Book 5 - Chapter 44 - The Bliss of Reuniting (Patreon)

The elf clinging to Ranthia’s back inhaled deeply, her nose pressed against the scales of Ranthia’s armor, before she finally concluded her drawn out greeting: “…my pretty.”

“Mm, given that you aren’t trying to find any gaps in my armor and your general lack of malice, may I assume that you aren’t out to kill me?” There were probably better things to say, but Ranthia’s heart yearned for a quip.

“Oh, if I wanted you dead, dearest, I’d just invite you to the Bean and slip poison into your drink. The rich bitterness would mask most poisons, especially with your habit of taking large gulps. Of course, I’d start with a small dose to make sure the poison works on you—something mild enough that it offers little more than an upset stomach—then a few months or years later, strike with the true dose. But that would be such a waste of your pretty flesh!” She replied, her hands wandering slightly along Ranthia’s armored stomach.

“Same old Sunny.” Ranthia sighed… Honestly, the black-clad woman could have at least pretended to need to think about how she’d murder someone!

“You know you missed me. I’d apologize for taking longer at the Academy than I claimed in my letter, but in truth, it’s your own fault for having expectations.” Sunny still showed no signs of releasing her.

“…What letter? No one had any idea where you went!” Ranthia tried to turn to face the elf, but Sunny tightened her embrace to prevent it.

“No! Don’t tell me that someone stole my final gift to you before you found it, my pretty?!” Sunny tried to growl menacingly. The result was definitely cuter than she was aiming for.

“You mean…” Ranthia pushed her door open and pointed at the absurdity sitting just within view, atop a high shelf, “…that—my ‘severed head’?”

“You never opened it.” It wasn’t a question. Sunny just sighed a long-suffering sigh as she finally released Ranthia, then walked herself right into Ranthia’s home—seizing a chair along the way that she noisily dragged toward the shelf.

“Opened it? I’d never risk breaking one of your pieces and you have an entire rant about how art doesn’t need to be practical or useful.” Ranthia countered. Honestly, she didn’t mind Sunny’s intrusion—her friends knew that they were welcome in her home any time she wasn’t mired in misery—but she was still cringing a little at the brazen mistreatment of her chair and floor.

Not that either seemed to accrue damage from the abuse.

“You know, this might still be my greatest masterpiece. I really did outdo myself, didn’t I?” Sunny’s smile matched her name as she stood atop the chair and ran her fingers through the head’s hair. “After you left that day, I started working on it immediately. I had no idea what I was going to do, so I just started carving and working. ‘Turn your misery into inspiration,’ like the bullshit says. I poured my heart and soul into this. And you, my pretty, you dared to treat it as if it were a mere ornament, like one of my lesser pieces!

“Sure, sure, art doesn’t have to have a tangible use, but it’s just as fun to give a piece an improbable bit of utility. And even if you explain your reasoning to me, I shall never understand how you spent decades looking at this sexy pink tongue and never gave in to the urge to tug on it. I would have given in within hours myself. Less, if no one was watching.”

And with that, Sunny seized the tongue—the listless one hanging out of an artistic replica of Ranthia’s severed head—and gave it a sharp tug, causing the top of the head to pop open.

“This isn’t just a beautiful bit of brutality, my pretty. It’s a jar for snacks, with a perfectly food-safe interior!” Sunny announced. Before she snatched the folded sheet of paper within and stuffed it into the innermost layers of her outfit.

“…Never in a thousand years would I have thought to try that. But wasn’t that letter supposed to be for me?” Ranthia deadpanned. Okay, yes, it was clever, but it wasn’t exactly intuitive to anyone that lacked Sunny’s (hopefully unique) worldview!

“Oh, my pretty, you had your chance. For well over seventy years, you had your chance—tempting tongue just waiting for your curious touch. But now, it is too late! I have returned and I am no longer the same woman that wrote these grotesquely emotional words. Ugh, seriously, I thought I’d outgrown my moody poetry age a couple of centuries ago. Nope, this is getting burned.” Sunny shuddered as she hopped down from the chair. Though her smile soon returned as she playfully stuck her tongue out at Ranthia.

Admittedly, Ranthia would have never even considered tugging on a piece of art’s tongue, but… well, coming from Sunny, she knew an invitation when she saw one.

But why bother using her fingers when it was so much more fun to close her lips over that inviting little tongue?

Having Sunny back in her life was a relief, after so many decades. Some of her worries were well-founded—apparently, Sunny really was stupid enough to venture out of the city by herself, resulting in her running for her life from a predator she refused to describe—but she was alive and intact. Long before they met, Sunny had been kicked out of the elves’ Academy due to a “trivial little misunderstanding that isn’t worth revisiting,” though apparently, she had only been banned for a century.

It turned out to be wondrous timing though, given that one of the few [Artisans] that Sunny truly looked up to just happened to be taking a ‘sabbatical’ to teach at the Academy. Because apparently some people somehow think that teaching is relaxing?! And even though his artistic focus was design flourishes carved upon or integrated into buildings and structures like bridges, Sunny still took every single course he offered for the duration of his tenure.

“He’s just one of the few people that truly gets that the celebration of life is inherently banal. You can’t celebrate life and preclude death. We might be immortal, but death is all around us and most of us will inevitably succumb to it in some form or another. Not everyone is destined for ascension, you know. I mean, you might—assuming you don’t die horrifically, leaving an unrecognizable corpse that’s soon eaten—but for people like me? It’s just a question of when, not if.” Sunny explained, completely unbothered by her own morbidity.

The preceding several days had been busy. Sunny had initially been exceedingly disappointed in Ranthia’s dramatically increased resilience, but even her proclivities were no match for Ranthia’s [Rhythmic Passions]. After they indulged until Sunny was satiated—a state that could last weeks, if not months—there was a lot to do. Sunny’s leases on her old (disused) home and workshop had lapsed in her absence, her family needed to be informed of her return and former whereabouts, and, of course, Ranthia had to drag her to meet the man in charge of the city’s volunteer guards before someone remembered that she was technically still a wanted criminal.

Somehow, that resulted in Sunny and Advestis becoming fast friends, and Ranthia got to spend a morning listening to the duo bond over their shared fascination with gruesome mystery novels. As the only one in the room that had experience with being covered in blood, entrails, and brains, Ranthia just couldn’t join in on their enthusiasm. She’d even been forced to set aside novels she’d otherwise enjoyed just because of the authors’ penchant for graphically described violence more than once.

No matter how much time passed, it sometimes took precious little to thrust her mind back into the midst of any number of battlefields. The shimagu were gone, but their language and their violence would stay with her forever.

“Well, hopefully not for a very long time. I lost you once already.” Ranthia finally replied, shaking herself out of her own thoughts.

“Mmm, but it would have been funny to vanish forever there. Especially if you continued to ignore that inviting tongue until long after the letter turned to dust.” Sunny purred. “But you should drink before your hot ‘bean’ juice gets cold.”

Sunny’s smile turned playful and her multicolored eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief as she waited, watching Ranthia intently. She had mimed sprinkling something into Ranthia’s drink when they were served, not that Ranthia needed [Divine Eyes in the Void] to know that her attractive friend was just messing with her.

Ranthia still stole Sunny’s mug and took a sip from it, pushing her own toward the woman at the same time.

Her friend, of course, cackled.

“My life truly hasn’t been the same without you, my pretty. I’ll drink my final cup in honor of the day you got lost. We might not have met otherwise.” Sunny solemnly lifted the mug and took a deep sip of it, before acting out her own very dramatic death scene.

To the annoyance of every other diner in the café.

“So… why don’t I tell you about what you’ve missed here.” Ranthia offered, hoping—quite in vain—to cut the impromptu gagging and flailing short.

“I suppose, not that much happens here. Advy would have mentioned it if there’d been a serial killer or anything else truly exciting.” Sunny offered a breezy response after she finally sat up from her final lifelessly prone position, completely unfazed by the glares being sent her way.

“Well, there was a wyvern.” Ranthia led with the best she had.

“Unless someone got ripped apart by it, booring.” Sunny waved a dismissive hand and took another long sip from the ‘poisoned’ mug.

“One of the toughest fights of my life, and I probably only won because Clover intervened. With a fang-filled mouth where her tummy should have been.” Ranthia tried to keep her voice as dry as she could.

“Sounds practical. Good for her. And given that you didn’t go through any emotional turmoil while saying that, can I assume that she’s still alive? I wasn’t going to ask.” Instead of taking the bait, as Ranthia expected, Sunny made an even better point.

“Oh, yeah, she is! She’s actually at the Academy.” Ranthia answered after a wince.

“In one of the boring parts of the campus, no doubt. I think I would have noticed a large bunny amongst the students, tummy-mouthed or otherwise.” Sunny replied.

“Oh, she isn’t a student, she’s there as one of the Biomancy researchers. …And she was a human last time I saw her.” Ranthia allowed an impish smile to touch her face as she took a sip of her stolen beverage to mask just how intensely she was watching for Sunny’s reaction…

“Yeah, that happens with Bonds sometimes. How long did it take you two to fuck?” Sunny oh-so-innocently asked.

Which let her giggle at Ranthia’s own reaction.

“We didn’t!” Ranthia protested, after she finished coughing her airway clear—not that it helped her burning sinuses. “Gods and goddesses, she’s still my little bunny, no matter what!”

“You know, for being the horniest woman I know, my pretty, you still have an awful lot of hangups and limitations.” For reasons knowable only to Sunny, that came out as a complaint.

“…Moving on. Anthelleon, I’m sure you remember her, had a kid with Neyvern—not sure if you knew him.” Ranthia tried to regain control over the conversation.

“Ooh, elf milk! I don’t suppose you have any left? It’s been a very long time since I had some, and while I prefer it straight from the source, I’ll still let you feed me with one of those hand-held surrogates, my pretty.” Sunny dipped her voice into her most sultry and breathy tonal range.

“No, I do not. Even if I’d taken any for some strange reason, I don’t have any stasis enchantments good enough to keep something that spoil-prone for that long. Mahvel’s already an adult and still at the Academy, or at least he was the last time he bothered to send a letter to his parents. I should probably have Clover check in on him.” Somehow, the idea had never even occurred to her until that very moment, even knowing that An was stressed about the four years of silence.

“You continue to disappoint me, my pretty.” Sunny feigned a yawn. “But I am feeling the urge to create, so for now, I shall deprive you of my company. You know where my new workshop is if something sufficiently gruesome happens.”

Sunny definitely hadn’t changed a bit.

“The sighting might be unreliable, but I would rather go after the tyrannosaurus—it would be a far more impressive hunt.” Anthelleon drew her proverbial line in the sand. They both knew her well enough to know that her mind was made up.

“Yeah, but Ranthia’s Skill gives us a big edge for going after that Mirage-using monkey! And just think of the pile of gems it’ll fetch us!” Neyvern could be just as stubborn, of course.

They might have ended their romantic entanglement the day their son left the stone tower, but the two usually got along well enough to keep their hunting team together. But every now and then, they just adamantly refused to follow along with the other’s wishes, leaving Ranthia caught in the middle of a spat. Not that she was paying them much heed—she was too busy using Solareon as an oversized surrogate for her long-lost bunny cuddles.

Profit versus the amorphous ideals that defined the Hunters’ sense of glory was an argument as old as time, and frankly, Ranthia had no real preference. She was just ready to get away from the City of Arts for a while. The urge to travel had been growing stronger in her heart, yet the spring of 4983 was nearly done.

…And come autumn, Avyna was due to arrive. Ranthia wanted to believe that the woman she had loved would honor her word, but she was also scared to find out. She had already begun to do some research—just in case—but it wasn’t easy. Due to the strained relation between the two powerful nations of immortals, information on the nation of devils was extremely hard to come by in the Tympestshard Council. She couldn’t even find the nation’s name in the rare books that described it in anything more than the words of blatant elven propaganda.

Relatedly, Ranthia’s 196th birthday was imminent, yet uninteresting. She hadn’t mentioned it and she had no plans for it, though she wouldn’t mind if their hunt ran long and kept them outside of the city for a few days. It would at least scratch at the deep-seated itch that she was developing.

“Why not both? We can snare the monkey—it’s not far from the city—then while Neyvern flies it back, An and I can press on to see if we can find any signs of the tyrannosaurus. So long as we stick to a specific direction, it shouldn’t be hard for Neyvern to find us again.” Ranthia chimed in.

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t ignoring the former couple’s argument quite as much as she feigned.

And, even better, she soon had the agreement of all of her party members—Solareon included!

The rumors of a tyrannosaurus being sighted were obviously nothing more than unreliable gossip, but Ranthia was still having fun camping with her sister and friend. Anthelleon was being stubborn about accepting that her grand hunt wasn’t going anywhere, but that was fine. Sleeping under the stars, ‘serenaded’ by some of Neyvern’s… well, less obnoxiously loud songs was pretty great.

Even better, they’d seized the monkey with ease—Neyvern was right about [Divine Eyes in the Void] trivializing the challenge, not that the monkey’s illusions were terribly convincing in the first place. And the creature was young enough that it was worth a considerable bonus; there was still a chance that some lucky elf might be able to form a Bond with the screaming little feces-thrower.

Admittedly, Ranthia had no reason to be worried about money, but it was always nice to pad herself against future problems.

Over breakfast—leftover stew left to simmer overnight over the weak fire—Anthelleon and Neyvern verbally acknowledged Ranthia’s birthday. It wasn’t much, just a “happy birthday, my sister” and “happy annual achievement, Ranners.” Enough to make it clear that they both remembered without belaboring the nonevent. Which was all it needed to be.

“Thanks, you two—augh, three, yes! Thank you too, Solareon. So, what’s the plan for today, An?” Ranthia shoved the greedy griffon’s beak out of her face, said what she needed to, then busied herself with shamelessly slurping the dregs from her bowl before Solareon succeeded in stealing it.

“Oh, I have a new plan for how to draw the loathsome creature out of hiding. Instead of trying to find where it hides, I shall draw it directly to us!” Anthelleon promised, full of vigor and confidence.

Anthelleon’s new plan was, apparently, to walk aimlessly through the untamed jungle while she bellowed sounds that were—purportedly—identical to a territorial tyrannosaurus making a challenge. Having fought tyrannosaurus rexes before, Ranthia was somewhat less than convinced by her impression, but she admittedly never heard that specific category of sound out of the shimagu’s half-tamed war beasts. Maybe the dinosaurs got considerably shriller over their territorial disputes?

Or maybe Anthelleon’s impressions were just terrible. Neyvern’s brazen smirk certainly suggested as much.

The previous days had been wonderfully warm, but nature seemed to be celebrating Ranthia’s birthday with as much heat and humidity as Pallos could provide them. Generally, she tended to be pretty comfortable, no matter the weather. In the rain, her armor kept her dry and, in the heat, it was wonderfully breathable. But in the face of such oppressive humidity, sweat and suffering were an inevitability.

It was miserable enough that Solareon was refusing to fly. Instead, she plodded along behind them, vociferously voicing her complaints about everything. Just in case they were unaware that the day was insufferable. Sure, Ranthia would have assumed that flying would have been far more pleasant than plodding along on the ground, but she knew better than to try to use rationality against a moody Bond.

Unfortunately, no matter how stubborn Solareon could be, Anthelleon easily outclassed her. There was no way that they were going to be allowed to give up until An found something she could fight. And unlike Neyvern, Ranthia had enough sense to not volunteer to receive her misplaced aggression and frustration.

Not again. Never again.

Though it was legitimately hilarious to watch Anthelleon climb atop a pile of rocks—too regularly-shaped and deliberately stacked to be natural, yet thoroughly consumed by the forest—and stomp about as loudly as she could while screeching sounds that were definitely just like those territorial tyrannosauruses made. Still, Ranthia had better control over her facial expressions than that. No matter how absurd the spectacle was.

Until, seemingly out of nowhere, Solareon suddenly let out one of her low chirps—a menacing warning.

Ranthia dropped into a ready stance, even though she couldn’t hear anything other than the ordinary sounds of the jungle, aside from Anthelleon’s theatrics. There was a shadow cat somewhere in the distance, but it wasn’t close enough to bother Solareon—not that she’d warn off a meal-sized predator in the first place. And Neyvern clearly wasn’t having any more luck than she was finding the problem.

Anthelleon, on the other hand, seemed to have missed the problem entirely. She continued to devote herself to stomping and screeching up until the very moment that the problem presented itself—in the form of a massive, furry thing that tore noiselessly through nearby brambles and slammed into her.

Neither the aggressor nor the elf seemed to expect the collision. They went down together, a tangle of paws and askew limbs as they struggled.

Ranthia started to move just after the unexpected appearance, but the ever-vigilant Solareon surged past her. A high-velocity griffon slammed into the creature, knocking it off of Anthellon a mere moment before her punch could connect with the thing, hissing her challenge as she flared her wings.

Her opponent got to its feet quickly, snarling in response. It was a wolf, one large enough that it plainly outweighed and outsized the immortal griffon.

A very familiar wolf.

Generally, throwing herself between two predators poised to tear each other apart was a terrible idea, but fortunately for Ranthia, she had a smarter way to do it. [Shatter the Mirror] delivered an image between them and [Latent Reality] gave it as much resilience as she could manage.

“Kiyaya, friend! Solareon, hold!” Ranthia’s image pleaded, holding her hands outward to try to ward off both animals.

“Awarthril!” Ranthia’s true body shouted at the same time.

Kiyaya continued to growl, muscles tensed and ready, but—thank Xaoc—she held position. Solareon similarly continued to flare and flex her wings as she clawed at the ground and generally did her best to be very intimidating, but she too stayed put.

“Eughaglebleghle!” The ‘word’ preceded the arrival of a copper-haired elf as she crashed through the brambles, far more noisily than her Bond had. Broken bits of plant life clung to her hair and crystalline armor, but she was unscathed.

“You know them?” Anthelleon’s tone was frosty as she picked herself up out of the leaves and rot.

“Awarthril, it’s good to see you again.” For the moment, Ranthia ignored her sister, as she approached the new arrival.

Unfortunately, ‘good’ was something of an overstatement. Of all the elves on Pallos, she just had to reunite with one of the few that might actually have both motive and opportunity to tell the Sentinels that Ranthia wasn’t actually dead. Awarthril, Aegion, and the deceased Serondes had enjoyed a close relationship with Remus throughout its war with the shimagu—and they were (presumably) the first elves to actually visit Ranthia’s former nation. If she was still in contact with Ocean or anyone else…

“Wait… Grace?! I thought you were dead! And what is even going on here? We heard a tyrannosaurus rex bellowing challenges near the road and came to drive it away. It should have been somewhere near this spot.” Awarthril surveyed the area, as if she was seriously expecting to notice a large dinosaur that they had all somehow overlooked.

One of Ranthia’s [Divine Eyes] witnessed Anthelleon’s scowl turning into a smug and triumphant expression. …Yeah, she deserved that. Ranthia was reasonable enough to admit when she was wrong.

The fact that they’d wandered so close to the road was unexpected news though—they really were getting far too reliant on Neyvern and Solareon’s birds-eye view to help them maintain their direction.

“We were investigating rumors that one had been seen in the area and were trying to bait it out, you see.” Neyvern offered an explanation as he tried to pull his irate Bond away from the unhappy wolf.

“And… long story here. Don’t suppose you’d be willing to keep my survival to yourself?” Ranthia asked hopefully. Not that the elf owed her any favors—she hadn’t even been able to absorb her name without [Immortal Armaments].

“Sure, why not?” Definite questioning lilt there. “Kiyaya, it’s alright; come here.”

“Caravan guard, I assume? And why did you call Ranners ‘Grace’?” Anthelleon finally approached, apparently convinced that she’d dusted herself off adequately.

“It’s a name I was given, back in my homeland. For the war. It doesn’t belong to me though, not anymore.” Ranthia explained as she subtly plucked a bit of moss out of her chosen sister’s hair.

“Ah, my apologies. I know that you prefer not to speak of those days.” Anthelleon nodded.

Ranthia flashed her a grateful smile, before she turned back to Awarthril.

“Oh, right, I should introduce you all. This is Awarthril and her dire wolf, Kiyaya—I met them during the war with the shimagu. And these are Anthelleon, Neyvern, and the grump back there is Solareon—my fellow Hunters.” Ranthia gestured to each elf and animal as she named them. “Are Aegion and Cordamo with you?”

“Hello. And no, last I heard Aegion got angry over some perceived slight and announced that he was going to live deep in the woods where no one would bother him ever again. But I really can’t linger, the caravan is still underway. Would you like to join us?” Awarthril was definitely smirking at Aegion’s expense.

“We’re fine, thank you.” Anthelleon answered for them.

“Very well then. It was good to see you again, ‘Ranners’. My apologies for the misunderstanding. Oh, but be sure that you all hydrate often in this heat! Humidity is no substitute for the water you lose to sweat.” The copper-haired elf was clearly still something of a busybody, but it was good advice.

Ranthia just hoped that it wasn’t a mistake to trust her—not that she had much choice in the matter. What else could she even do? She wasn’t the kind of woman that would murder someone in cold blood for the mere ‘crime’ of knowing who she was. Besides, she owed Awarthril already for the save back when she first gained [Divine Eyes in the Void].

Also, she had better things to focus on.

“An? Between the weather and all of that, I think it’s time we give up and head home.” She had a stubborn sister to convince.

Gods and goddesses, it was good to be back in the City of Arts. The heatwave was oppressive, but the city’s protective barrier kept the temperature pleasant and the humidity out. Even Anthelleon seemed to perk up a bit when they arrived, and Solareon practically dragged Neyvern back to the care center that boarded her while her Bond was busy.

Even better, they arrived just in time to catch the tail end of the dinner service. She was ravenous after their hike through the too-thick summer air.

The heatwave lingered for almost a full month before thunderstorms chased it away and left things cooler. Once the outside world became bearable, Ranthia let Anthelleon and Neyvern drag her out on hunts, but her heart really wasn’t in them.

They were still in the midst of summer, but with every day autumn drew nearer. And while Ranthia wanted to be optimistic, she still struggled to ignore her lingering doubts. Worse, she didn’t even have anyone that she could confide in. The last time Ranger showed up, they talked for a little over an hour before the man abruptly decided “Nope, not feeling as social as I thought I was,” and vanished. Anthelleon’s rigid adherence to the rules had somehow emerged unscathed after her ordeal with her family. Neyvern struggled to keep his mouth shut about anything—fundamentally he just didn’t understand the concept of secrets, he’d prefer it if everyone shared their thoughts and feelings freely. And it just felt cruel to burden Sunny with the truth after everything.

Myntheria should have been the obvious choice, except Ranthia was still convinced that the woman was keeping things from her. And neither the barkeep nor Elsynthene were viable options, no matter how much Ranthia wished that she’d managed to form a closer relationship with the former.

“Got them reshelved. Thanks, Saranda.” Ranthia called up to the book-obsessed woman, getting a distracted wave in return before she made her way back out of the private library.

The day was bright and the City of Arts was active. An atypically large caravan of [Merchants] had arrived overnight, and a huge variety of wares were on display, drawing crowds. It happened every now and then and it was usually fun to shop for bargains or unusual goods, but Ranthia wasn’t really in the mood.

Still, there was a chance that the caravan might have a letter from Clover, which meant she needed to dredge up enough social energy to talk to strangers. Anything to spare her from having to retrieve her mail from the Pink Pavillion again. Besides, there was a chance that they might have something useful for a journey to the nation of devils.

Ranthia made her way across the city, greeting friends and acquaintances along the way. Arq had taken to demanding hugs, ever since she discovered that Ranthia could just shift into a dry image afterward—not that most elves minded being soaked during the summer—which cost her a bit of time when she tried to pass by one of the city’s fountains.

Which was fine! Scaldos was quite fond of Arq, and Ranthia was happy to pay her mentor’s affections forward in his place. Unfortunately, the water elemental was still terrified of the more powerful fire elemental. He believed that she was far older than he was, but her childish nature made it difficult for her to overcome her instincts.

“Hello there! I have the finest shimmersilk pants you’ve ever seen, miss. Your ass will never look better than it would in these!” The first [Merchant] that Ranthia approached greeted her with a smile and a bit of boastful salesmanship.

“I’ve no doubt.” Ranthia offered a wry reply. The polite thing to do would’ve been to spend some time perusing his wares, but she still chose to press forward with her own business. “Any idea who in your caravan might have letters for us?”

As lively as it was, the City of Arts was small by the standards of most elven cities. There just wasn’t enough demand to keep a full-time [Courier] office open, which meant that most letters going into and out of the city were picked up by caravans that were making the journey anyway.

“Hmm… You might try Brastille. You see that crimson canopy over there? He’s set up under it. But hey, I’ll be here if you change your mind about the pants!” To his credit, the young [Merchant] managed to remain unfazed by her rudeness.

“I shall. And thank you.” Ranthia offered him a quick bow.

Cutting across one of the city’s parks saved her from having to circumnavigate the streets and soon enough, Ranthia reached the [Merchant] in question. Beneath his canopy, eight tables were set up, displaying a dazzling array of goods, ranging from high-quality jewelry to crystalline weapons of all shapes and sizes. Most of the items on display were enchanted, though none of them looked very impressive to Ranthia’s eye. At least his prices were reasonable.

“Bwahaha! This must be the human I heard so much about! Welcome, welcome to Brastille’s Bounty!” A loud elf promptly greeted her from beneath his layers of fine fabric and gaudy jewelry. Gods, even his horns had gilding.

“I wasn’t aware that I was well-known.” Ranthia offered a strained smile in response.

“Only with the young, it seems. Speaking of which—Sylphene, get over here! Where is that foolish girl?! Typical youth; underfoot when I have no need for her and absent whenever I need her. Ah, but you aren’t here for the woes of an old-timer. What may I help you with, my good woman? Perhaps a spear? I have the finest crystal or, for you traditionalists, this beauty is made from solid summer steel. Did you mistake it for a stave? No, behold—a dreamsteel tip! They’ll never even see their end coming, bwahahaha!” The man flicked the utterly invisible metal at the end of the spear, making the entire thing vibrate.

Which was actually a very clever use of the elusive magic metal, not that she had any interest in a spear.

“A fine weapon, but not one suited to my hands. But actually, I was wondering if your caravan had any letters for me? Ranthia’s the name.” She offered the man a slightly more genuine smile.

“It is you! Good to see you again, Ranners.” Awarthril ducked under the canopy as she entered, followed by another elf.

Ranthia meant to greet Awarthril, she truly did. But her eyes slid right past the woman and landed on the other pretty elf.

“There really is a human here!” Her mannerisms were completely unfamiliar. The hair was short and reminiscent of an opal—a shimmering platinum hue that bordered on light blue, fading into a pastel purple at its tips. Even the eyes were wrong; purple instead of the green Ranthia had once known or the blue that truly lurked beneath the Skill.

Cosmetics obscured them, but Ranthia knew the curves of her angular face. And her fingers had traced their way across those familiar horns more than a thousand and twenty-four times.

“Sylphene, don’t bother the customer! Make yourself useful and bring me the box of letters!” Brastille demanded.

A fake name, heavy cosmetics, and a new look did nothing to hide her identity. Not from Ranthia. She knew Avyna far too well for any of that to ever fool her.

She kept her word!