Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 10 Pt. 1

 Notes: On we go! Let's have some tea and backstory, shall we?

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 10 Pt. 1 

 

***

 

Chapter Ten, Part One

 

Photo by Juho Luomala

A 360º View

 

They rode for long enough that Hiram wasn’t even really sure they were still in “town” when they finally stopped. The horse had confidently made its way through the heart of Lollop and out a smaller street, past several tanneries from the smell of it, then a few farms—one rabbit, one pig—and finally up a trail that climbed a sweet, round little hill to a cottage at the top of it. The hill really wasn’t that high, but Hiram found he could see for miles in every direction up there. “What a lovely spot,” he said as Avery finally reined his mare in.

Avery smiled. “Thank you. I find I like the solitude of it.” He dismounted and patted his horse on the nose, then gestured toward the small building at the back of the cottage that must be his barn. “I’m going to put her away, but you’re welcome to go in—”

“No, no.” Hiram held up his hands, smiling to take the sting out of his refusal of hospitality. He did want to go in, but he wasn’t going to take that step without his host’s presence. It just seemed rude to do otherwise, and he knew he’d made the right choice when Avery’s shoulders relaxed. “I prefer to take in the view.”

“I’ll be back in a moment.” Avery left with the mare, and Hiram looked back down the way they’d come. The trail led westward, back toward Lollop and his own home on the far side of it. A day’s ride beyond that was the imperial highway, where his doom would come from if it ever caught up to him.

He grimaced and looked south, where he could see the cut in the fields that indicated the main road into and out of Lollop. That road stretched across the entirety of Oribel, connecting it from north to south and running right through Orivode, the capital, some hundred miles hence. The next closest towns were around the size of Lollop, though, small country villages. East was more farmland, forest, and the sluggishly winding Plunkett River that fed most of the streams and fields nearby, and north…

Hmm. Hiram squinted into the distance at the stick-like speck on the horizon. It was too slender to be a mountain, too dark to be a temple—at least a temple of Melemor—and too straight to be anything but purposeful.

“That’s Gemmel’s Tower.”

Hiram didn’t jump, but it was a near thing. He turned to face Avery, who walked up beside him with a pensive expression. “Who was Gemmel that they built such a tower?”

Avery raised one eyebrow. “You’ve never heard of him before?”

Should I have? Hiram had come across a lot of towers in his day, most of them built either by overly arrogant wizards, dark lords looking for trouble, or the occasional dwarven magnate who decided to built up instead of down. “I’m afraid I haven’t.” He glanced out at it again. “It must be immense, though.”

“It is,” Avery confirmed. “It’s almost three hundred feet high.”

Damn. That was tall even for a wizard. “What’s it made of?”

“Blackstone.”

Holy hell. Blackstone was the hardest rock in the world, one that could only be worked by dwarves or trolls. Actually, there was a higher proportion of dwarves in Lollop than Hiram had expected, given that Oribel’s population largely consisted of humans and gnomes. “Who in the hells could afford to bring in that much blackstone?”

Avery nodded toward the house. “I’ll tell you about it over a cup of tea.”

Hiram wasn’t about to refuse hospitality a second time. “Thank you.” He followed his host to the front door of the cottage, which bore a rather thick lock, and then inside. It was a small building, a single story tall, and with three rooms to it—a good place for a bachelor. The front room was large enough for a table and two chairs, a rather roomy fireplace, and a food cabinet. Two windows were enough to let a good amount of light in, and it was surprisingly warm.

Avery stoked the embers in the fireplace until he had flames going, added a few logs, then hung a kettle on the hob. “My tea selection is rather poor compared to yours,” he said in apology as he got down a teapot, two small ceramic cups, and a jar of honey. “All I can offer is raspberry or lemonmint.”

“Lemonmint would be welcome.” Something to soothe the senses after the morning he’d had. “Thank you.”

“The kettle should be boiling soon,” Avery assured him, then sat down and gestured to the other chair. “Please, sit.”

Hiram joined him at the table, the floor creaking rather noticeable with every step. The chair was comfortable, though, and when Avery uncovered a bowl of roasted nuts and offered them to him, he accepted. “It was kind of you to help me back there,” he said before popping a hazelnut into his mouth.

“It was the least I could do, after giving you such poor advice,” Avery replied.

Hiram frowned. “What do you mean? Your advice was perfectly sound.”

“But it clearly didn’t work for you, since you had to relive such a tragic moment in your life in order to satisfy Melemor.”

Ah.  “Don’t worry,” Hiram said. “That was far from the worst thing I’ve been through. I do hope the High Priest recovers soon, though.”

Avery’s eyes were wide. “Are you being—are you serious?”

“Yeeees,” Hiram said cautiously. “Why is that a problem?”

“Because that was—Hiram, cleansings, even for people who’ve suffered the loss of a loved one or who’ve been badly hurt, never feel like that. Not in Lollop, at least. Nor in Orivash, from what I remember of services there, or in—other places.”

There was little Hiram could say to that except shrug. “I’ve lived an eventful life,” he said.

“You say that like you’re an old man.”

“I am an old man.”

“Please.” Avery scoffed. “You can’t be more than fifty.”

Hiram smiled. “Forty-eight.”

“Barely into your middle years, then. You’ve got a lot of life left ahead of you.”

“And I hope it will be much less eventful than the life I left behind,” he said in a tone of finality.

Avery, thankfully, took the hint. “I think the water is beginning to boil, give me a moment.” He got up and fussed with the kettle and the teapot for a bit, then set down their mugs, two small plates, and tiny, delicate spoons for the tea. They were slightly tarnished, but…

“Silver?” Hiram asked.

Avery smiled tightly. “A gift from a friend.”

Either his friend was very wealthy, compared to the area, or they had a fear of being poisoned. Spelled silver spoons were commonplace among the powerful, one more way to evade assassins, but Hiram would never have expected to see something like that here. He spooned a little honey into his cup, then poured the tea. The smell of lemonmint rose up in a cloud, wreathing his face in comforting warmth, and Hiram closed his eyes and sighed with satisfaction at the scent of it. When he opened his eyes, he saw Avery looking at him like he was trying to decipher a forgotten language.

“The tower,” he said after a moment. “It belonged to a dwarven wizard named Gemmel. He fought in the Deyrian heights during their war with the serpentkin for decades, apparently, but eventually he was driven out of their homelands. He, and many other dwarves, settled into these lands about a century ago. Oribel was a new member of the Vordurian Empire at the time, and that made resettling easier than it might have been otherwise.”

Because so many people were lost to the ambitions of Andurion’s great-grandfather. “I see.”

“Gemmel’s magic was unique,” Avery went on, “in that it was almost entirely limited to transubstantiation.”

Hiram blinked. “That’s an unusual specialty—from what I understand,” he tacked on to the end.

“I wouldn’t know,” Avery said with a shrug. “But I do know that’s how he got the blackstone. It was originally built out of wood, I think, and he changed it layer after layer after layer.”

Oh hells. Wood to blackstone? Hiram wasn’t an expert in transubstantiation, but even he knew that wood to blackstone was a bad idea. The two substances were different in every way—most successful transformations happened between two things that had similar origins, like granite to marble, or carrots to turnips. Wood to blackstone…what was that tower truly made of?

“Gemmel began a magic academy, but it only lasted a few years. Written sources reference him as a dwarf who seemed to be slowly going mad—perfectly sane one day, confused the next, frothing with rage a third.” Avery swirled the tea in his cup. “He drove everyone who ever tried to help him away, but several of them reported that his tower was full of treasures he’d created—mostly gold, but also magical items, gems, and some heritage pieces from his clan as well.”

Hiram saw where this was going. “He was targeted for his wealth, I suppose?”

Avery nodded. “Imperial troops, led by their own powerful wizard, laid siege to the tower. They weren’t able to make a dent in the blackstone, but the wizard managed to do something to get them a way inside. They attacked during the night, but none of them ever emerged from the tower again, and neither did Gemmel. He laid some sort of spell on it to keep anyone from being able to get inside, whether they’re trying to go through a door, a window, or even all the way to the top and going through the roof. After a few decades, people stopped trying.”

“Fascinating,” Hiram said. “And tragic for everyone involved.”

“It is.” They sat in silence for a moment, then Avery nudged Hiram’s foot under the table. “Drink your tea.”

Hiram drank. It tasted like sunshine.

 

 

Our Next Story...And A Slight Rant.

 Hi darlins,

 So, I need a mental break before diving back into the Alliance sci-fi universe (they're so fun, and so much sometimes) and therefore, we're doing a novella. I'll probably have it started next week, but in the meantime, let me just share the cover with you so you get the vibe I'm going for.

 

Also, Quaint Escapes shall continue as well, that one's sunshine and roses as far as I'm concerned. I need sunshine and roses right now, given that my spouse is furloughed with no end in sight and--look, we're good overall, we save as much as we can and that's fortunate, because it fucking SUCKS to miss paychecks. I hate that so many of his colleagues and friends are having to go without. I hope you hate it too, and if you're able, consider sending a letter, signing a petition, taking a moment to do something to let the people in DC know that hurting people deliberately like this is fucked up, and worse for those who are also losing healthcare.

All right, stepping off my soapbox now. 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Chapter 9, Part 2

 Notes: Let's go figure out what the deal is at Melemor's Temple, huh? Should be easy peasy...

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Chapter 9, Part 2 

 

***

 

Chapter Nine, Part Two

Photo by Anne Laure
 

I Think That Went Well, Don’t You?

 

Two cups of tea, a quick bath, and a fresh pair of clothes later and Hiram was on his way to the Temple of Melemor. He could have taken Mule—it would have made the journey faster—but he was in a contemplative place after the memories he’d been assailed with last night, and decided it would be nicer to walk. It hadn’t been all that long since he’d left Galenish and Andurion behind, and yet…he’d forgotten. He’d genuinely forgotten how bad it had been before he finally walked away.

The mind is a surprisingly resilient organ.

It was an unfortunately tenacious one, too. He felt it, over and over again, as he walked—the blow that had knocked him down, the blow that was the true end of the relationship that has defined his life. It wasn’t even the first time Andy had ever hit him, was the thing. They’d trained together for decades, which inevitably led to bumps and lumps. The first time he’d started learning staff work, he’d managed to split Andy’s lip so badly there was still a faded scar there, and Andy had broken not one, but two bones in his foot once when he’d moved unexpectedly and put his armored boot on Hiram’s slipper. Those had been painful, but understandable—accidents happened. It was inevitable, they’d laughed about it even as they’d bled.

That hit, though…that hadn’t been inevitable. That had been a choice, a deliberate choice to assert dominance in the coarsest way possible. As soon as Hiram had realized that, once he’d assured himself there was nothing at work on his lover except Andy’s own greed and impatience, that had been that.

He’d been gone before the month was out.

If Phlox knew where Hiram’s mind had taken him, he didn’t say anything about it. He only sat there in his ear, inert but for the faint glow of his spirit and a trickle of heat that was a comfort on a chilly morning. Hiram smiled as he walked, melancholy but grateful, so grateful, for what he still had. Before long, his strides had brought him to the western edge of Lollop, and as he turned north he was joined by more townspeople on the road, all headed to the temple for Lares services. He nodded to several whom he recognized and eventually struck up a conversation with a cheesemaker that lasted until they got to the temple, which…

That was a big temple for such a modest town. Melemor was a major god of the pantheon, yes, and his temples were also often used as clinics and infirmaries, but heavens, this was as tall as two barns stacked on top of each other. It was made of stone, too—not marble, of course, but smooth river rock bound with cement and stacked toward the sky in the immense arch that was said to resemble Melemor’s prayerful hands. The stones were multicolored, and many of them had veins of quartz and mica that shone in the morning sunlight. It was…quite beautiful, Hiram thought to himself. Even compared to the cathedral back home, this was quite beautiful.

“I’m sorry about this rubbish decree of the High Priest’s, Hiram.”

He turned with a smile to look at Tilda. “It’s quite all right, my dear.”

“It’s not,” she said sourly, her lovely face stiff with resentment. “And I told him and Uriel as much, but—”

“No, truly.” He shrugged. “If knowing a bit more about me will solidify my welcome in Lollop, I’m happy to participate in a cleansing.”

“Cleansings are meant to be voluntary, not compelled,” she said with a sigh. “Especially when they’re for public consumption. It’s nonsensical—no one has brought any kind of complaint about you, they have no good reason to doubt your character.”

Hiram just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. “Let’s go see if we can get ourselves a good seat, hmm?”

The temple was already two-thirds full by the time they got in, the pews filled with families trying to occupy their children as everyone waited for the light to be right. Melemor’s services only started, by tradition, when the focused rays of morning light began to directly illuminate the altar at the front of the temple, and they ended once the beam of light had moved on. It made for a relatively short service, which was pleasant for most involved.

Today, it was clear that the priests were impatient to get started. High Priest Velagros stood, tall and ascetic, right behind the altar, his hands clasped in a position of prayer even as his glittering eyes roved the room. When they landed on Hiram, they narrowed sharply even as the corners of his lips perked up.

Well, at least Hiram couldn’t be accused of shirking his responsibility. Nor could anyone else, it seemed—he and Tilda had to squish in with their neighbors as more and more people entered the temple.

I wonder… Hiram sat a bit straighter and looked around, but he couldn’t see Avery in the crowd. Surely he was here somewhere, though. Perhaps he liked to sit in the back.

There was a sudden, sonorous sounding of the gong, calling all worshippers to attention. The High Priest stepped forward, hands aloft, and as he spread them apart, sunshine seemed to gather in them for a moment. “All praise to the god of healing love and the light of truth,” he intoned in a voice that didn’t sound very loving at all. “Sing the song of solace.”

Hiram murmured along with the song as best he could. It really had been a long time since he’d prayed to Melemor, and he wasn’t surprised that his devotions were a bit sloppy. Eh, Melemor wouldn’t care.

They got through two more songs, several incantations for minor healing that left numerous people in the crowd smiling, and one dirge for the death of a gnomish family patriarch at the ripe old age of a hundred and eighty-seven. That was fairly involved, and by the time the last of the great-great-great-great-grandchildren had been named, the light was well past the midpoint of the altar. Hiram actually worried for a moment that he wouldn’t be called up, which after the psybane would truly be a waste, until—

“And finally,” the High Priest said, gaze unerringly finding Hiram, “we have a ritual cleansing to welcome the newest member of our society to Lollop. Hiram Emblic, step forward so that ye may be freed of your sins in the light of Melemor and your neighbors.”

There was a massive rustling as everyone in the entire temple turned to stare at Hiram. Fortunately, he was immune to embarrassment and only smiled as he stood and eased his way past the other people in the pew and made his way to the front of the vast room. An acolyte had already laid out a kneeling pillow for him, and he settled himself on it as Velagros came to stand in front of him. He held a bronze bowl in one hand and a silver-bladed knife in the other.

“Open your heart and soul to the love of Melemor, Master Emblic,” he said, then held out the knife.

Nice of him to let me do the cutting. This was all part of the ritual—a symbolic cut that would be healed along with whatever “bedeviled” him inside thanks to Melemor’s grace. It was also a test in and of itself; if you only gave yourself the tiniest prick, you might be seen as lacking faith. Hiram scraped the length of his index finger down the blade, and blood immediately began to drip.

High Priest Velagros captured some of it in the bowl, frowning, then set the blade on the altar behind them. He then dipped his fingers into the blood and closed his eyes. “The spirit of our god binds and sanctifies our connection,” he said. “Let it show me, and all of those present, your true heart.” He pressed his fingertips to his own forehead, then reached for Hiram’s. Hiram closed his eyes and focused on the past that had sent him to Lollop, hoping that Melemor would understand. The fingers touched his head, and then…

Feelings of harshness, hatred, and abandonment echoed throughout the temple. No specific words, no pointed visions, but a wretchedness and sense of loss that it was Velagros’s job to contain. Right on its heels was the pain of walking away from Misha, leaving his family behind, his baby, and there was no way back and he knew it, he would never see her again… Hiram had lived all this last night, and while it wasn’t pleasant to experience it again, it wasn’t enough to hurt him. He heard Velagros gasping his way through the cleansing prayer and hoped the other man was able to protect the rest of the townspeople.

Gradually, the feelings of despair gave way to something sweet and soft. The light shining down at the altar was warm, like a blanket resting on Hiram’s shoulders as he sat before a toasty fire. It soothed the aches and twinges that had seemed like his constant companion since leaving Galenish, and he smiled as he felt the cut on his finger knit. As the heat finally faded, Hiram opened his eyes once more and looked up at the High Priest, who was staring down at him with a blank expression on his face.

“Thank you,” Hiram said wholeheartedly.

To his shock, Velagros suddenly burst into tears. Not just tears but sobs, wrenching and awful, that sounded as though they were being forcibly pried out of him for all the shuddering and shivering he did. Hiram was mystified until he realized that he’d just shared one of the most traumatic experiences of his life with a man who knew his townspeople inside and out. Velagros wasn’t the type to be overcome by emotion; he could distance himself from the familiar trials of his flock. Hiram was…a bit of an outlier, there.

An acolyte quickly stepped up and finished the ceremony, wiping Hiram’s forehead and hand clean with a white cloth as another acolyte took the High Priest by the shoulders and drew him away from the wide-eyes townsfolk witnessing his breakdown. “Blessings of love and light upon you all,” the acolyte who’d tidied up Hiram said loudly, and then, “We’re done, thanks.” The light hadn’t even fully passed the altar.

Hiram sighed as he got to his feet. Instead of getting through things with minimal fuss like he’d intended, now he was sure to be even more the talk of the town. That was the last bloody thing he needed, and despite the energy that the healing had left him with, he felt rather tempestuous as he strode down the center aisle faster than anyone could reach out to him. He didn’t want to field nosy questions and suspicious glances, didn’t want to talk at all, really, he just wanted to be left in peace, was that so much to bloody ask? He heard the stirring of hundreds of bodies behind him, ready to move out, and it took all he had to resist the urge to run. He couldn’t—

“Master Emblic,” someone called from his left, low and steady. Hiram turned and saw Avery Surrus a dozen feet away holding the reins of a chestnut mare. He must have exited the temple even faster than Hiram. “Might I help you make your escape?” he offered with a little smile on his face.

Hiram didn’t care in the moment whether it was a ruse, a joke, or a taunt. He practically ran to Avery’s side and didn’t hesitate as the man, with deceptive ease, handed him up into the saddle. Avery followed right after, and Hiram settled in the center of his loose embrace as he clicked the reins and tapped the mare with his heels. They set off at a trot, and were gone from sight before more than a score of people had even made it outside, much less started over toward him.

“My hero,” he murmured, and felt the vibration of Avery’s laugh against his back.

“My pleasure.”

 

Hadrian's Colony: Epilogue: Elanus POV

 Notes: Oh my goodness, we're...at the end. The end of Hadrian's Colony. Not the end of our guys' story, nowhere close, but over seventy thousand words later, here we are. This was a rough go for our lovers, and the ending isn't a firmly happy resolution in all respects, but I feel confident in their ability to weather whatever comes next. 

And there's a lot coming, and soon. But not immediately! My brain needs a break, so I'll be doing a short story/novella in another genre entirely next, then revisiting these gents after that. Thank you all for reading and sticking it out with me! Life is challenging for a lot of us right now, but you give me something to look forward to every week.

Title: Hadrian's Colony: Epilogue: Elanus POV

***

Hadrian’s Colony: Epilogue: Elanus POV

 

Photo by Sebastian Brito 

 

Nothing happened fast on a Drifter ship. Technologically and culturally speaking, speed wasn’t a thing for them. Their lives were measured in milestones—another hydroponic crop harvested, another trade deal made, another piece of their massive ship salvaged or decommissioned. They had loose schedules for everything from maintenance to health services, which was one of the reasons Elanus was so confident he could improve their systems. It wasn’t hard when half the damage was self-inflicted thanks to ignoring component wear and tear until it failed. He promised them results—in hydro-storage and recycling, in heating and cooling, and in diagnostics, and he was going to damn well deliver.

And what he asked for in return? A level of speed that had the Father—the head—of the ship ready to tear his hair out.

“We can’t source a ship that fast!”

“They’re already sourced,” Elanus replied absently as he tweaked the program Catie was putting together for hull integrity diagnostics. One more sensor in this area would be easy to manufacture, and it would cover an entire kilometer of ship that was currently underperforming but would soon be supporting temperature differentials. “You have three in storage.”

Daniel Hammersmith scowled at him. “You shouldn’t have that information. Have you been scanning our ship? Because that goes against the agreement you made when you came on board.”

Elanus didn’t resist the urge to scoff. “I didn’t have to scan anything,” he said. “The families who own those ships came to my people within the hour of us arriving, all looking to make a private deal.”

Hammerhelm’s expression darkened even further. “They don’t have the authority to make deals with outsiders unless I say they can.”

“Which is why I haven’t said yes to any of them,” Elanus replied. “But I will have one of those ships, Father Daniel, and I’ll have it without you dragging my stay here out and getting more concessions from me for using your precious resources, like I haven’t already repaid you fifty times over with the improvements I’m making for you.” He raised his eyes from the screen to look evenly at the Drifter, who looked away after just a second.

“Fine. But fuel is extra.”

Elanus smiled. “Of course it is.”

The truth was, he didn’t care that fuel would cost more. He didn’t care if it cost him as much as everything else they’d paid already, because fueling the ship they ended up with was the key to getting rid of Carlisle, and getting rid of Carlisle was key to getting Kieron back on an even keel.

You had to know him to know how he was being affected by his mother’s continual distance. After Catie’s Regen capacity was refreshed and Kieron broke out of the depression he’d been held in since the rescue, he’d acted almost normal. They’d been on Pinnace for a week and he’d been good for all of it—attentive to the kids, Pol included; conversing with Xilinn and Ryu about what had happened while they’d been separated; sticking close to Elanus when he could and showing him how much he cared in the small, sweet ways Elanus would freely admit he was addicted to.

It didn’t matter that so much of their early relationship was lost to Kieron’s traumatic brain injury; he still held Elanus’s hand whenever they were together for more than thirty seconds. He still laid his palm on his lower back when they walked, the easiest place for him to reach given that Elanus was more than a foot and a half taller than his fiancé. When they slept together—in a bed in guest apartments on Pinnace, which was a nice bit of privacy for all involved after months in close quarters with Catie—he pulled Elanus’s head onto his chest without a second thought. The love was ever-present, demonstrated in big and small ways, and Elanus was confident that he knew as much about how Kieron showed his emotions as Kieron himself did these days.

Which was how he knew the damage with Carlisle went deep. Kieron wasn’t extra sensitive to it because of his injuries, and Carlisle wasn’t extra solicitous of him because of them either. Despite their inability to speak with one another about anything of import, their actions spoke volumes.

Carlisle was quiet, avoidant, and cold. Kieron was quiet, persistent, and cracking under the weight of her disregard more and more every day.

That was why she had to go, before she broke something she had no right to anymore. She knew it, she agreed with Elanus, and as long as he got her a ship she could fly and gave her access to enough credits to do whatever the fuck she wanted, they were clear as far as he was concerned.

It didn’t take long. One conversation wrought a quick inspection of all three ships, Carlisle included in  the process because she was the one who would have to fly the damn thing, and then the trade was made. The ship was stocked, Carlisle was checked one last time and given a clean bill of health, and then…

She left. There was no elaborate goodbye, no heartfelt hugs and promises to meet again in the future. She simply said, “I’ll go, then,” and shook everyone’s hands. Kieron was the only one who got a double hand clasp, and for a second there, as their eyes met, Elanus thought they might have a breakthrough.

But no—Carlisle broke contact first, nodded at Elanus, then walked into her refurbished ship. Five minutes later, she was gone, heading for the closest space lane to do some exploring in the Fringe.

An hour later, Elanus found Kieron in one of the many small observatories, breaks in the outer hull that had been transformed into looking stations with plastisteel and forcefields. It was cold there, very cold—this part of the ship wasn’t well insulated, and when Elanus kissed the top of Kieron’s head as he wrapped him in an embrace, his skin was icy.

He needed to say something, break through the discomfort somehow, but…

“I don’t know whether I should feel happy or not with how it’s all ended.”

Huh, looked like Kieron was going to do the heavy lifting, then. As usual. “You feel how you feel,” Elanus said, not-very-usefully in his opinion, but what else could he say? “You can acknowledge something is for the best without being happy about it.”

“Is that what you think? That her leaving is for the best?”

“Yes.” There was no doubt in his mind. “For both of you. She’s been little better than a slave to a complete madman for most of her life, Kieron. Someone who controlled her every move, who had unreachable expectations of her.”

Kieron flinched. “Do you think I treated her like that? With unreasonable expectations, I mean?”

No, fuck that. “Honey,” Elanus said in what he hoped was a level tone, “You didn’t have any expectations of her, from what I could see. Or if you did, they were minimal at best. And I think that’s part of why it’s better that she left. Not just for her sake, so she can learn about a universe that’s so much bigger than what she’s used to, but so you can figure out how you feel without the pressure of being so careful around her. It’s breathing room, baby. Just some breathing room. It’s not forever.”

I won’t let it be forever.

“Besides,” he went on, “I don’t think Carlisle has quite the right skillset for our next adventure.”

“I don’t know,” Kieron said in a lighter tone than Elanus was expecting. “It might be nice to have a highly trained mercenary on our side when we try to infiltrate Trakta.”

“Ha,” Elanus muttered. “Goes to show what you know about infiltrating xenophobic, religious-right, neo-fascistic societies. You don’t make headway in a place like that with guns.”

“So how are we going to do it, then?”

Elanus kissed the top of Kieron’s head. “With the weight of my charming personality, of course. And a lot of credits.”

Elanus had them to spare, after all, and Trakta was incredibly money-hungry now that it had seceded from the Central System. He knew exactly what buttons to push to get access to the planet, and once he was there, he’d grease the right palms and set things up to get Xilinn’s kids back.

Easy. They were due something being easy for once in the past few years, and this was going to be it. It was.

It had to be.