A Door to the Past - male vampire x female character (WIP) - Chapter Two (Patreon)

Apologies! This was supposed to go up yesterday but I forgot!! Sorry!! Here's Chapter Two of our vampire story, set at the College of Winterhold.

Last time: Kjartan Volkihar, the son of the powerful pureblood vampire, Lord Harkon, arrived at the college after a lifetime (200yrs or so) spent hidden away in his father's castle, reading and studying and keeping largely to himself. He gained admittence to the mage college, on the proviso that he keep his fangs and his vampiric abilities to himself. After a quick tour, he headed off to his first lesson in the Hall of Elements.

This time: We see things from Nora's point of view. She is as unsettled as the others to find a vampire in their midst, but trusts the Master Wizard's judgement, and decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. Not everyone is so tolerant, tempers flare, and Kjartan makes himself a tentative friend.

Wordcount: 4986Rating: sfw

Hope you enjoy it - as I said before, it doesn't really require a knowledge of Skyrim, and I've tried to drop things in as I would normally with worldbuilding - incidentally and in the background. And finally (I know, I waffle on in these introductory bits, I'm sorry) welcome to new patrons! Make sure you cast your vote so that we can all celebrate together, and don't forget about Discord too. If you're not hooked up to Discord via Patreon, shout and I'll send you an invite.

Take care, G x

(quick point for the non-skyrim-ites: 'mer' is the catch-all term for elves in this universe - high elf, dark elf (also called 'dunmer') and wood elf (also called 'bosmer'). It only crops up once I think, but I thought I'd mention it so that you don't think there are mermaids and mermen in this too). A Khajiit is a cat-like race of people.  Anything else, feel free to ask/point out!

2.

Nora

Oh Talos preserve her, but Tolfdir was boring.

Sweet and knowledgeable, yes, but really, the wizard could have put a whole army of frost trolls to sleep halfway through a single sentence. With his tendency to waffle and drift off topic, it was easy to see why he was teaching the beginners and not the advanced students. All the same, half of them swayed where they stood in the hall out of sheer boredom.

So when the hefty clunk of the main doors rang out, and flicker of dark movement caught her eye in the antechamber beyond the Hall of Elements, she found her attention pouncing on the new stimulus before she’d even really processed what was going on. From what she could see through the elegant, dwarven metal gates, which had closed behind them when the lecture began, a tall, slim figure dressed entirely in dark clothing stood talking with Mirabelle Ervine in hushed voices.

The figure nodded curtly, and she saw that his black hair was so long it fell almost to the small of his back. All the Nords she’d ever seen with long hair kept it somewhere around shoulder length, and as she squinted to see better, she didn't think she could see any braids or beads adorning the sleek, straight hair either. It flowed like a river of ink around his shoulders and down his back, gleaming eerily in the blue light of the Hall’s magicka font.

As Mirabelle left, the figure took a moment to breathe, apparently gathering his courage before entering the Hall of Elements.

Her breath caught in her throat when he pushed the gate open and stepped inside, treading softly as a shadow. He was beautiful. There was no other word for it. While many Nords she knew were handsome in a rough-hewn, rugged kind of way, this stranger looked like he had been sculpted from porcelain and shadow, and brought to life by some long-lost Snow Elven magic. Tall, slim, moving with the silent grace of a black cat, he made his way towards the back of the group.

Drawn by her friend’s waning attention, the Dunmer mage beside her turned to scowl at her friend. “What? Oh —” Satha exhaled when she followed Nora’s gaze to the newcomer.

Tolfdir, unaware of any interruption, droned on.

Nora couldn’t take her eyes off the figure stalking silently across the Hall of Elements, long black hair wafting elegantly with each stride. She’d thought he was male, though the face was so androgynous it was hard to get an immediate impression, not that physical appearances said everything about a person anyway. As he drew closer, she could see that his skin was paler even than that of the most sun-starved falmer, and beneath his eyes hung dark shadows as though he hadn’t slept for a week. The high cheekbones lent a certain gaunt quality to his cheeks, and his height only served to make him look more slender. There was a raw sharpness to his beauty that only revealed itself the closer he got.

His eyes, however, were surely the most arresting thing about him. He’d kept them downcast as he’d approached, but his gaze flicked up when he came to a halt near the back of the group, and she sucked in another short breath of surprise. Where a human would have had white in their eyes, his sclera were jarringly a dark, charcoal black, and the irises glowed a deadly, sunset orange. He blinked slowly, revealing long, dark lashes framing his large eyes.

“He’s a vampire…” Satha’s hoarse voice whispered in her ear.

Vampire.

Nora had of course heard of them, and had even heard a rumour that some of the guards in her native Whiterun had killed one a few years back, but she’d never thought she’d ever actually meet one, and certainly not as a fellow student in her afternoon enchanting class. Weren’t they mindless killers? Blood-sucking leeches prowling the night with no self control and whose thirsts were never sated? This one looked calm, composed, perhaps a little haughty and stiff, though there was a touch of uncertainty about him too as he stood motionless at the back of the class.

Finally, Tolfdir must have noticed that none of his students was looking at him any more, and he trailed off with a dry little cough. “Oh. Oh, hello,” he said, catching sight of the newcomer. “You have come to join in our class, have you? You’re a bit late, I must say. We do value punctuality here…”

“Forgive me, Master Tolfdir,” the vampire said in a very quiet, shy baritone, bowing his head slightly, hair falling into his face. “Master Ervine was showing me around the college until only a few moments ago.”

“Ah, I see. Well, welcome, welcome. I can see I’ve lost the attention of my class, so why don’t we change things up with a demonstration? Who wants to put those wards into practice that we learned last week?”

The vampire caught Nora staring and offered her a polite incline of his head, so she smiled nervously back at him. Why was he here? Divines, he was handsome, but there was an eerie quality to the way he moved and watched everything. It made her think of a rare hawk that the Jarl of Whiterun had kept for hunting; a vicious bird with night-black plumage and golden eyes, and she shivered.

Tolfdir had called the class over to his new position, but even as they shuffled about, their attention was still mostly on the vampire. If even her humble human hearing was able to detect their hushed whispers of ‘vampire’ and ‘bloodsucker here at the college’ ‘what the fuck is going on?’ then she was more than certain he would have heard, but he gave no outward sign.

The vampire watched Tolfdir closely as the master conjured a lesser ward in his off-hand, and prepared a fireball in the other. “Who would like to show us that they’ve been practising then?” the wizard asked. His eyes fell on the vampire, and he said, “You, I don’t know your name. Do you know this spell?”

“Kjartan, Master Tolfdir,” he said. “And no, I don’t.”

“Ahh, that’s a shame. Never mind. What do you know?”

“I have been able to conjure candlelight, a spectral familiar, flames, frostbite and sparks, and perform some minor healing, though none of it particularly well.”

Tolfdir seemed satisfied enough with that. “Some of that we have covered already, but conjuration of familiars has not been one of them. Perhaps you would show us so I can get a better grasp of your abilities?”

“Now?”

“Of course!” the old wizard chuckled good-naturedly, the ward and fireball in his hands blinking out. “And then we can all teach you as a class how to conjure a simple ward like this one — refresh everyone’s memories.”

Kjartan — the name was Nordic, even if he didn’t look like the usual blond, broad, hearty folk of Skyrim — bowed his head and closed his strange, unsettling eyes. He swallowed visibly, and then brought both of his paper-white hands up to the centre of his chest and curled his fingers slightly. A point of searing, purple light winked into existence between his palms and the dull droning of the plain of Oblivion rippled out across the room.

Everyone’s skin prickled slightly at the use of magic, and Aravi’s Khajiit fur rose, but no one spoke. They all watched him concentrate on a fixed point in front of him, eyes now open and blazing gold, and a rotating sphere of shimmering purple light appeared above the flagstone floor, tall as a man, and at its heart, a ghostly wolf raised its muzzle and gave a silent howl.

Kjartan looked a little winded, but he finished the spell and the wolf came to stand next to him like a loyal hunting hound, gazing around at the class as if baffled by their presence. It blinked softly and wagged its tail once.

“Very tidy,” Tolfdir said. “No extra flapping and waving around to waste energy. Let’s see if we can teach you to ward as well as you conjure. Nora, perhaps you could show him the process?”

She jumped, startled to have been called upon. She wasn’t the best in the class by a long shot — that honour went to Falisa — but she’d got this one under her belt pretty quickly. Halfway through her explanation, his conjured wolf took itself back off to Oblivion, bored and unimpressed. It didn’t take long for Nora to explain, rather falteringly, that wards fell under the magic of the Restoration school, and that it was all about channelling energy and maintaining a constant and regular flow of magicka into the shield. It wasn’t a one-off spell, but was more like a leaky cup that needed constantly topping up in order to remain full.

“As it is with healing,” he murmured thoughtfully and she nodded.

Tolfdir encouraged her to show him how to cast one, and as she did, she felt the vampire’s piercing, yellow eyes on her, tracking every movement; studying her. It made her heartbeat tick faster, but she tried not to show it. He could probably hear it anyway, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to appear flustered by him.

With her own shield up and steady, he nodded determinedly and had a go.

His first attempt produced a tiny green spark that spat and sputtered in his hands before it vanished into nothing.

Someone behind Nora snickered in amusement and she took a step back from the vampire, half-expecting him to react with anger at having his slightly embarrassing failure so openly ridiculed, but to her surprise he also laughed. The rich sound just burst out of him in a genuine, bubbling rush and he rubbed his fingers together as if the spark had left them tingling. The sound of the vampire’s laughter briefly echoed around their small part of the cylindrical Hall; bright and happy but very obviously self-conscious.

“Careful,” Tolfdir admonished from nearby. “Concentrate. Focus all your will and magicka on the ward…”

Chastened, Kjartan nodded. He was not at all what she would have expected from a vampire; not that she had anything but superstition and stories upon which to base those expectations.

Astonished, and a little mesmerised by his graceful, scholar’s hands, Nora watched as he regained and refocused his concentration, picturing the ward in his mind more clearly before drawing the magicka into himself and projecting it into a shield. This time there was no pathetic spark but a thick, radiating wall of greenish-blue magicka between her and Kjartan, and Tolfdir let out a short cry of glee when he saw it and clapped his wizened hands.

“That’s the stuff!” he chortled merrily, practically capering about. “Look at that! Well done, Nora. Excellently conveyed, and well done to you, young man,” he added.

Someone at the back of the class —  Halvar, she thought, though she didn’t grace him with a look — snorted, “He’s a vampire; he probably knew it already and just wanted to get into Nora’s underwear…”

The shield never faltered, but Kjartan’s expression did. He shot Nora a wary, horrified look and then turned his eyes down, all the triumph of a successful first spell-casting evaporating. His shoulders sagged and he looked pleadingly at Tolfdir to continue the class. A moment later, the ward did flicker out as his reserves of magicka dwindled, and he lowered his hands meekly to his sides.

The oblivious old mage did actually seem to catch on to his discomfort, and said, “Right. Let us continue with the practical theme. J'saad, why don’t you come over here and cast a ward, and Satha, you cast a fireball at him once it’s up. Be careful not to singe his fur though — wait for the right timing! Everyone, watch closely.”

The Dunmer mage nodded and the small class separated to observe her and the Khajiit demonstrate. Everything went smoothly, and shortly after that, the rest of them divided into pairs and began to work in tandem, one shielding, the other casting at them. Nora found herself paired with an Argonian with whom she’d not spent much time in her short time at the College. Beside her though, Kjartan seemed suddenly and rather adorably awkward around his own partner.

While some of the other pairs triumphantly compared successes and chatted over the crackle of magicka while Tolfdir made his rounds, Kjartan refused to meet anyone’s eye and never spoke a word. His ward sputtered out more often than it formed, and Aravi frequently had to wait before casting at him. Nora wondered if Halvar would have waited to cast the fireball if he’d been the one paired with the vampire instead of the Khajiit.

When the lesson was over, and Tolfdir had encouraged them to keep practising with wards, everyone filed out of the Hall of Elements amid a storm of speculation. All they were talking about was the presence of a vampire in their midst, guesses and presumptions filling the air like summer flies in a stable yard. Straightening out her robes, Nora turned, on the point of speaking to Kjartan and introducing herself properly, only to find him striding out of the hall with his eyes downcast. He was quicker than his measured strides might suggest, so she scrambled to pack up her own messy satchel of books, parchments, bottles of ink and quills. By the time she’d grabbed everything though, he was gone.

“Dammit,” she hissed.

It wasn't until much later in the day that she found him again. Returning to the novices’ dormitory after spending the three hours in the Arcanaeum before supper, researching for her first essay of the term, she was stiff and tired as an old frost atronach, and twice as grumpy. The door to the Hall of Attainment clanged shut behind her, and as she strode over the flagstones into the circular tower, a ruckus reached her ears.

Inside their ground floor dormitory she saw Halvar, the solid-looking Nord with shaggy, dark blond hair whose room was beside hers, apparently arguing with Satha and Aravi. J’saad hovered nervously in the doorway to his room. Unlike bristling Aravi though, the male Khajiit looked ready to skitter at the first sign of being drawn into the disagreement. He jumped as Nora entered and his long, tapering ears flattened themselves back against his head.

Halvar, however, was bellowing and thoroughly red in the face. “I don’t care who he thralled to get in here, I’m not sleeping in here tonight with a fucking vampire across the hall!”

“Then sleep outside in the snow,” Nora snapped at him as she joined them and fixed them with a fierce stare. She could feel the flush in her cheeks and knew that her freckles would soon disappear behind the rising colour until her face matched her hair. “You really think someone could pull the wool over Mirabelle Fucking Ervine’s eyes? And Faralda too? You think the professors are like us and have only been here for two weeks?”

“Don’t tell me he’s already witched you,” he sneered. “Or perhaps you want to sleep with him as well?”

“What’s your obsession with who people sleep with, Halvar?” she retorted, green eyes blazing. “You’re the only one bringing that up again and again and again…”

The lingering colour in his cheeks darkened to an unhealthy puce and he sputtered wordlessly for a moment. Nora, using the opportunity to look around the hall, saw that the door to the previously unoccupied bedroom was shut. There was no way he wouldn’t have heard all of Halvar’s objections though. After all, it did not take a vampire’s supernatural hearing to catch every last syllable he’d been bellowing.

She took a deep breath and started to cross over to it, but Satha grabbed her wrist, the dark elf’s charcoal-grey fingers closing with a steel-strong grip. The sudden stop made Nora’s heavy book bag slide off her shoulder and hit the floor with a solid thunk.

“Wait,” the Dunmer hissed.

“What?”

“I’m not saying I agree with Halvar, but I think we should leave him be.”

“Why not?”

“Because… he’s a vampire, for one.”

Nora felt her face continuing to heat with frustration. The hours spent curled over an impenetrable textbook in the dim light of the library candles had done a number on her spine, and her temper was fraying. “If Ervine thought there was any danger, she wouldn’t have let him join. Let’s give him a chance, shall we?”

“He’s no ordinary vampire,” Halvar interjected dramatically, his faculties apparently recovered enough for speech once again. “He’s one of those fucking Volkihar ones, I’m sure of it.”

Nora cocked her head to one side, but it was Aravi who spoke up. “Volkihar?” the now softly-spoken Khajiit asked, her snow-leopard tail flickering back and forth behind her. “This one does not know what that means.”

Clearly pleased to be the centre of everyone’s attention again, Halvar began to pace about like a mummer at a festival day show, orating and gesturing. “They’re old ones, and they’re not like the normal bloodsuckers you find lurking in dark places. Oh no. These ones are purebloods. They’re the ones the Dawnguard is actively hunting. My brother’s in the Dawnguard, and he’s told me all about them. They’re even more powerful, and some say they live under the ice in the far north and can move around in full daylight like you and me.”

“So far none of that is actually… threatening,” Nora said flatly. “Aren’t mages just as dangerous? Can’t we ‘calm’ people with spells and bend them to our will? Can’t we turn someone inside out and trap their soul in another plain? We choose not to, Halvar, and I have to believe that Kjartan will be the same with whatever abilities he possesses.”

The Nord snorted and turned away to his open doorway. “I’m warding my room,” he announced. “So be warned.”

“This one thinks you will be safe in there,” Aravi purred dryly. “No one will be wanting to enter your nasty little den anyway.”

Nora, Satha, and Aravi all burst out laughing immediately and Halvar retreated, red faced and huffing like a winded horker. Everyone’s skin prickled a moment later as he flung up whatever wards he deemed necessary, and they all looked at each other.

Nora inhaled. “You want to see if he’s coming to supper?” she asked hesitantly.

Satha shrugged. “Your funeral. I’d rather not be the one to put my neck out, so to speak, but… you do have a point about mages and vampires and the like…”

With her mind made up, Nora slung her book-bag into her bedroom like it was a load from a siege weapon, and then crossed to his door. Standing there a moment she hesitated, then knocked softly.

“It’s open,” came Kjartan’s mild voice from the other side, so at odds with his supernatural nature.

She pushed it open and stepped across the threshold before halting again, eyes darting briefly around the chamber, as if she’d been half expecting to find flayed corpses strung up on the wall like trophies. In fact, his room was perfectly neat and almost completely soulless.

While the others had already erected coloured banners on the walls as reminders of their home holds, and had propped up keepsakes here and there, the surfaces of his two bedside chests of drawers and of the shelves in the corner were completely empty. There was a battered leather rucksack hanging jauntily off the top of one of the heavy chairs by his almost barren desk, and his college robes had been draped over the back of the other. His desk had only a stack of three books occupying one corner, and a tankard of water, seemingly untouched. He could have walked out at any moment, and there would have been almost no evidence of his brief occupancy.

Kjartan himself was sitting on his bed with his back against the wooden headboard, cushioned behind by his pillows. One knee was casually bent, and the other extended along the full length of the covers. His hair was still loose and he was still dressed in the supple black leggings and dark, hip-length tunic he’d been wearing in the classroom earlier, but his black boots and woollen socks were now off and he was barefoot. It made him look surprisingly soft.

Blinking slowly at her with his glowing, unsettling eyes, he stared at her, waiting for her to speak, with the book in his pale fingers resting limply across his lap. To her surprise, she saw that it was a battered copy of ‘Of Fjori and Holgeir’, and she found herself staring at the cover.

Following her gaze, he held it up. “You’ve read it?” he asked conversationally.

“Yeah,” she croaked. “It… I… I thought…”

A tiny smile creased the corners of his strange eyes. “What, you thought I’d have my nose buried in ‘Immortal Blood’?”

She blushed a bit, but grinned and shrugged, leaning her weight against the stone door frame. “I wouldn’t have thought that sad literature about star-crossed lovers would have been your first choice, true, but now I think it rather suits you. I’m sorry I interrupted you.”

She didn’t move away however and he smiled back, revealing larger canines than any human would have sported. Her confidence flickered a little, but she refused to let it show. She had to believe that Master Ervine had known what she was doing when she let him in here. “Listen, I know you heard all that bullshit just now, and I’m not going to apologise for him. Halvar’s pretty troll-headed, but I think the rest of us are ok with you being here. You want to join us for supper?”

“I don’t eat,” he said frankly, “But so long as you don’t mind my not participating, I’d be happy to join you.”

“Joining is participating,” she said, turning away. “And I’m sure there’s wine. You drink, right?”

He smiled.

“Good. We usually head upstairs to eat at about seven o’clock.”

He nodded. When he next spoke, his deep, quiet voice cracked a little. “Thank you.”

What she wanted to do was linger and ask him nine kinds of questions about who he was and where he came from, and how he’d become a vampire, and if he really was as dangerous as Halvar believed, and why he was here at the college in the first place, and who the fuck he planned on drinking from while he was here… but instead she tossed him a final grin and went to her own room to unpack her bag before supper.

As the distant college bell chimed seven some time later, Satha appeared in her open doorway. “You coming?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Nora replied, setting down her quill and closing her journal. She stood and cracked the tension out of her spine, gaze falling unbidden on the sword she’d put up on the wall. It had been her mother’s, forged for her by her best friend when they were about Nora’s age now, and it was almost all she had of her. As she passed it, mounted reverently on a plaque, she ran her fingertips over the grip and sighed.

Kjartan’s door was still closed as she made her way around the central font of the Hall of Attainment, and the thought briefly crossed her mind that perhaps he’d rather be left alone. Well, he could tell her that himself if that was the case, she growled to herself. Knocking on his door again, a few flakes of old paint fluttered off beneath her knuckles, and she waited.

When it opened, Kjartan was standing there in his black, belted tunic and soft black boots, face passive and perhaps a little shy.

“Ready?” she asked.

Silently, he nodded and smiled.

With a tiny ‘lead the way’ gesture of his ice-pale hand, he invited her to go first, and then pulled his door shut behind him while Nora joined Satha at the foot of the stairs to the little common room.

College servants had brought a selection of cooked and cold foods to the room while the students were out attending classes, and the students helped themselves from bowls and cauldrons kept hot with gentle enchantments. The masters apparently ate in a dining room in their own tower, but the college was not so populated with students these days that it warranted having an entire dining hall for them all.

“Have you been given any assignments yet?” Nora asked him as he followed behind her like a silent spectre.

“Not yet,” he said. “I have to collect my timetable from Faralda tomorrow morning after breakfast. What time do classes start?”

“Nine,” she grinned as they reached the top of the spiral stone staircase. “Thank the Divines. If it was any earlier, I’d have turned around and gone back to Whiterun.”

He seemed confused by her relief and she laughed, noticing the way his eyes studied her. It was as if he’d never seen a human woman in his life, but there was nothing predatory about his gaze, which surprised her, all things about him considered. Nora nearly snorted when she realised that she felt more comfortable already with this strange vampire than she did around Halvar any day. Kjartan was like some creature that had been caged all its life, and was just now experiencing the world for the first time; snow on the ground, clouds in the sky, people…

“I’m not a morning person,” she explained as she and Satha headed over to the small common room with a trestle table groaning with food. “I had visions of this place being like some kind of monastery, with five o’clock starts and endless meditating and practice…”

“There are some monasteries like that,” he said, hanging back in the doorway while the two gathered plates from a pile at the end and began to pick up various rolls and cold meats. He leaned his weight against the stone arch and crossed his arms over his slim chest. “The monastery at High Hrothgar for one.”

“You’ve been?” she asked, turning abruptly to look at him with her half-full plate in one hand and a light of curiosity blazing in her greenish eyes. A few strands of her red hair escaped her short plait and the stubborn wisps at the front dangled into her eyes.

Kjartan shook his head and something complicated flitted across his expression. “No, but I’ve studied a lot of history; read a lot of journals and first-hand accounts.”

From behind him, heavy footsteps stumped up the stone staircase and Halvar sneered, “Lived through it all, more like. How old are you anyway, vampire? Come here to play student for a while, have you? Super creepy if you ask me.”

“Halvar, don’t be an arse,” Nora growled.

Kjartan sighed and spoke carefully. “I’m actually not that old, especially for a pureblood.”

“Ah-ha!” Halvar exclaimed as he joined the others by the food and rather artlessly put himself between Nora and the vampire. “I told you he was one of the freaky ones.”

“You say that as if I’m trying to hide it,” Kjartan retorted, and he levelled the Nord with his unwavering, patient, hawk-like, golden stare. “If you want to ask me something, ask it.”

“Alright,” Halvar said, turning to face him. “What are you gonna eat while you’re here, huh?”

“I don’t eat,” the vampire replied evenly.

“Fine. I should have said ‘who are you gonna drink from’ then? ’Cause it sure as fuck won’t be me!”

With a tiny quirk of one corner of his lips, Kjartan said, “I’ll hunt outside the town, don’t worry. Your virginity will remain in tact, Halvar.”

Nora, who had been taking a sip of the weak wine that was left in a barrel at the far end of the table, sent a small spray of it across the back of Halvar’s neck as she burst out laughing, immediately clapping her hand to her mouth while the giggles continued. Halvar, unsurprisingly, slammed his plate down on the floor and left the room.

“Animal blood,” Kjartan supplied quickly to the remaining students. “I’ll be feeding on animals while I’m here.”

“But you normally feed on people?” Satha asked hesitantly.

Drawing a deep breath, he nodded slowly. With obvious reticence, he said, “Yes. Until now, my options have been rather… restricted.”

“Why’s that?” Nora blurted the question before she’d thought about it.

From his position by the doorway, Kjartan uncrossed his arms and let them hang despondently by his sides. “That’s one question I’d prefer not to answer, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Sure,” she chirped. “Sorry. You staying?”

He looked torn, but as he met her gaze once more, she thought she saw something slot into place in his mind.

“Alright,” he said, and he crossed to take a seat beside her, pouring himself a glass of wine and topping hers up, adding, “Not going to spit this at me like a chaurus, are you?”

She snorted inelegantly and shook her head. “No, I’ll save that for Old Falmer-Brain downstairs…”

“He’s not so bad,” Kjartan mumbled into his wine. “I don’t blame him.”

“I do!” she said vehemently. “It’s not like it’s easy to get into this place. If Ervine didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t have got past Faralda at the gatehouse.”

Taking a sip of the thin wine, Kjartan bowed his head again, dark hair sliding forwards over his shoulders. “That, I can believe. Mirabelle Ervine is a formidable figure.” He looked up over the rim of the wineglass at her as he sipped and then raised it to her in a gracious toast. “Still, thank you.”

___

Chapter 3 -> 

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