“Treorai, we of Daingean are honored by your presence.”
They had said it in unison, which tickled Rianaire to her very core. It was precious, like a child’s first steps or the mewling of a kitten. The guards then turned to address the doors but before they could move to open them, there was sound from the other side. After a brief moment, the doors pushed open revealing Méid walking ahead of a small group of elves she did not know, but who seemed familiar.
Rianaire rang out a greeting. “Méid!”
The well-muscled woman had already stopped wide-eyed. “Treorai, what? How long have you waited? Your marmar arrived, but we hadn’t an idea of when to prepare for you.”
“Méid, I assure you it is fine. I have come to discuss things with you. Though I wonder if the time is wrong.”
The elves behind Méid were quiet and still, not sure what to do with themselves.
“I am interrupting.” Rianaire turned. “It’s just as well. We should talk over something warm and delicious. I’ve come to name you my Binse of Quarter.”
Méid’s mouth fell open. “I… I… Treorai, I’m not sure…”
Rianaire began walking toward the road. “We will discuss things at dinner. At your home, if you still use it.”
“I do. It would… be… I am always glad to host you, Treorai.”
She turned at the road and looped her arm through Síocháin’s. The city was still far too quiet for Rianaire’s taste, but there was the music of life in the air where before there was nothing.
“Do you think she will come?” Inney sounded neither concerned nor curious.
“She will. But she will protest and she will insist that she is incapable and a dozen other things.”
Rianaire became distracted by a stand selling sweet rolls and bought herself one. The thin boy running the stand clearly did not know her face, but spoke unnaturally enough to make it clear he suspected she was important. Her clothes always made that much plain.
She bit into the sweet roll and looked at the boy.
“Where are the brothels?”
The boy looked up at her and around, not convinced she could possibly be asking him.
“Beg pardon?”
“The brothels. For sex.” She took another bite of the sweet roll. The bread was dry for her tastes, but it was made well enough. “Where in the city are they?”
Síocháin spoke and the boy looked at her, not sure what to make of the conversation.
“You know you don’t intend on visiting a brothel. At least share the roll.”
Rianaire frowned and handed the roll to Inney. “This is how I live, boy.” She sighed. “Can’t even enjoy a sweet roll I buy with my own money.”
They continued toward the hotel. The walk was pleasant though the air was cold. Cold enough that Rianaire was glad to be out of it by the time they’d arrived at the hotel.
The owner came toward them as soon as the door had opened, making large, unnecessary motions with his arms and repeating himself.
“Treorai, Treorai! Oh! Welcome, welcome! It’s so wonderful to have you, yes. Simply wonderful to have you here again. There are, uh…” He looked past Rianaire. “Will anyone else be joining you?”
Any horsefolk, he meant. “There will not.”
“Ha, of course. Good. Very good. HA!” He turned and walked back to the counter and began fumbling with keys. “The room has been prepared and your things have already been taken up.”
He clapped and a bellboy came to show them to the room. Rianaire held up a hand.
“No need. I have encountered both stairs and doors before. Unless there are some other pitfalls I should know of?”
“Ah, no. Ha-ha-ha. You… you jest, Treorai. Of course there’s nothing of the sort.”
She took her leave of the lobby, handing the keys to Inney, who took them with eyes shut and went ahead to see to the door.
“What do you think of her, Síocháin? After this time.”
There was silence after that as stairs passed them by.
“I have come to care for her deeply,” the stoic elf finally said. “But she scares me.”
“Scares you?”
“You surround yourself with people so freely. Drow, satyr. What if they mean you harm?”
Rianaire stopped and looked at Síocháin. Her hair had grown long. It was beautiful and soft, as it had always been. Brown like leaves just before the cold and thick.
“You mean to say that I scare you.”
Síocháin’s light eyes met her own for only a second. She would not look Rianaire in the face.
“If they mean me harm, then so be it. The last hand that meant to murder me looked the same as my own. And the next may not. There is no greater tragedy if I die by one hand or another.” She paused and put a hand to Síocháin’s cheek. “And I will die. Hopefully warm and comfortable in your arms.” She sighed and slid her hand down to Síocháin’s heart. “I couldn’t bear to outlive you. But I have no say in it. And neither do you. Fear has no use for me, my love. It would only keep me on a seat of my mother’s making.”
Síocháin took Rianaire’s hand in her own. She said nothing, but continued up the stairs, still holding Rianaire’s hand.
The door to the room was open and they entered to find Inney sitting on the bed, her mask smiling.
Síocháin moved to her and put her arms around the half-elf. Rianaire closed the door.
“The beds,” Inney said. “They’ve changed them. They’re more comfortable.”
Rianaire considered the lodgings. “And larger. A shame we won’t have much chance to enjoy it.”
The sun outside had dimmed and the purple-orange light in the room meant they would soon need to make for Méid’s house and begin the real work of the trip. There was yet time to enjoy the wine and Bais fruit. Bais meant red currants, persimmons, and pears. There would likely be little from the south, Rianaire thought, considering the plate.
“There is no news of the
