Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 12 Pt. 2

 Notes: I got sick while writing this. You'll be able to tell, I'm not subtle about real life influencing my work. Speaking of, HAPPY THANKSGIVING to those who celebrate, I'm very thankful to have you in my life :)

 Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 12 Pt. 2

***

Chapter Twelve Part Two

 

 

Photo by Frederike

A Rough Night

 

Hiram woke with a sneeze. “Ugh,” he muttered as he rolled over on the straw tick mattress, grimacing as several sharp ends poked up through the loose weave of the sheet and scratched his skin. Straw was a common filler for mattresses, and it did all right for a season, but if it wasn’t replaced regularly it turned into a moldering mess. He wasn’t sure if it was the dankness of the mattress or a result of his thorough drenching from the rain last night, but his nose was thoroughly stuffed up.

“You sound sick.”

“I’m not sick,” Hiram said, wearily pressing up into a sitting position. He’d made it to Garrison last night after leaving the gnolls bound together with their own wires in the middle of the road. Mule had refrained from removing any of their limbs, the dear thing, but she had run each of them through in several places. It was a toss-up as to whether or not they’d survive the blood loss. Hiram didn’t feel much remorse about that. If they’d happened upon someone less prepared than him, perhaps someone with a family or a young apprentice in tow…

No. They got whatever they got at this point.

“You sound rather sick for a healthy person.”

“What would you know about it? You never get sick.”

“Neither do you.”

“There you have it, then.” Hiram got to his feet and went over to his rucksack. Several cockroaches scuttled out from beneath it, and he took a moment to be grateful for the sigils worked into the cloth that rendered it inviolate to any hands—or legs—but his. “I never get sick, therefore I’m not.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“It’s just the mattress. It’s full of mildew. I’ll clear out my sinuses and be right as rain in a moment.”

Phlox snorted. “It’s the rain that got you into this position in the first place.”

Hiram tuned out his companion’s unhelpful observations and pulled off his sleep shirt, shivering in the cold. He’d taken refuge in the first inn that still had a torch lit, which turned out to be a threadbare place on the edge of town run by a rather slovenly man who’d directed him to the room in the peak of the building, with sloping walls and more than one leak. It was more important to Hiram that Mule have a decent spot in the stable, which she did, but right now, cold and undoubtedly too late rising to get the “complimentary” breakfast that came with staying here, he felt more than a little run down.

Eh, the breakfast was probably inedible anyhow. He’d pack his things and find better lodging today, then go about the business that had brought him here in the first place. Hiram dressed in one of his finer outfits, topping it off with the lovely but sedate cloak that Master Spindelstep had made him rather than his single-armed Galenish one, then brushed out his hair and cleaned his teeth.

“Master Surrus isn’t here for you to impress, you know.”

Hiram felt his cheeks heat. “I don’t dress up for him.”

“You would if you had the chance.”

Phlox had unfortunately been around long enough to see how Hiram had gone about seducing Andy on a regular basis, and it had always included dressing his best. “Well, I don’t.” With that pathetic retort, Hiram hoisted his rucksack over his shoulder and headed downstairs. There was rather a clamor going on outside, the interior of the inn almost abandoned except by the same slovenly man at the front. Even he looked more alert now.

“What’s all that?” Hiram ask as he handed the man his room key.

“Someone brought down Cletus and Clarus last night,” he grunted, small eyes bright as he stared at the door. “Patrol found ‘em on the road this morning, loaded them into a cart to face justice here. Hanging for sure,” he added, wrapping a demonstrative hand around his own throat in case Hiram was somehow confused. “They’re wanted for a bakers’ dozen of robberies and three murders. Were starting to become a real problem this last month, and no one could find ‘em.”

“Well.” Hiram felt the warm glow of a job well done. “I’m glad someone handled the problem.”

“Yeah, but no one knows who!” The innkeeper was becoming animated, his jowls swinging as he hurried to explain. “There’s a big reward on offer for whoever could finish ‘em, but they was tied up and abandoned. No note, nothing. Had to be a warrior of some kind; they got stabbed by a spear.”

Hiram nodded along. “Lovely. Now, if you could tell me—”

“The Lord Mayor’s probably going to do a seeking to find whoever it was that took ‘em out. Only way to be fair with the money, you know.” The innkeeper deflated a bit. “It’s not right, if you ask me. Using magic to figure out who did what…what if I’d come across them this morning, huh? Went to all the trouble of loading them up and bringing them in. Wouldn’t it be better to at least share the reward with me?”

Hiram groaned inwardly. A seeking, wonderful. Even when he wasn’t touching his own magic, magic still had a way of trying to find him. Of all the damn… “For the extra feed for my horse,” he said, laying down a few copper bits. The innkeeper snatched them up immediately. “I’ll be off, then.” He’d been going to ask about the layout of Garrison, but decided it was better to be gone as soon as possible.

He found Mule in perfect solitude in the stable, chewing on hay and seeming pretty damn pleased with herself after her adventure yesterday. “You had to run them through, hmm?” Hiram muttered to her as he put on her saddle. She blinked at him, then tossed her head. “What will we do if someone recognized the wounds come from a horn, not a spear?”

Not my problem, she seemed to say with a saucy whicker.

“It will become your problem if imperial soldiers try to drag us out of Lollop and back to Andy by our tails,” Hiram said.

“We’ll have to screw up rather more significantly for things to get that far.”

“One would hope,” Hiram agreed. “But for all his faults, Andy is shrewd. He’s very good at collecting vast amounts of information and sifting through it to discover the gems. That’s how he got ahead in so many battles, not to mention stayed ahead of so many assassination attempts.”

“That and the fact that you were helping him.”

True. Which Hiram wasn’t now. Still... “Can you handle an obscuration?”

He felt Phlox pulse with surprise. “Do you really think it necessary?”

“I don’t know that I want to bet on Garrison having a sloppy mage if they work some sort of seeking on those damn gnolls,” he said. He hadn’t thought they’d be that big a deal, in all honesty. No one in Lollop even mentioned them to him. Admittedly, Lollop wasn’t a cosmopolitan place, but still—

“It’s not impossible that Andurion could be checking for my magical signature as well, you know.”

Hiram sighed. “Well, it’s that or we visit a hedge witch and hope they’re trustworthy.” Which was never a given, unfortunately. And then he’d have to ensure silence with a spell of his own, which would put his magical signature on the map again, bouncing across dozens of leylines and lodestones and giving all those imperial mages something to focus on. Damn, who’d have thought hiding would be so bloody hard?

“This might be completely unnecessary,” Hiram added. “Perhaps the Lord Mayor won’t bother with a seeking at all. Why give up a reward when you don’t have to?”

“Perhaps they’re a person of integrity, unlike that fool in Lollop.”

“We’ll hope otherwise,” which was something he hadn’t anticipated saying today, “but in the meantime, just keep your obscuration ready, all right?”

“As you say, Hiram.”

Hiram chuckled at the uncharacteristic agreement, then raised his elbow to his face to stifle another sneeze. “Ugh.” His nose itched uncomfortably, his throat was sore, and he felt like he’d barely put a dent in the fatigue from yesterday’s ride.

He smiled as he remembered what he used to say to Misha when they were adventuring and she started to lose her sense of levity. Eat something. Everything looks a little better once you’ve got food in your belly. “Come on,” he said as he led Mule out of the stable and mounted up. “Let’s go see what we can find in the way of breakfast, and then we’ll see what Garrison has to offer.”

Hopefully the rest of the day would continue better than it had begun.

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 12 Pt. 1

Notes: Sorry for the delay, yesterday was SO CRAZY BUSY! Let's go on a road trip, baby!

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 12 Pt. 1

 

***

 

Chapter Twelve, Part One

 

Photo by Felicia Varzari

Road Trip!

 

Phlox’s poor moods could last for weeks without something to jar him out of them. Unfortunately, in Lollop there was little of great enough import to knock a captive elemental being out of his pout, so Hiram went out of his way to do novel things instead that would hopefully interest his companion enough to improve his outlook. It was the least Hiram could do.

Yes, Phlox-as-Pyrax and Hiram-as-Xerome had once fought nearly to the death, and no doubt Pyrax wouldn’t have thought twice about burning him to a crisp and going on to kill his apprentices too. But Pyrax would never have done what Xerome did, imprisoning his enemy’s essence and letting him continue to live a basically neutered existence in three separate containers. It was an incredible comedown in both power and pride for an elemental revered by his people as a god, and there were times when Hiram wondered whether he shouldn’t have meddled in the first place.

There was no changing the past, though—and Hiram would know, he’d tried more than once. All he could do now was ameliorate his friend’s condition as best he could. To that end, Hiram planned his first out-of-town trip since he first got to Lollop over two months ago. There was a somewhat larger city an easy two day’s ride to the east, and Hiram could stand to stock up on some things he’d only be able to find with a larger community of traders on hand. Not to mention, it would give him a chance to scope out whether or not imperial messengers were still distributing posters of him this far from Galenish.

He arranged for Letty to come by and take care of Knight and the chickens and pigs he’d somehow become saddled with—pigs, for every heaven’s sake. Hiram didn’t even like the taste of pork, what was he going to do with pigs other than feed them delicious scraps and watch them grow large enough to square off with their wild boar cousins? Perhaps he could make a gift of them to someone someday…

“Feel free to make use of anything you find in the house,” he told Letty as he tied his rucksack shut. “Just make a note if you use something up. If you care to weed the garden a bit with Rickie, that would be welcome too. Just stay out of the upstairs rooms, if you please.” Not that she’d get up there even if she tried, between the aversion glyphs and the relocation spell he’d reluctantly powered up that would transport an intruder onto the road out front with a blinding headache if they tried to go up there uninvited.

Letty huffed. “I’m not rude, you know. I wouldn’t invade your privacy in such a way.”

“I’m sure of it,” Hiram said. “I just wanted to mention it.”

“What about the cellar?” she asked. “I could move some of your jars down there for you. You’re starting to run out of space on your shelves.”

The cellar. Ah. Right. “I’d avoid the cellar for now,” Hiram said, a bit uncomfortable at the thought of her going down there before he’d cleared it himself. “Just the animals and the weeding, if you please. Perhaps harvest some of the chamomile and lay it on the screen by the window to dry, well out of Knight’s reach, if you please. And some of the anise. And yarrow,…do you need me to write this down?”

“I think I’ll manage,” Letty said. “Have a nice trip! I’ve never been as far as Garrison before; you have to tell me all about it when you get back.”

“I will,” he promised her with a smile before heading outside to saddle Mule and get on the road.

Mule was pleased by the prospect of a trip, too. It was a bit of a boring life for her, Hiram reflected, after several decades of intense battle at the front of the greatest army the continent had ever seen. Mule was a peaceful animal by nature and had adapted well to her new habitat, but that chase they’d gone on a few weeks back…clearly she was missing fulfilling her nature, which was to hunt down and destroy creatures touched by evil.

Maybe they’d get lucky and run into a beastie or two on the road.

Hiram waved to various people he recognized on the way through town, only stopping once for Master Spindlestep, who was crossing the road with the single-mindedness of a man who wasn’t going to be deterred by either traffic or his blindness. “Good morning, Master Spindlestep,” he called out as the elderly elf passed by.

“Master Emblic.” He stopped—out of the line of any carts or horses who might go by, thankfully—and tilted his head as though he were listening to something specific. “Leaving us, are you?”

“Only for a short time,” Hiram assured him. “I’m off to Garrison for a few days, but I’ll be back before the next market day.”

“A good thing, otherwise there may be a revolt,” Master Spindlestep said genially. “Your products get excellent reviews, sir.”

“Always welcome to hear.”

“Indeed it is.” The elf came a bit closer and lifted his hand, laying it gently on Mule’s neck. To Hiram’s surprise, Mule not only accepted the touch with grace—she could be a bit finicky about non-virgins—she whickered, turning her head to nudge Master Spindlestep’s shoulder.

“Mule, you rude thing,” Hiram chided her, but the old elf just laughed.

“She recognizes a friend when she sees one,” he said. “I’ve always loved horses of this sort, and they tend to be smart enough to know when they’re with a friend.” He said “like this” with a bit of import. Hiram wondered whether the tailor, for all his blindness, was able to see right through the glamour on Mule.

Well, and what of it if he did? The glamour was unbreakable; no one would believe him if he tried to spread such a tale about, and he had no reason to do anything other than enjoy the company of a light creature like a unicorn. “She’s been a good friend to me for many years,” Hiram settled on saying.

“I can sense that.”

Perhaps he could. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I must continue.”

“Of course.” Master Spindlestep gave Mule one last stroke along her velvety nose, then moved back. “If you’ve the means to buy a bolt of black Lancre silk while you’re there, I’d happily repay you.”

Lancre silk…and in black…that seemed very fine for use in Lollop. Lancre silk was mildly color-shifting, the result of blending worm and spider threads together, and shockingly strong for a fabric. Hiram knew this ask was a test of some kind, but what was the tailor hoping to glean about him from it? His level of disposable income? His ability to discern Lancre silk from regular silk? His willingness to do a favor for someone he had no strong connection to?

“I’ll see what I can do,” he settled on. Master Spindlestep nodded, and then Hiram was on his way once more, riding until even the disreputable Highwayman Inn was out of sight.

It was a quiet road for the first half of the day, and he reveled in the solitude and the sound of the wind. Around noon, the route expanded significantly as several more roads joined it, and he ended up jostling for position amongst carts and wagons, solitary riders and groups, and a fair number of walkers as well.

It wasn’t that Hiram couldn’t tolerate the company, but by mid-afternoon a rain had set in that quickly churned the road to mud beneath so many hooves and wheels. What I wouldn’t give for a good, Imperial highway of stone…

Of course, stone roads were reserved for much more important parts of the empire than this, especially with no quarries native to the area. The amount of work it would take to build and maintain stone roads everywhere…Hiram had argued for it, actually, citing the good it would do to local economies as well as the skills transfer from imperial civil engineers to rural ones, but that was one more place where Andy had shot him down.

It left him determined to get as far as he could tonight, perhaps even as far as Garrison itself. The city was only forty miles from Lollop, after all. Mule could do it easily; Hiram was the one who was going to be sore from the saddle tomorrow, but if it meant making better time once others retreated to the inn they got to at sundown, he’d manage.

“You won’t want to camp, sir!” the inn’s crier called out after him when he saw Hiram wasn’t turning off with the rest of the traffic. “It’s terrible dangerous in those woods at night! There’s gnolls and trolls and even bandits out there in the woods, sir, mark my words!”

“I won’t be camping,” Hiram called over his shoulder.

“Sir! Come on now, sir!”

But Hiram was determined to get to Garrison by midnight. And once he was alone… “A bit of light perhaps, Phlox?” he murmured, and to his delight, Phlox responded with a thin beam that lit the road just enough for Mule to see by. It was a good thing, too; the moon was invisible tonight, utterly drowned out by the wet cloud cover, and the drizzle got that much colder as the evening wore on.

A more impatient person would have spurred Mule to a faster pace, but Hiram was neither impatient nor a fool. He kept them moving at a steady trot, which meant he had plenty of time, even in the gloom, to pick out the array of slender metal threads stretched taut across the road.

At speed, they could have done terrible damage to Mule’s legs. As it was, the unicorn came to an easy halt a few meters away from them.

“Hmm.”

Phlox unexpectedly spoke up. “I do believe we’re about to be accosted by bandits, Hiram.”

Hiram eased himself out of the saddle with a groan. “You’re probably right, my dear,” he murmured.

“How would you care to handle the occasion?”

That was an excellent question, and one Hiram was still considering when an eerie, baying cackle started up in the woods to the right. Hiram turned with interest to watch as a pair of enormous, spot-eared gnolls emerged from the trees. He’d never seen the spotted version before; the ones who lived up north tended toward stripes. Other than that, they were identical to most of the gnolls he’d encountered over the years: they had broad, squat bodies that were heavy with muscle and blunt canid mouths full of fangs. These ones wore dark, lustrous pelts for clothes that probably came from lowland panthers, and each of them carried both a club and a dagger.

Decidedly dark creatures, by nurture if not nature. Hiram tightened his grip on Mule’s reins.

“Clever human,” one of them slavered at him, a wild glint in his eyes. “Spying our little net before it could catch you.”

“Not clever enough to stay at the inn, though,” the other said with rather less drool falling out of his mouth. “Shouldn’t have pressed on, old man. Too bad now you’re going to be late for your appointments.” He grinned. “’Cept the ones you’ve got with your gods.”

Hiram nodded slowly. “That is certainly one possibility.” Mule was quivering now, every inch of her ready to fulfil her ultimate purpose.

“It’s the only possibility, old man. No one escapes from Cletus and Clarus.”

“Ah, but you see,” Hiram replied. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He patted Mule on the neck. “Alive if you can, darling,” he told her.

The gnolls stared at each other for a moment, as if they were wondering just how mad this strange human was. That was when Hiram let Mule go. She reared onto her back hooves with a ferocious battle cry, then lowered her head and charged.

“Now.” Hiram turned back to the wires as the gnolls howled with matching bloodlust. “Let’s see about clearing this before she comes back, hmm?” Luckily they were rather haphazardly placed, and cheap besides. A quick snip with the second-best shears he’d brought along in his rucksack was enough to bite through the thinner ones. The thicker might require a bit more work…

“You let Mule have all the fun.”

“You can have the next bandits, my dear,” Hiram promised. The howls were already becoming whimpers of pain and fear. “Just don’t tell Esme we had a good time without her, or she’ll never let us hear the end of it.”

Phlox considered that for a moment, then said, “Deal.”

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 11 Pt. 2

 Notes: Let's have a little more backstory, hmm? Hiram's curious, and who can blame him?

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 11 Pt. 2

***

 

Chapter Eleven, Part Two

 

Legend Has It…

 

 

 

To tell Letty, or not to tell her? On the one hand, it would be considerate to give her time to prepare for a meeting with The Thread, of all people. It could be life-changing, after all. On the other hand, it seemed like Letty had already convinced herself that Hiram was going to be of no use to her, and that he shouldn’t even try. What were the odds that she would just ignore him if he tried to convince her it was the thing to do? No, better that it happened naturally in some way. As if it was happenstance that she was able to meet with them, rather then preplanned. The only hitch was creating those circumstances.

Ah, well. He still had a few weeks to think about it. Now that the aftermath of his temple visit had faded a bit, and people had proven to be more circumspect than he’d counted on, Hiram’s sense of sociality had come back full swing. He had a place to live, a burgeoning business, and enough money to spare after every week’s Market Day that he could afford to live it up in town a bit when the mood struck him. And in Lollop, there were really only two places to spend your money on a regular basis: The Yew Brew, if you were in the mood for clean surroundings and hearty meals, or The Highwayman, a tavern on the eastern edge of town that catered more to travelers than locals.

Hiram visited the Yew Brew several times throughout the week, once to treat Tilda to dinner closer to her own house, and once to simply sit and absorb the conversation that flowed from patron to patron like a lazy river. It didn’t even take any magic of his own to hear what people had to say, because Phlox was happy to repeat it for him sotto-voce.

“The older gentlemen at the table by the fireplace say they’re surprised to see you without your lady friend.”

Hiram hummed thoughtfully as he took a sip of ale.

“They say their wives expect you to propose to her by midwinter.”

“Ha!”

“Something I can get for you, Hiram?” Jonn called from where he was pulling drinks a bit farther down the bar.

“I’m well for now, thank you,” he replied.

“Right, then.”

“Have you entirely forgotten how to be circumspect, Xerome?”

He tapped twice with one of his fingernails on the counter.

“Oh, lovely, we’re communicating in the Undertone now.” Phlox huffed. “Just admit you’re bored. Maybe you should propose to Tilda, she seems to be one of the only people around who can liven you up a bit.”

Tap-tap.

“Obviously I’m not serious. I know you’re more interested in males. Speaking of, there have been several conversations since you sat down speculating on whether or not people should come over and ask you about Master Surrus. Apparently, his penchant for solitude is legendary.”

“Hmm.” Hiram contemplated that as he finished off the half-chicken that had come with his supper.

“Isn’t it, though? What makes you so special that he was willing to take you home?” Hiram grinned. “Besides all the things he’s not supposed to know about you, obviously. Ugh, you’re so childish.”

“Oy!” The arrival of Robard interrupted Hiram’s private conversation, but he didn’t mind it, just reached out and steadied the stool beside him as the dwarf heaved himself up onto it. He seemed sober for once, and eager not to be if the false joviality he projected was any indicator. “Well met, Master Emblic, well met.”

“And a good evening to you, Robard,” he said politely.

“Mm. What’re you havin’ there, eh?”

“The dinner special.”

“Ah, ah. And, eh, what to drink?”

“Oh, this?” Hiram glanced down at the mug. “It’s a pint of Jonn’s pumpkin ale. The top-shelf stuff. He said it would go well with the dinner.” He shrugged. “He was right, of course. It’s very good.”

“Is it, now?” Robard affected a wide-eyed demeanor. “Y’know, I’ve been meaning to try that pumpkin ale.”

“Then you should.”

“Aye, aye. Only…it’s a bit dear, you know. A bit…pricier than a simple dwarf like myself can afford.”

Hiram wasn’t sure how Robard made a living when most of what he spent his time on seemed to be getting drunk, so this was probably a true statement. Jonn was clearly his closest friend—rumor had it that Robard even slept in the barn—but that didn’t mean Jonn was willing to waste his expensive microbrews on the dwarf when the cheaper ale got him drunk just as fast.

Actually…hmm. “I was wondering,” Hiram said, “about that tower in the distance.”

Robard blinked. “Gemmel’s tower?”

“That’s the one! It seems like a mightily impressive sort of place. I hear it was built by a dwarf, too.”

“Aye, that it was.” Robard thumped his chest. “My own clan, in fact.”

“Truly!”

“Indeed, indeed. Clan Blackstone, on account of we used to live in a mountain of the stuff.”

Interesting. Perhaps Gemmel had been attempting to reinvent the past when he decided to manufacture his tower in the stuff. “Fascinating. I’d love to learn more about it, if you have any tales to tell. Nothing that would bring disgrace,” Hiram added quickly. He knew how touchy dwarves could be about their private histories. “Just what’s allowable. I love a good story.”

It was hard to tell underneath the beard, but Hiram thought Robard was trying to affect a crafty expression. “The stories would be better heard over a pint of pumpkin ale, I daresay.”

“Agreed.” Hiram waved Jonn over. “I’d like the same again for Robard, including dinner, please.”

“Oh.” Robard looked at him with surprise in his rheumy eyes. “You don’t need to do all that.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Hiram replied lightly. Jonn seemed to approve, if the speed with which he brought the meal of chicken and roasted potatoes out was any indicator. The ale he pulled much more slowly, making sure Robard was already tucking in to his dinner before setting it down.

The next hour was spent gleaning bits of gold from Robard’s ramblings. The broad strokes followed what Avery had said—they were driven out of Blackstone Mountain in the north by an unholy alliance between serpentkin and a group of fire elementals, and after a lot of diversions the majority of them ended up settling here. There might have been an element of coercion in there as well, something about an internal dispute that split their party in two, but that part wasn’t clear.

“Great idea, that tower,” Robard said in the middle of his second pint. “Could have revolutionized magic in the area, not to mention given our clan a revenue stream that supported us in our traditional crafts instead of turning weaponsmiths into blacksmiths and mangonel-makers into carpenters.”

“You were a warrior clan, then?”

“Aye, that we were. S’why it burned all the more to be forced out of our home, y’ken. If it were just one or the other, we’d have managed, but serpentkin plus the elementals?” He shook his head morosely. “It was too much. Can’t say that I care for the emperor all that much, meself, but every dwarf driven out of the northern range cheered the day he and his people subdued those scaly bastards.”

Subdued. That was a very tame description for annihilation. It occurred to Hiram that letting Robard wax rhapsodic about the devastation of Phlox’s people wasn’t the nicest thing for his elemental assistant right now.

He got a few more general stories about the tower, a smidgeon of the Blackstone clan’s epic poem, which sounded like it must be fantastic sung, and ended the night with Robard on his fourth mug of ale and staggering off to the outhouse. Hiram paid the final bill, then got to his feet and wrapped himself up in his cloak as he headed outside to walk home. He could have come with Mule, but the walk was nice to help clear his head after he’d been drinking. Usually it was a quiet, contemplative time.

Tonight, he was treated to a stream of hissed imprecations from Phlox. “They stole our caverns first! Our holy places, defiled by the deep-digging dwarves, where no piece of us was considered sacred!”

“I know,” Hiram said tiredly.

“The serpentkin were merely a means to an end! We never intended for them to feed on the clans we conquered.”

“I understand that.”

“There was no good reason for the violence your emperor leveled at us. We as a people are no more now, right down to the smallest flames.”

Hiram could argue that point, but he chose not to under the circumstances. “It’s in the past now, Phlox.”

There was a moment of silence before Phlox said, “Sometimes I wish more than anything that I had managed to kill you. Or that you had chosen to kill me.”

Hiram only nodded; his throat was too tight to do otherwise. He could offer up excuses, he could say that nothing was simple and war least of all, he could remind Phlox that he’d quite literally brought the invasion upon himself by burning through town after town, but that wouldn’t do anything except exacerbate the bad feelings. They walked in silence the rest of the way home, and Hiram was resigned to a night full of memories keeping him awake as he walked through the front door.

“Finally.”

“Esme!” Hiram looked at her, then did a doubletake. “Are you…snuggling with Knight?”

“Only because you weren’t here,” she defended herself before licking a stripe between the rabbit’s ears. She had adjusted herself to be about the same size as the enormous bunny, who seemed surprisingly sanguine about having a dangerous, carnivorous sphinx cuddling him like a baby. “I got cold.”

Hiram smiled at the thin excuse. “I see.”

“And it’s been days since you visited me.”

“That’s true.”

“So here I am.” She rolled onto her back, pulling Knight with her. The rabbit went with the air of a creature who had abandoned every thought of fighting back. “You have my permission to pet me.”

It beat focusing on the silent treatment from Phlox all night. “Your wish is my command.”