by Dan Fish
“Who?”
“The one in the room with us.”
“The elf? Who was it?”
An arrow moves fast along its arc. If you’re paying attention and know what to look for, you might catch the hint of its passing. Sorrows was paying attention. Knew Mig well enough to know when she was drawing her bow. He waited, listened for the snap of the string.
“Her name was Ivra Jace.”
But for the target, the arrow is near invisible. Eldrake didn’t see it coming. Couldn’t react. Her mouth hung open. She rocked back in her seat. Her hands slid off the table onto her lap.
“Who told you that name?”
“She did.”
“Impossible.”
“It’s true, Archmage,” Davrosh said.
Eldrake didn’t hear her or didn’t care. Her eyes never left Mig. She shook her head.
“I don’t believe you.”
Mig flickered. A brief thing. Like the flash of sunlight on water. But the bow disappeared and in its place was a long, ornate box. Mig nodded toward the box.
“She said you’d recognize this.”
Eldrake said nothing. The lines on her face went slack. Her skin grew pale. She swallowed, stared at the box. Mig leaned forward until the edge of the table touched her below her shoulders. She was a goblin sitting at a table built for elves. She looked small. But Eldrake leaned away from her. Like Mig was a wolf baring its teeth. Mig offered a small smile that went nowhere near her eyes.
“She told me to tell you she knows what you did.”
Eldrake stared, said nothing. She pressed her hands onto the table to stop their trembling. Mig leaned closer, lowered her voice.
“She knows everything.”
✽✽✽
SORROWS STOOD IN the entrance hall, bow on his back, cloak like a shadow hanging on his shoulders. He’d kept the Mage Guard jerkin and boots. Liked the feel of them. Mig leaned against him, her fingers threaded through his. They stood and waited and didn’t speak. Had too much to say. Neither knew where to start. The door to the corridor opened. Heavy oak, iron handle. A door he’d passed through a hundred times in the past months. A door he hoped to never pass through again.
“Hey, orchole,” Davrosh said. She walked toward him.
She’d tied her hair in the same cords. Styled it with the same coarse tufts and swirls. It was the same brown color of fresh-turned earth, or weathered oak made dark by rain. But it looked less disheveled, more intentional. A unique style. Natural. Sorrows frowned, couldn’t tell if she’d done something different, or if he just saw it different. She wore the same grin, but it seemed less smug, more confident. It showed off her chin, which had a dimple he hadn’t noticed before. It was a somewhat pointed chin, which emphasized the lines of her jaw and neck. A strong chin, which drew attention to her mouth and lips. Sorrows decided that after her eyes, her chin was her best feature. Wondered how he’d missed that when they'd first met. He returned her grin with his own and added a nod.
“Master Remma Davrosh,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure. Of sorts.”
“Of sorts,” Davrosh said. “You two are leaving?”
“Yes,” Mig said. “As soon as we can. It’s a long road back to Tam. Did you speak with Ivra?”
Davrosh shook her head. “No, but she left me this note.”
She handed a scrap of parchment to Sorrows. He took it, turned it over. Done, it said.
“If we can trust her—”
“We can,” Mig said, fast. She glanced at Sorrows. “She wouldn’t lie to us.” She wouldn’t lie to Solomon.
“Then it’s done,” Davrosh said. “I thought you’d be happier?”
Sorrows shrugged. “It’s nothing. I thought she might come back to the tower.”
“Why do you care? Did you want to see her again?”
“No.” A lie.
Mig squeezed his hand. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Another lie.
The truth was Jace’s question lingered in his mind, echoed in his ears. Do you love me? He’d thought he had at one point, or at least thought he could learn to. Jace was unlike any elf he’d met. If she’d asked him a week before, a month before, he might have answered differently. But in that moment, he’d answered honestly. And in the moments that followed, he’d doubted.
Mig looked away, pulled his hand to her chest, pressed against him. “We just need to get away from here. Go somewhere, just the two of us.”
Davrosh sighed, shook her head. Gave him a look that said, Orchole. He met her gaze, gave a small nod. I know.
Mig didn’t notice. She smiled and pointed. “What’s behind your back, Remma?”
Davrosh blushed. Extended a hand holding a gray cloak.
“You’re as much Mage Guard as he is,” she said. “I thought you might prefer this to, well, rags. Not that you look bad, it’s just…”
Mig’s patchwork cloak fell in a heap at her feet, and she grabbed the bundle from Davrosh’s hand. She stepped forward, kissed Davrosh on the cheek, stepped back and worked her arms into sleeves and the cloak over her shoulders.
“Thanks, Remma.”
“Least I could do. Can’t believe you’re willing to head back with, well, him.”
Mig looked up at Sorrows, took his hand again. “He’s not so bad.”
The outside doors opened. The air blew cold across the floor and whispered an invitation to leave. Sorrows shifted on his feet. Restless.
“Should probably get going,” he said.
Davrosh offered a hand. “A pleasure.”
Sorrows reached forward, grasped her forearm. She raised an eyebrow. “Do you know what this handshake means?”
“I do.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“Me, too. Take care of yourself, orchole.”
They held the embrace for a moment, then Sorrows released Master Remma Davrosh and turned toward the twin oak doors leading outside. He stepped into the snow and wind, looked out upon the crowded streets, didn’t feel Mig slipping him from the gods-stream.
When he shook himself into awareness, minutes later, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the tower was smaller, but not as small as he’d expected. He figured they’d been walking for ten minutes at most.
“You’re getting better at that,” he said.
“You think so?” Mig asked.
“Couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes stumbling.”
She elbowed him. Hard. He laughed.
“Ten,” he said. “At best, ten minutes. Better than sunshine. Fen will be jealous.”
“I hope so. The little split.”
“You must miss him.”
“I do.”
“Thanks, Mig. For everything.”
He bent down to kiss her cheek. She pulled away, shook her head.
“You can kiss me when you’re not thinking of her anymore.”
“It’s not like that.”
She looked up at him. An odd look. Lips pursed, softly pouting. Eyes wide, forehead faintly wrinkled.
“I know it’s not. I know it better than you, in fact.”
He didn’t know what she meant, or what she expected of him. Knew he couldn’t tell her he’d never stop thinking of Jace. But sensed he didn’t need to. Mig studied his face, eyes drifting over him.
“Trust me. You’ll know when to kiss me.”
They kept walking. They talked. The sun shone and the snow swirled in slow circles around them. They made camp, ate, slept. They woke, continued. A day passed, then another. Then another. The mountains grew small behind them. The plains stretched out endlessly ahead. The sun blazed—a ball of golden flame within a cornflower sky.
Their conversation turned to trolls, as conversations sometimes do. Sorrows glanced at Mig, saw her hair shining like black water, saw her evergreen lips spread in a wide smile, saw how her cloak followed the swell of her breasts to the curve of her hips. Realized the moment had arrived.
“Why do you think t
hey’re so fixated on them?” she asked.
He blinked, blew out his cheeks. Had no idea what she was talking about. “What else would a troll fixate on?”
She turned to him, narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. No idea whatsoever. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
She scoffed, pointed a finger. “You weren’t listening.”
“No.” The unfortunate truth.
“Gods, Sol, you’re the one who brought it up. What’s gotten into—oh.”
Mig stopped walking because he’d stopped walking. He stared at her, hard. She stared back. He took a step closer. She waited. He took another step and knelt, cupped her face, pressed his lips against hers. She pushed him away. He hesitated.
“Not time, yet?” he asked.
“It’s time,” she said. “Gods, is it time.”
“Then I don’t understand.”
She put her hands on his chest. “Jace loves you, Sol. She does, truly.”
“Now I really don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand either. I shouldn’t be saying anything. It’s just, I know you, Sol. I know you have feelings for her. And I know you’ll ignore those feelings because of what she is.”
“I know she’s an elf, but she’s different. Humble and vulnerable and funny, and I feel like I shouldn’t be talking to you about her.”
“She’s amazing. She is, Sol. I just… don’t forget that.”
“Mig, you’re confusing me.”
“Promise me you’ll give her a chance. I think she deserves that.”
Sorrows glanced over his shoulder. “Now? You want me to go back to her?”
Mig pulled him toward her, turned him around. “You’re immortal. I’m not. Someday I’ll… I want you to be happy. That’s all I’ll say about it. And no, I won’t let you go back to Hammerfell.”
“No?”
“No. At least not right now. Right now, you’re mine.”
“That so?”
She brought his face to hers, her mouth to his. Kissed him hard, smiled.
“That’s so.”
Chapter 49
IVRA JACE LEAPT from the balcony, measured time, mass, distance. Calculated force. Manipulated the air and gravitational forces at play on her body, reduced accordingly. Landed softly on her feet. Master Ostev Ga’Shel grimaced, glanced over his shoulder, tried to scramble away. But the fall broke his left femur just above the knee. Unfortunate. A clean break that left his leg bent awkwardly. Jace straightened her jerkin, walked toward Ga’Shel, grabbed his shoulder, and turned him to face her.
The night was dark, and the shadow of the house hid the knife in Ga’Shel’s hand. He was an elf. Fast, strong. He was Mage Guard. Trained, practiced. He thrust the blade fast and low, aiming for the inside of her right thigh. Probably hoping to sever a vein, cause rapid blood loss. A good tactic against an evenly matched opponent. One that would cripple. One that showed an intermediate understanding of elf anatomy. One that came nowhere near Ivra Jace. She caught his wrist easily, bent his hand forward, and rotated his arm until the knife slipped from his grasp and fell into the snow. He cried out. She maintained her hold.
“Speak,” she said. “I know you can.”
“What would you have me say, whore?” he asked.
She closed her left hand into a fist and struck the side of his face. Too hard. Heard bones break—his zygomatic processes and her metacarpals. A sharp pain throbbed in her knuckles; radiated through her wrist, up her arm. He went limp. She let him go, sighed, manipulated the physical plane within her hand. Did the same for his face. Picked him up, slung him over her shoulder. Started walking, stopped a while later when he stirred. Dropped him to the ground. He cried out, grabbed his leg.
“Let me go, you gods-shunned whore,” he said.
She hit him again. Too hard again. Carried him again. He woke five times. Insulted her four times. She modified her physical response. He suffered less; a broken nose, two broken fingers, a dislocated shoulder, a punctured lung. She manipulated, reduced his injuries, but not as much. Left small breaks and tears, inflammation. Enough for him to remember the pain. He stopped insulting her. They limped along in silence until they turned into a narrow alley and stopped before a stand of pine trees. She led him to a hidden door, opened it. They stepped into a hidden room.
She stopped, turned to face him. He stared at her. Arrogant, angry.
“If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.”
Jace shook her head. “I’ve already killed twice. Though once was by accident and once was arguably self-defense. Regardless, I can’t kill a third time. There are rules. I could no longer exist here. And then I’d lose him.”
“Lose who?”
Jace shrugged, paced, trailed a finger along the wall. Said nothing. Ga’Shel watched her for a breath, then turned toward the open door, took one step and another. Then another. Kept glancing at her. She kept sliding her finger along the wall. He reached the door, felt a hand on his shoulder.
“You killed so many times,” Jace said, soft, near. “Would you do it again? If you could?”
“Yes.”
“Then do so.”
She pushed something into his hand. He grasped it, lifted it before his face. A sickle sword with a wooden handle. Runes adorned its surface. He stared at the steel, at the reflection of the room behind him. Of Jace. She was blurry. Like she was made of fog. He saw the gold of her hair, the pale cream of her skin. But it shifted and flowed like river weed in the current. He felt her breath on his neck. Felt her lips brush against one ear, then the other, then his neck, the back of his head. All at once. Enveloping, surrounding. Tendrils of flesh crept at the corners of his vision. Her voice split into a hundred whispers, a thousand; the rush of wind through a forest, filling the room.
“Run and hide, run and hide…”
He turned. His eyes widened, his mouth opened, he tried to scream. Couldn’t. Couldn’t breathe. Fumbled with the sickle sword, heart pounding, hands shaking. Tried to scream again, still couldn’t. Lifted the blade to his neck, jerked it across his throat in a desperate, violent movement. Felt the warmth of his life spread across his chest, soak into his tunic. His fingers grew cold. He fell to the floor, welcomed the darkness.
✽✽✽
ASHRA STEADIED HERSELF, manipulated the planes, aligned her energies into the body of Ivra Jace. She sighed. It was a good body. A gift from an unexpected and unlikely ally. A strong body once she’d undone the effects of aging. A body Solomon Sorrows had found appealing, as she knew he would. She knew what he liked. It was important. Essential. She’d always hated the way he looked at her in the past. The way he couldn’t see her beneath whatever mortal flesh she wore. The way he saw her as a monster.
She. Ashra. A Seraseph. One who bathed in the radiance of the stars, who could tie a thread of time around her fingers, who knew the song of souls. One of a species whose existence had caused a war within the middle planes. One who had saved Solomon Sorrows from that war and numerous other times since. One who continued to keep his soul protected, who had fallen in love while doing so. She. Ashra. A monster. It was both ironic and incredibly frustrating.
Mortals were too delicate. They lacked the necessary astral structures for planar bonding. They burned like dry leaves in the flame. They decayed. They became—as Solomon Sorrows described—monsters. It was hardly her fault. And given his misunderstanding of past events, it created complications.
But the body of Ivra Jace was different. The body of a gods-born elf. An Archmage. It withstood the lashing of void plane to astral, physical, temporal. It was a good body. A body freely given. A body that had allowed Ashra to explore her desires for Sorrows, which was intoxicating. She’d often wondered what his touch would be like. Now that she had felt his body against hers, she knew she would need that closeness again.
If time were a rope as thick as the world, the future would be a frayed end with countless threads showing countless poss
ibilities. Ashra had peered into the haze of time still forming, exploring those possibilities as best she could. She hoped for some. Feared others. Perhaps Ivra Jace was the body Sorrows would come to love. Perhaps it was not. But it would allow Ashra opportunities to explore her desires, to experience the closeness she craved. That pleased her. It pleased her enough that she smiled, patted her cheeks, rubbed her arms. It pleased her enough that she hummed as she stepped around the pool of blood on her way out the door. Pleased her enough that her humming turned to quiet song as she walked into the alley. The air was cold; the moon was hidden. She took a deep breath and sighed.
Of all the things she was and all the things she could become, at that moment she wanted nothing more than the night on her skin, and the memory of Solomon Sorrows on her lips.
✽✽✽
A quick word from Dan:
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