“Fine,” he said. Malon began to scoop a bowl of porridge for him, but he shook his head. “I’m not especially hungry.”
He needed to find a way to get money, if not enough to pay Gavel back, then at least enough to sate him for a few more days until he could think of a new plan.
When he framed the problem in that context, it almost seemed reasonable, like one of the old debts he’d occasionally accrue from drinking and carousing with Austine. A simple cost instead of a threat against his family and home.
The morning passed in a mixture of light packing and heavy silence. Damon closed the door to his old room, listening to it creak as it set into the doorframe, and joined Malon and Vel during the tail end of their goodbye in the common room.
“Enjoy yourself, seta,” whispered Malon, as the two of them hugged.
“I will,” she replied.
“You have so much in life ahead of you,” said Malon. “Promise you won’t get hung up on your worries?”
“I promise,” said Vel, with a small sniffle. Her eyes were red with recently wiped tears. Her bag looked less full than it had when she’d arrived, with the addition, Damon noted, of the old short bow.
“I’ll wait outside, Damon,” Vel told him. “Aesta wants us to walk to Morotai together.”
“Right,” he said. “I won’t be long.”
She gave him a sad smile, squeezed Malon’s hand one last time, and slipped through the door. The silence in the common room suddenly felt ancient and loaded, and Damon endured for a moment before letting it break.
“Aesta,” he said.
“Solas.”
He drew close to her, pulling her into an embrace, rather than a goodbye hug. He saw the flutter of surprise in her eyes, followed by stern authority that would have been more convincing had she not let him continue touching her. He kissed her in the moment that she was about to object, his lips moving with passion that even he hadn’t been expecting.
“Please, solas,” she whispered, setting a hand on his chest.
“I need to know the truth.” He spoke gentle words into her ear, knowing how his breath would feel against her neck. “Are you sending us away to protect us, or to protect yourself?”
“Protect myself from what?” She raised an eyebrow, locking gazes with him. Damon kissed her again and felt the lustful, hungry way she responded. They began moving, suddenly bumping into the common table, and he felt an intense urge to flip her down onto it, to do more than just that.
“From what might happen,” he said. “From the cost of your crest magic. From me, as a man.”
“You’re cocky, solas,” she said, shaking her head. Her hips were not on the same page as her mouth, apparently, as they continued to flex toward him with small movements, thighs open against his questing hardness.
“If this is why…” He let his hands slide underneath her tunic, tracing the spot he remembered her crest to be in on her lower back. “…Then we should confront it directly. Here and now. Regardless of what it means.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, nor what you’re doing,” whispered Malon. “You are a sweet young man, Damon, but this is not what you want.”
“I know what I want, and—”
“This is not what you will get,” she said, more firmly. “I… perhaps gave you the wrong idea on the night when Ria first arrived and you shared my bed. You saw me in a vulnerable state. You’re still young and full of energy, and my magic has residual effects, and…”
He kissed her again, barely pretending about what he was doing as he gripped one of her thighs and caressed his thumb upward toward her womanhood. “The magic barrier you used yesterday isn’t the only one you’ve put up between us.”
She pressed a hand to his chest. “For good reason. Solas, you are confused.”
He kissed her neck, sliding a hand upward to cup just underneath one of her breasts. “Would you care to help me with my confusion, then?”
“It wouldn’t be help,” she said.
Finally, Malon pushed him back, clearing her throat and leaning forward to stand up from where he’d had her pressed against the table. She managed to summon authority back into her expression, folding her arms and chastising him with her gaze.
“I love you, solas,” she said. “But you need to go back to your old life. Once you’ve cleared your head and I’ve had time to assess the situation here, you will of course be welcome to come back.”
“I love you, aesta,” he said. “More than I think you know.”
“Be careful with your love, solas.”
CHAPTER 39
It was warm, and the sky was clear overhead as Damon and Vel made their way down the thin path leading away from the farmstead and toward the main road. The fair weather was no panacea for his mood, however, which seemed to grow darker and more conflicted with each step he took back toward his old life.
“I still just don’t know,” he said. “She might be wrong. She might be doing this to save us at the expense of putting herself in danger.”
He’d already expressed the sentiment to her in different words several times over.
Vel was silent for a moment before responding with a small shrug. “That’s just the sort of logic aesta would use to make a decision, but I’m not so sure. Damon… It’s possible that the danger posed by Shank is actually diffused by having you and Ria leave the farmstead.”
“You think he’ll shift his focus once he realizes we aren’t living at the tower house?”
“I think that’s what aesta thinks,” said Vel. “It is a fair point, you must admit. Shank had a grudge against Ria and a mission to extort you. Now, his attention will be split in multiple directions. I doubt he’ll focus on the farmstead, given all that’s waiting for him there is a crest sorceress who has already defeated him once.”
Her words reminded him of a similar warning Bylia had issued to him, a warning he’d ignored with mixed results. He shook his head and sighed, unable to bring enough coherence to his feelings to argue a counterpoint.
“You might be right,” he said. “But what if—”
“What if I’m wrong?” cut in Vel.
“No. I was going to say what if we’re supposed to stay at the farm? It felt right to me, for all of us to be back there together.”
Vel flashed a teasing smile. “I’m sure it did. You, the sole man living in a tower house filled with attractive women and not enough beds.”
“Hey,” he said, shooting her a mock glare.
“Hey, yourself,” said Vel. “I saw Ria sneak into your room this morning. I wasn’t going to bring it up while we were all still together and ruin the mood, but did the two of you…?”
“Ria and I?” Damon forced out a semi-convincing snort. “Really, Vel? What goes on inside that head of yours?”
“I was just asking,” she said, voice haughty. “You don’t have to mock me.”
“I was only just asking back when I brought up my questions about your cat mask.”
Vel stumbled on a tree root, and when Damon next saw her face, it was bright red. An awkward silence took up residence between them, and he found himself wishing that he could take back or at least amend his words as the long walk to Moratai stretched on.
***
The town’s sleepy absence did not deign to awaken itself merely for their arrival. Damon greeted Vestatille in his watch tower, before heading toward the inn alongside Vel to start asking about wagons heading south.
“You’re sure that you have enough to pay for both of us?” asked Damon.
“Obviously,” said Vel. “I didn’t set out from Hearthold with an empty purse. I knew I’d have to make my way back eventually. You are going to owe me a favor for this.”
“How about I just pay you back when I start earning coin again?”
“I’d rather you owe me a favor.” Vel gave him a teasing smile, and Damon couldn’t resist playfully swatting her on the shoulder. She caught his hand and held it, arms swinging back and for
th, as they entered the Smoke and Stage.
Bylia was sitting at the bar, sipping a mug of either ale or cider and looking profoundly bored.
She went through a series of reactions in response to the sound of the door opening, first brushing a few strands of chestnut brown hair out of her face to glance toward the new arrival, then recognizing Damon and perking up, with her eyes finally settling on his and Vel’s intertwined fingers.
“I should have guessed you’d be here,” he said, pulling away from Vel to join Bylia. “Are you singing again tonight?”
“Undoubtedly,” said Bylia. “For a crowd of perhaps a dozen, if I’m lucky. What brings you out from the peaceful farmstead to visit this beautiful, bustling center of community and commerce?”
“Just passing through,” said Damon. “Any interest in joining us as a traveling companion?”
He saw Bylia flash a beautiful smile, which dimmed slightly as she glanced back and forth between him and Vel. “I think I’ll pass, for the time being. I appreciate you making the offer but I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Are you sure?” asked Damon. “I’m likely going to be spending some time in Avaricia with my old troupe. You might be able to find work with us if you come along.”
He still remembered, rather distinctly, the proposal she’d made of the two of them traveling together. Damon found himself wondering if it was perhaps the perfect time to give the arrangement, along with whatever it led to, a fair shot.
“I get the impression that you aren’t traveling back to Avaricia solely with performing in mind,” said Bylia.
Damon shrugged, finding that he couldn’t deny it.
As much as he did feel a pull toward his sidelined career and his father’s legacy among the Gilded Swords, he knew it wouldn’t be as simple as merely picking up from where he’d left off.
Gavel was still a threat, one that he would be avoiding as much as finding the right circumstance and angle to mount a counterattack from.
“You aren’t wrong,” he said.
Bylia took his hand and kissed his knuckles with a sigh. “Come find me when your life has calmed down, and my offer will still stand. Until then… I suppose I’ll be staying here. Perhaps I’ll pay Malon a visit at the farm.”
“I’m sure she’d like that,” he said.
After consulting with Jonna and Bart, Damon walked alongside Vel toward the stables and a soon-departing wagon to Veridan’s Curve. He reached her hand to hold again and didn’t find it.
“You were awfully quick to invite her to come along with us,” muttered Vel.
“She’s a friend.”
“Is she?” asked Vel.
“Why does your tone sound so sulky?” asked Damon. “I simply thought that it might be nice for us to have some additional company on the journey.”
“Additional, large-chested company,” said Vel.
“I’ve always been more about the feel of breasts, rather than pure size.”
Vel stared at him, blinking a few times as though she couldn’t quite believe what he’d just said or take it seriously. Damon contributed to the moment by reaching out a finger to poke her playfully in the chest.
“Hmmm…” He shrugged. “Not bad.”
“Damon Al-Kendras!”
CHAPTER 40
Three days later, they reached Avaricia. Damon helped Vel down from the carriage they’d hired to expediate the trip and stared out across the city he’d spent a fair chunk of the previous five years in.
It hadn’t changed, but his time back home made him see it differently. Avaricia was a city of privilege, which meant different things to different people.
From a certain angle, it was a rising jewel, a colonial port city poised for greatness. From another perspective, like the view from the hovels in which the thousands of poor made their beds, it was a pit of inequality and Remenai exploitation.
The newer construction of the wealthy districts and Veridas Keep did look nice, a fact which Damon admitted only while keeping in mind where that money came from. Avaricia’s main road led straight out of the Malagantyan and into the city’s docks, a vein through which the wealth of the New North was pumped back to Hearthold.
“Did you enjoy this city when you lived here?” asked Vel.
She walked close next to him, her shoulder brushing against his, seeming less than at ease as they passed through the shanties and dirty alleyways and disheveled beggars common to the city’s outskirts.
“Enjoy isn’t the word I would use,” said Damon. “I was used to it. I lived a relatively comfortable life. I wouldn’t say I ever fell in love with Avaricia, but I made a living off entertaining its people. I needed the city as much as it needed me.”
“That’s an interesting way of putting it,” said Vel. “Do you not feel like you need it anymore?”
He considered her question, wondering if he’d really come back to his old life, or just to visit until he could return to the farmstead. He was about to answer when a heavy hand settled on his shoulder, jerking him to the side, away from Vel.
“Damon Al-Kendras.” The man who’d grabbed him was tall, with a crooked nose. “Remember me?”
“No,” he said, letting his hand rest on the hilt of his sword. “Should I?”
“Gavel has been looking for you,” said the man. “I’d go tell him you’d arrived back myself, but I don’t doubt he already knows. You best make your way to see him, and it best not be empty handed.”
The man slipped away into the crowd. Damon swore under his breath and started cracking his knuckles.
“Damon…” Vel grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Are you in danger?”
“Not just yet,” he said. “Look, it’s not for you to concern yourself with. Let’s get you on a ship back to Hearthold as soon as possible. I don’t want you around me in case this situation escalates.”
“Wait… no,” said Vel.
“I’m not going to argue on this, Vel. It’s what aesta would—”
“That’s not what I mean,” she said. “Look!”
She pointed down the road, toward where a crowd had assembled around a heavily guarded procession of noble carriages. The largest of them was pulled by four massive horses, and had a curved canopy roof that left an open view of its resplendent passengers.
Damon recognized one of them instantly. The Godking Avarice was entirely bald, with pale skin and pale eyes, dressed in a robe of all white and carrying a small golden scepter which he would occasionally gesture out to the crowd with.
He was one of the Forsaken, which held a deeper meaning to Damon after what Malon had explained to him about the nature of crests. Damon eyed several of the guards holding back the crowd in the street around the carriage, wondering if any of them were secretly sorcerers, wondering what powers Avarice’s crest might imbue them with.
“That’s my liege!” said Vel. “The woman. That’s Princess Kastet.”
There was a woman sitting next to the Godking, dressed in a gown of cream and pink, chestnut brown hair carefully done up in a style that complimented the thin golden circlet she wore on her head. Damon glanced back at Vel, feeling a deeper understanding of why she’d been so eager to brag about her place in Merinian court as a lady in waiting to one of the princesses.
“Huh,” said Damon. “Well, that’s quite the convenience. I suppose you can just meet her here in Avarice and return to Hearthold as part of her retinue.”
“It looks as though she’s just arriving in the city,” said Vel. “There’ll likely be a banquet in her honor tomorrow, given how late it already is in the day. Damon… do you know what this means?”
He shook his head. “I honestly don’t.”
“There will be entertainment,” said Vel. “Without a doubt. If I can make it back into Kastet’s company tonight and make the suggestion, you could be a part of that entertainment. You and your troupe!”
“That’s… actually not a bad idea,” he said. “I’m assuming it would pay well?”
“True Divine…” muttered Damon. “This could be exactly what I need. Vel, if you can make this happen, I will owe you a massive favor.”
She grinned at him and began pulling him along by the hand. “I like the sound of that. Come on, there’s no time to waste. Kastet will be staying at the Royal Lodgings next to the keep.”
***
By no small stroke of luck, the guard at the gate of the Royal Lodgings was part of Princess Kastet’s traveling party and recognized Vel on sight. She explained the situation and was allowed to pass, though the access wasn’t extended to Damon.
“I’ll need to go looking for Len and the rest of the troupe,” he told her. “Can you meet me in the city once you’ve spoken with your princess?”
“It’s no trouble,” said Vel.
“We usually stay at the Window Glow Inn,” said Damon. “If you follow the main road to the open market, it’s—”
“I know where it is,” said Vel.
Damon nodded, and then actually stopped to consider her words. She knew where the Window Glow Inn was, despite only having visited Avaricia in passing, and despite it being one of dozens of inns scattered about through the city. The Window Glow Inn, the same establishment he’d taken the young woman in the cat mask to on the night of the Turning Festival.
“You know where it is?” he said. “Vel. Hold, a moment. Vel!”
She stared at him, her reaction shifting from surprise, to embarrassment, to one much more guarded and controlled. “I’m sorry, Damon! I, um, have to go.”
She hurried off toward the Royal Lodgings, leaving him stuck behind the guarded gate, unable to follow. He took his time walking back down the road, doing his best to keep from dwelling on the implications of what was beginning to seem like an obvious fact.
CHAPTER 41
Sin and Soil Page 19
