defeat wouldn’t mean much.

Aren’t you going to finish getting your things prepared for the road?

Sitri rose from her seat, but moved in the direction opposite the stairs. No need to mutter the answer under her breath this time, Sothis would be able to sense that she didn’t want to venture up those stairs now. If she tried, there was no telling which door her legs would carry her to.

After the events of this morning, she wanted nothing more than to trap Jeralt somewhere and kiss him again. She needed those huge, warm hands at her waist or his fingers running through her hair or other places.

Sure, it was fine to play pretend with him—to act like everything between them was just as it had been on that first night, but every second that she saw him moving around ignoring her or keeping busy caused a sharp dagger of pain in her chest.

A fear welled up within her causing the hair on her arms and at the back of her neck to stand on end. I think we’re being followed—Sothis pulled time backward so that Sitri had just left her table and had yet to weave through the tavern—when you approach the door this time aim your eyes toward the window, maybe we can catch the culprit’s reflection.

Sitri followed the route she had taken before, simple motions were easily recreated almost as if they were the path time was meant to take if she did nothing. This time she aimed her eyes over toward the window, the faint reflection of a hooded figure had cut across the empty room. This time of day most of the patrons were lost in thought and there were only a handful of them. The barkeep had stepped out for a smoke as he often did.

That person? Aren’t they the one from the night Jeralt first arrived?

Perhaps so. Maybe they had always been just out of sight watching for something. Until she got up and walked over here they had appeared to be passed out at the nearby table. It could just be that her conversation with Jeralt woke them?

No, trust your instincts and get ready for me to assume control of our body if it comes to it.

Sitri turned the knob of the door and palmed it open to step out into the cool dank air of the village square. Even before she had taken stock of the situation outside, Sothis spoke into her mind again.

Short distance to the nearest knight. Aelfric, Lavina, and Eike are too far off to reasonably help should this person actually go for us. Phooey, the guards for the towers aren’t looking this way either!

“Sitri? Did Jeralt send you out?” Aelfric said as hue began to take big, excited steps toward her.

Best to act normal until something actually happens, Sothis’s little hunches could be wrong and often were.

“You’ve returned! I just wanted to ask that if we could, please—”

Blunt force slammed into the side of Sitri’s ribcage, right where her elbow would have been. Deep pain seized her lower back and she couldn’t breathe. Her legs slackened and she would have crumpled to the ground if not for someone hoisting her up against their body. Sitri hacked and sputtered, wheezing for air as cool, sharpened metal touched her neck.

Through bleary vision Aelfric held his hands out to his sides begging the others to stay back. The pain from the initial hit was so profound that she worried it might have been a stab. She felt no warmth from blood nor did the sensation at the point of impact feel right for her skin to have been punctured.

It even had an effect on Sothis. Need to see what they want. Don’t want to repeat a hit like that if we don’t have to.

“That’s right, Cardinal,” there was a rich curl to the accent of the woman who held Sitri as the words hissed off her tongue. “Keep those knights back. I don’t want to hurt this woman.”

“What do you want?” It was the voice of Alois, though Sitri couldn’t judge exactly where he was.

Good, Alois. That’s exactly what we need to know.

The woman tugged Sitri to the side, trying to lead her along the front of the tavern. “The life of the Cardinal. You can run him through or you can trade him to me for the girl, it makes no difference to me.”

“Let Miss Sitri go. She has nothing to do with this!” this voice she only recognized as one of the knights from the previous night.

Sitri couldn’t help but wonder how much more Sothis needed to know before she reversed them back through time.

Calm yourself, girl. I want to see what Aelfric and the others do! We can at least see who is most likely to be trustworthy out of this group.

“If you need a prisoner then take me,” Eike undid the weapons strap, causing his Warhammer to drop into the mud behind him with a wet thud. “Let the woman go, she is innocent in all of this.”

Her captor still had her in such a way that Sitri had yet to clearly see them, but she could tell by how they had her they were only slightly taller than her. There wouldn’t even be a way for her this woman to easily contain Eike as a prisoner, not that she would ever consider the deal.

“No more of your little games or tricks. The Cardinal, or the girl dies!”

A thunderous sound erupted from the inn. An electricity filled the air for a split second and the next thing that Sitri knew, the knife fell away from her captor’s hands and they were both dragged further up into the air. Sitri slipped free to drop onto the grass patch of ground in the shadow of the inn. Then she craned her neck to see Jeralt holding the woman under the neck with his bicep.

With his other hand held tight to her mouth, keeping her from even attempting to draw breath. The woman’s striking green eyes darted around in a panic, Sitri had seen the wild look a person got in their eyes moments before death—it had been all to common in the sick ward at the church in many a city and settlement she had visited. And this woman was so young, even younger than Sitri.

She wanted to plead with Jeralt not to kill the girl, but she never got the chance. Jeralt let her drop to the ground in a heap, on the edge of consciousness. He stepped over to scoop Sitri up into his arms. “Are you okay?”

Sitri could do nothing but nod, her face must’ve been furiously red and probably would have been even if someone hadn’t socked her in the kidneys.

“Alois, get the prisoner over here restrained. Take her cloak and check her for anything. Don’t even leave the coins in her pockets—don’t want her using any creative ideas to kill herself now that she’s failed at her mission,” Jeralt said.

“Yes, Captain!” Alois rushed over to begin the task of tying up the woman.

“Sitri, are you okay?” Aelfric said as he shuffled over, giving the prisoner and Alois a wide breadth.

Sitri nodded. “I’m fine.”

“You going to be okay to walk?” Jeralt asked.

Well, she didn’t want him to put her down just yet—there was something about being in his arms again. “I-I’m a little lightheaded. Could you carry me? At least until we’re back inside?”

Wow. This is pathetic, even for you.

She wrapped an arm around Jeralt’s neck and concentrated very deeply on a particular place where she thought Sothis should shove her little quips and barbs. With all that had happened Jeralt hadn’t noticed that she would have been fine to to stand on her own or her terrible acting.

“We’ll get you back inside where you can rest before we have to go.” He started up the steps into the inn. “You’re all lucky that I accidentally packed my room keys away and returned to retrieve it.”

When they were heading through the door and Jeralt turned so as not to bump her head on the wall, she locked eyes with Aelfric standing on the bottom step of the inn’s front porch. His shoulder’s slumped like he had been utterly defeated in something, why did he look like this despite the fact that they had been able to resolve the issue without anyone having to die. She would try to talk to him, when she could, but she wanted to enjoy her time with Jeralt just in case this was the last such occasion.

The ground grew rocky and sloped upward as the daylight fell. To the east the peaks of the Oghma mountains stabbed up into the darkening sky. They had made better time than Jeralt expected, but then again the days of travel before they reached Remire without much to call rest in between stops. That couple of days downtime might have saved them from an extra day of travel at this rate.

But Jeralt could stand to add a few extra days to their travel if it meant delaying him having to see Rhea. He hadn’t needed to keep anything from Rhea in the past, especially not anything like this. At the same time he never asked her the finer details of her own life, like how old she was or through what means she had come to be able to do some the things she did.

The ability that had given him his Crest of Seiros could be some blessing bestowed upon Rhea by the Goddess or even some suppressed technology the Church had been sitting on with the ability to pass crests from one person to the next. He could understand why that sort of thing might be dangerous if it got out, crests already caused a significant political and socioeconomic problem across all of Fódlan.

But if he was already into his third century of life, just how old could Rhea actually be. Jeralt felt even less comfortable thinking about the potential of all she had seen than he did this situation between he and Sitri.   

He surveyed the tree line to get an opportunity to catch a glance of Sitri. She rode in a cart at the middle of their group along with the Cardinal and the very restrained prisoner they had taken. A jail like Remire’s lacked the facilities to deal with a would be assassin, so they were transporting her back to the monastery mostly at Sitri’s request.

“After we stop for the night, how much longer do you figure we have?” Eike brought his horse to a trot alongside Jeralt’s.

“Another day to Anann at the edge of the Barony of Barnabas. Maybe less if we can keep this pace. From there it’s two or three days to the monastery—depending own how well those of us that aren’t used to the mountains take to them.” The trek would grow steeper and in turn the horses would become tired easier, plus there were less places to stop for water and rest in the mountains the higher up they moved. Nights and mornings would grow cold. Generally, it was in one’s best interest to spend as little time at that high elevation outside of one of the strongholds in the mountains or at the monastery itself.

“I see. I have wanted to see the place since I first heard about it sometime ago—never thought I would get the chance.”

Jeralt had several questions: about how someone from Duscur comes to be in the Empire, leagues away from their homeland and about how they came to be associated with a new cardinal. “How did you, uh, come to be in the service of the remnants of the Southern Church?”

“It was Lady Sitri, you know?” Eike said. “Aelfric and Lavina say she likes to pick up strays. Most times it’s cats or wounded birds, but other times—” he let go of the reigns of the horse and pressed his hands into his chest. “—other times you get me. You had better watch your prisoner back there before Lady Sitri brings her into the fold too.”

A chuckle escaped Jeralt and he shook his head. “Sitri can be pretty persuasive when she wants. How’d she do it?”

“Some years ago in Bensídhe I stole from a noble to feed myself. Lady Sitri stopped them from hanging me, paid for my freedom out of her own pocket.” Eike had a good instinct about him, Jeralt could tell from the way his hazel eyes scanned their surroundings for anything out of place. “I figured that despite all of the havoc the Kingdom had caused in my life, this was one pale woman who might be worth following.”

Jeralt laughed. “She is something special.” The more he learned of Sitri, the more he couldn’t help but think of how different they were. At the same time he found it hard to keep his distance from her. When they last stopped, she had come back from somewhere off the trail with flowers tucked into the folds of her green hair, just over her ear, talking to anyone who came within earshot about how there was a field of the things just off the road. Jeralt didn’t have much care for flowers or their whereabouts and from the look of it, most of the others in their band shared his opinion.

However, Aelfric hung on Sitri’s every word as if it were the most profound thing he had ever heard. Maybe Sitri thought him to be a simple friend, but his desire for a deeper connection with her couldn’t be more apparent This whole mess had gone exactly how he hadn’t wanted it to; the stop in Remire had given him nothing but new complications.

“You could at least tell us your first name. Even a fake name would be better than nothing,” Sitri said leaning out the side of the cart to let her arm dangle over the rough trail. Any semblance of civilization and the cobblestone had vanished some miles back.

The prisoner shot her a sharp gaze that chilled through Sitri. If the woman hadn’t been chained to the hooks in the wall of the cart, Sitri might have even recoiled back. When they settled into a lull between Sitri’s questioning, the woman let her head droop forward. Curtains of hair, the color of summer wildfire, fell around her face.

“Come on, it’s the least you could do. The Knights wanted to take your head. Then they wanted to bundle you up and lay you over the back of a horse like some sticks—I talked them out of that nonsense.”

She raised her head until her gaze met Sitri’s. “And it is unclear why you did this thing. You should have let their axes cleave my head from my shoulders.”

The girl is right, you know. You can’t go around making friends with everyone who tries to put a knife through our necks.

“I dislike needless bloodshed, is all,” Sitri explained.

Their prisoner did not seem satisfied with that answer; she let out a sardonic laugh and turned to look toward the setting sun.

“Your accent is pleasing to the ear. Where are you from?” Sitri asked.

“She’s not going to stop drilling you with questions. Might as well give her some answers. Our Sitri here is about as stubborn as termites and she’ll nip away at that sour attitude twice as fast as they would eat a finger of lumber,” Aelfric said with a weary smile. He had been quiet since they left town and despite her attempts to strike up conversation, he had kept his answers to a minimum.

“The woman hails from Sreng. Run into a fair few merchants who’ve ventured south from there—despite the conflicts with Gautier and Fraldarius.” Alois had ridden up to the side of the cart at Sitri’s back, he must have overheard the question despite the chatter around him and the heavy beat of hooves on stone.

“Sreng?” Sitri’s eyes went wide. “I’ve always wanted to travel to Sreng—which tribe are you from? The orange hue of your hair would suggest Wulfings. Keats is too far north for you to have made it all the way down here, I mean, it’s possible, but not likely.”

The prisoner stared at her. “You are a weirdo.” She turned away. “My name is Freya.”

“Freya. Freya. Freya,” Sitri repeated the name, testing its sound with her tongue. “That’s lovely. My name is Sitri. We might as well get used to this travel at the very least—we’re in a similar situation, you, Aelfric, and I. We’ve never been to the monastery either. You see, there is someone there I would very much like to see again, though I’m nervous at the same time.”

Freya twisted her body, trying to get into a comfortable position to rest her head against the wall of the cart. “And you’re talking like this because you are nervous?”

“She’s talking like this because there’s a person within earshot to hear her,” Aelfric said. He teased her at times and she gave as good as she got, but now that they were back together after the few days apart his japes were decidedly more pointed.

And it wasn’t just Sitri’s imagination. What’s gotten into him? Things must have gone bad when he and the others were out of town. They would ask Eike or Lavina about the situation, perhaps there was some answers to be found there. For the moment, her questions seemed to be bothering Aelfric more than they were Freya. It felt as if even the sound of her voice bothered him.

Sitri tugged the shawl up around her shoulders and settled in to think about where they would be stopping for the night. Mound Keep couldn’t be far, the foothills of the Oghma Mountains were already rising up around to darken the sky to the east and west. Perhaps if her fortunes went well she could spend time with Jeralt again, she did have a Goddess in her corner, after all.

Chapter Text

Nestled in the craggy foothills of the Oghma Mountains was the blackened form of Mound Keep. The squat fort, built right into the slope, had been one of the earliest such defense outposts in this region. It had been to house supplies and troops in case an invasion from the Kingdom of Faerghus attempted to come through the monastery’s land around the mountains.

With the fear of attacks from the Kingdom diminished over the last several centuries and part of the Empire’s northern border being ceded after the loss of Arianrhod, the fort had fallen into disrepair. It remained manned, though only with a minimal force, to keep the peace and ward off bandits and deserters fleeing the justice of the Kingdom or Church.

A rider bearing a torch with a red banner affixed to its pole rode out to meet them. As the armor clad knight grew nearer the image of the bicephalous golden eagle with the Crest of Seiros resting between both its heads embroidered on the fabric came into view. The standard of the long standing of the Adrestian Empire.

“Knights of Seiros?” The rider slowed his gait. “You had business here or some need for assistance.”

“The latter, really, we were wondering if we could trouble you for shelter for the night,” Jeralt said.

With the light from the rider’s torch and the lanterns a few of his men carried, the man could survey the group of them and get an eye for anything suspicious. “Where are we on the way from and to?” he asked.

“We’re coming from the village of Remire and  we had planned to make our way to Anann in the morning. From there we’re heading for Garreg Mach.” Jeralt hadn’t expected even this level of scrutiny.

“Your name sir?” Asked the knight.

“Jeralt Eisner.”

When he spoke his name he could practically see the moment that the other man’s eyes went wide despite the helm. “The Blade Breaker?”

Jeralt let his hands come to rest on his hips. “Yeah, something like that.”

“I’ll escort you back to the fort. We should be able to find some accommodations—if it’s only for but a night.” The rider turned around in a tight circle to lead them toward the burning sconces above the gate of Mound Keep. “You’ve a few women folk among you. We’ll have to take that into consideration.”

He hated this part, but often dropping his name was the best way to endear himself to other warriors and knights and avoid needless conflict. “Just four and one’s a prisoner—she tried to kill one of our number back in Remire.”

“Cichol’s balls! And you’ve taken her alive?” The man asked, shocked.

“Call it an act of mercy, though she will have to stand before the Archbishop and answer for her crime,” Jeralt explained.

The rider nodded. “So long as you see that she is contained, I leave her up to your discretion.”

“That I will. This whole garrison has no women?” Jeralt asked. “I happened through here, must have been a few years back and there was a woman in command, a Marshal Johanna Gillingr.”

They were halfway to the light of the gates and the rider stopped and removed his helm as a chuckle welled up within him. He was younger than Jeralt expected and his laughter caused his wiry blond curls to bounce. “Marshal Gillingr? That’s a good one, sir.”

“What’s so funny, Son?”

“Marshal Gillingr died some fifty-six years ago? Rock collapse when they were constructing Fódlan’s Locket.”

Shit. Jeralt really needed to be careful about that. Time tended to get away from him.

One of the perks of being stationed at Mound Keep (of which there were very, very few, Sitri had been told) was the hot spring that a courtyard had been constructed around. The Garrison commander, Marshal Müller, had been kind enough to cordon off the areas around the spring for the women of their traveling group to have some privacy. 

The space was made of the same black rock that composed the rest of the outside of the keep, though here it had been worn into a smooth surface that retained enough of it’s grip so that no one easily slipped. With the torches and pyres burning around the outer edges to provide light, Sitri thought the place had almost a romantic atmosphere. Part of her wondered  if she might be able to coax Jeralt into the baths when no one was paying attention.

This crush of ours is turning you quite foolish. Besides, he would never fall for it.

Sitri folded her arms against the edge of the bathing pool and turned away from the other three women with her to reply. “We’ll see about that. I imagine he would do all sorts of things if I asked.”

Do you seriously hear yourself?

Across the pool, Lavina burst up from the water’s surface and when Sitri turned the woman was running her hands back through her slick hair. There was this alluring quality to her, the moon-pale skin with hair that almost appeared to be made from the night sky itself. Lavina, to Sitri’s knowledge, never showed much interest in romantic partners. But she moved like a nymph from the old tales, as if she meant to lure men in.

“I’d refrain from putting my face in the water or getting any into my mouth. No telling how often these men take measures to clean it or themselves,” said Cybil, the only woman among the small group of the Knights of Seiros. She was tall enough that the water only came up to her waist unless she squatted down.

Freya was chained by her manacles to the opposite side of the pool. Lavina and Cybil had helped her rinse off before getting in and stayed near to guard her. “You all have fastened me to the side of a pond filled with…pecker water.”

“Goddess, you all decide to come up with this after I put my whole head under,” Lavina said.

“I want out,” Freya said.

“You are lucky Jeralt allowed you in. Were it up to me you’d be on a bed of hay in the stables!” Lavina said.

Cybil chuckled. “If any of us turns up pregnant we know what to blame.”

“Gross,” said Lavina.

While the three of them were paying her no mind, Sitri made a wide arc to stay out of Freya’s direct line of sight as she drifted to the prisoner’s side of the pool. She squatted low, cupped her hands beneath the surface, and flung water at Freya’s head.

“Pecker splash!” Sitri yelled as she dove backward to get out of reach.

The water hit the side of Freya’s face and she let out a scream and went to dive after Sitri, but the manacles holding her to the edge of the pool snagged and tugged her backwards so she fell face first into the water.

Sitri and Sothis burst out laughing with the other women following suit. As Sothis’’s laughter caused her to stagger off her throne and kneel on the floor, it only made Sitri laugh even harder.

And that’s when Freya righted herself in the water and swung her free arm to send a wave crashing over Sitri, some of which got into her mouth. Sitri coughed, dragging her hands across her eyes to clear the water and tendrils of hair from her vision.

“How’s it taste?” Freya asked snickering.

Sitri tried very hard to keep from making a face as Sothis protested with in her. You have to strike back. Quickly, while the metal is hot.

“It tastes…fine, you know, like a fresh babbling spring,” Sitri lied. It tasted of utter shit. She swallowed it to keep up the ruse.

“Lady Sitri!” Cried Lavina.

“Why did she swallow it?” asked Cybil.

Freya stared at her wall eyed. “I do not know. I did not expect her to commit so thoroughly.”

Lavina waded over to her rubbed her back. “Just don’t vomit in the water here, okay? These guys might put you to the sword.”

“I’m fine. It’s just, kind of, briny.”

I could back us up to a time when you hadn’t done that. Sitri shook her head. The last thing she wanted was the sensation of this water coming back up all warm and weird and salty.

Slowly the spell of their little water-worry-debacle faded and they went back to casually chatting about random things. Freya had loosened up enough that she talked about a similar kind of place where she was from, an oasis, where water in the middle of the desert was turned into a public gathering spot.

When they had exited the water and dried off, Sitri wrapped a towel around her body with a second for her hair to soak up the water. Cybil and Lavina were to escort Freya to a secure cell where she would spend the night while knights took turn guarding her with instructions not to harm her.

But the pair stopped with Freya between them to ask after Sitri. “You’ll be okay getting back to your room, right?”

“Of course, I’m not some child,” said Sitri.

“Yeah, but you have the directional sense of a blind and drunk legless crab,” Lavina said.

“It’s a straight walk up the corridor. They even marked the doors for our rooms with ribbons to help us,” Sitri insisted.

“Okay, Lady Sitri,” said Lavina. “Head straight there and get some rest.”

Sitri struck off down the hallway. “Are you sure you don’t need to come tuck me in?” Sitri asked.

“No, you’ve got this. I don’t think you should be strutting around in a towel like that, but it’s as you said, it’s not too far,” Lavina said.

Sitri continued on with the other women headed in the opposite direction to see to Freya, her clothes rolled into a bundle clutched tight under one arm. When it felt that they had gone around the curve of the corridor far enough, Sitri broke into a little run, holding tight to her towel as she moved.

Oh no, what are you doing?

“What?” Sitri whispered back.

This isn’t the run of someone going where she’s supposed to be.

And on that point Sothis was right, Sitri was going to Jeralt’s room.