With a fleshy, wet breath, Ekur said, 'It was brought to the Bow Before Me… they sent it to a lair I know not of.'
Massedar twisted his lips in frustration. He clapped a hand over Ekur's nose and mouth so that he couldn't exhale. With a grimace, Kehrsyn turned her head away. She realized she was holding her breath again, in sympathy for the image of Ekur being suffocated, and she forced herself to breathe.
'How shall I find the Alabaster Staff and recover it?' Massedar asked, pulling his hand off Ekur's face.
'Two days hence at midnight the-' he inhaled-'ritual begins, in the Deep Hall beneath the Temple of Gilgeam… it shall be there.'
'With all the Zhents,' muttered Demok.
The city of Messemprar was starting to stir in the predawn darkness when Demok and Kehrsyn finally entered the empty building on Wheelwright's. They had slipped Kehrsyn out of Wing's Reach without incident, and the former guildhouse seemed the best place for the young woman to hole up until the appointed time.
Demok started a fire in the kitchen and unwrapped a stock of provisions. Kehrsyn tossed her cloak on the floor of the foyer, sat in a chair, and stared at the growing flames.
Once the food was heating, Demok opened up some windows to vent some of the smell that had accumulated in the building. The weather had eased off, loitering somewhere between a rain and a drizzle, though the air was no less cold.
They ate in silence as the first glimmers of the winter sun's light filtered through the cloud cover. The heat from the fire fought the cold air from outside, but their breath and the food both steamed. Demok ate his food mechanically. Kehrsyn poked at hers and didn't really eat until Demok leaned close and ordered her to.
Once it was clear that Kehrsyn was finished, Demok took her plate and flipped the food out the window. The extravagant waste would ensure that people thought the building was fully occupied.
He set the dishes aside and sat down next to Kehrsyn. He looked at her face as she stared into the fire.
'You all right?' he asked.
After a pause, Kehrsyn nodded.
'Hard to watch?'
Kehrsyn nodded again, exactly as she had a moment before.
'Thought you hated Ekur,' he pressed.
Kehrsyn bit her lip and drew in a trembling breath. 'I do,' she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Demok leaned in closer to hear her over the fire.
'He killed my father,' she continued, 'he tormented my mother, used her for pleasure. I've always hated him and I always will.'
A long pause.
'Go on,' said Demok.
Kehrsyn drew in another deep breath through her nose, and Demok noted that her trembling was diminishing.
'He's an evil man,' she said, 'and I'm glad he's dead. I don't mind that Massedar used his… used him like that. But it was an ugly thing to hear, and… I'm… I guess I'm just… put off that Massedar could do such horrid things with such a casual air.'
'Sometimes we must do tasteless things,' said Demok.
She glanced over at him. He dropped his eyes.
'I guess he did what he had to,' continued Kehrsyn after a moment's reflection. 'And now we know what's been going on.'
Demok nodded. They sat in silence for a while, and Demok tended to the fire. Finally, he stood up and leaned against the wall, facing Kehrsyn.
'Ever know your father?' he asked.
Kehrsyn shook her head, regret and longing marring her features.
'No,' she said, 'I didn't. Ekur killed him about a year before I was born. All I've ever seen of him is the rock that marks his grave. It's just a rock. Doesn't even have his name on it. Just the pollen stains of countless wildflowers.'
'Come again?' said Demok.
'A rock,' said Kehrsyn, measuring with her hands. 'About this wide around or so, pretty heavy, really, so I figure Momma had some friends help her.'
'No, about your father.'
'Never knew him, I said.'
'Died a year before you were born.'
'Yeah, Momma told me that once when she was drunk.'
'Pregnancy takes nine months,' said Demok.
Kehrsyn's face went pale, and she raised her hands to her open mouth.
'Oh my word,' she gasped, 'I never thought of it that way…'
Demok regretted his rashness, letting surprise guide his tongue instead of his intellect. He reached for Kehrsyn, but she rose and walked over to the window, her blanched face unmoving. She looked alarmingly like the walking dead.
'I don't believe it,' she murmured as she stared, unseeing, at the falling rain.
As the sun rose somewhere to the east, Kehrsyn leaned her hands on the windowsill and began to cry. She tried to hold back her sobs but failed, whining in pain as she exhaled, and inhaling trembling, reluctant breaths.
Demok could do nothing but sit and wait as the city awakened and the air filled with the sounds of pedestrians. Periodically, he stoked the fire. He wished he could help her, but she was lost somewhere in the past, experiencing pain he knew nothing of.
Kehrsyn raised her head to the sky, wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, and turned back around to face Demok.
'I don't believe it,' she said. 'After all this time, he didn't kill my father.' She sniffled and ran the heel of her hand across her eyes again. 'I love my father!' she sobbed, her voice crescendoing as she struggled to maintain control. 'What am I supposed to do now?'
She buried her face in her hands and began weeping openly. Full-force grief wracked her body, waves of anguish pounding against her throat. Demok hemmed for a moment, then awkwardly reached out to hold her. She ended up resting her head against his breast, but he wasn't sure she was aware of it.
He held her to the best of his ability, his jaw set in a grim line as he stared out at the city, a cold, gray world beset by warfare and hunger with little room for a hopeful, compassionate juggler. He could only see it as an allegory for her entire life.
The tide of her grief eventually receded, leaving her spent and quiet, her arms still pulled close and her head leaning on his breastbone.
'Kehrsyn,' he said.
'Yes,' she answered, her voice like a little girl.
'Your father is still your father.'
'No, he's not,' she said.
'He's done more to raise you and guide your steps than Ekur ever did. Even after his death, he was your mother's helper and your companion. He's far more your parent than the one who sired you.'
'But-' began Kehrsyn.
'Nothing Ekur can do can change that,' interrupted Demok. 'Don't you give it away. Hold onto it. Protect it. Your father makes you who you are.'
A long pause.
'All right,' said Kehrsyn.
Demok took a deep breath. While these personal talks were curiously rewarding, they still made him nervous, scared. He preferred to deal with threats that could be stabbed through the heart or beheaded. It was so much easier, so much clearer.
'And you can thank the gods that you look like your mother,' he said, looking to end the moment before he foundered somewhere beyond his understanding.
