Book 5 - Chapter 46 - Tenuous Peace (Patreon)

AN: Again, really sorry about the delay. You'd think I'd be used to ending a book and wouldn't panic so much after all this time, wouldn't you?

And yes, I did take my actual birthday off entirely to do some gaming--I never seem to find much time for that these days.

Over the years, Ranthia had gotten accustomed to never being caught off-guard. Sure, unexpected things happened, but aside from conversational twists, she generally enjoyed being able to get at least some warning about what was coming. Thanks to [Divine Eyes in the Void] she had something even better than eyes in the back of her head—she had two additional sources of vision that she could freely position, angling them however she wished.

Of course, that was somewhat less useful when she’d had all four of her eyes fixated on her long-absent lover.

Up until that moment, she had a reasonable expected privacy within her own home, yet they seemed to have acquired an audience at some point. Seated in Ranthia’s favorite reading chair—which was usually located in an adjacent room—was Sunny. And it was hard for Ranthia to move past the deep, unhappy frown on her friend’s face. In one hand, she held a crystalline mug of dark amber liquor, while the other cupped a bowl that was emitting a pungent aroma that managed to crowd out even the potent alcohol. An intensely fishy stench that was entwined with absurd volumes of butter and salt.

Seriously, how in Xaoc’s unending glory had she missed the stench until Sunny drew her out of her Avyna-centric haze of need?!

“<Sylphene, meet my good friend, The light of the noonday sun as it is felt upon the skin of those who need the nourishment of its lifegiving warmth.>” Ranthia chose to attempt sass, despite her uncertainty about Sunny’s mood.

She hadn’t seen that sort of scowl on Sunny’s face since…

“Sunny. <Just call me Sunny.>” The elf clad in thirty-two different shades of black ground the words out between gritted teeth. “I’m not wrong, am I?”

Avyna was gazing questioningly into Ranthia’s true eyes, otherwise unmoving. Not that Ranthia hadn’t frozen up just as hard when Sunny spoke—even knowing it was Sunny’s voice and confirming with [Divine Eyes in the Void], she was still forced to fight against her immediate urge to throw something inadvisable. Still, since her joke failed to land, she clearly needed to do something. Except her hands were in warm, lovely places, and she wasn’t exactly in a hurry to remove them…

Ranthia formed an image in front of Sunny and personally guided it as it knelt down.

“I think you already know the answer.” Ranthia spoke through her image. “But, Sunny, talk to me. What’s going on? You’re upset. Upset enough that you even raided something I never dared to try.”

She’d bought the tiny keg of liquor as an ill-advised gift intended for the barkeep, before successfully dissuading herself from actually giving it to the prickly woman. It’d been brewed by an elf with over a thousand years of experience, and the beverage guaranteed intoxication up to level 2560—regardless of class quality and build. It was the most potent brew that Ranthia could buy under elven law.

And Sunny had clearly taken more than a few gulps, despite her usual aversion to alcohol.

“I mourned, on your behalf. I wasn’t here at the time, but I did. It felt better than mourning for my… for him. But even then, I wondered. I thought your words were strange, but I convinced myself that it was my own intoxication. Just another memory that I managed to fuck up, you know?

“I was originally planning to visit you. Then I saw you bringing a cute lithe thing back to your place, so I decided to wait for a bit before I stopped by. Wasn’t really in the mood, but you know, I can still find inspiration in writhing limbs. You didn’t answer the door, so I let myself in. But instead of passion, I heard absolutely nothing. Found you here, except you plainly couldn’t hear me either.

“I can be a fool. I’m quite good at being the fool. But that emotional argument wasn’t the kind of thing you have with a stranger. Even I can connect clear dots, my pretty.” Sunny ground the words out, glaring past Ranthia’s image to her true body.

Ranthia sighed and delivered a quick kiss to Avyna’s cheek, before she shifted into her newer image—making it stand while she waited for the process to conclude. In her new body, she leaned forward and embraced Sunny, kissing her forehead.

“Sunny, I’m sorry that I misled you, but there’s a lot more going on than you know. Than I knew, for that matter, until today. You’re a dear friend to me, and you should remember that I was also thrilled to see you when you returned. I’m not sure why you’re being possessive here—you never took offense to my other relationships—but seriously, there’s no reason to. I still love you. You’re one of my dearest friends, and if you disappearing for decades—leaving only something that everyone told me was a threat—didn’t undo that, my other relationships definitely never will. Besides, we can still have fun on those rare occasions that you wish to do so.” Ranthia offered soothing words to one elf, while she watched Avyna disentangle from her abandoned image and rise.

“My beloved speaks the truth. Even while we were together, too long ago, we welcomed other women to join us when one caught our fancy. She might not have cause to trust me any longer, but I still trust her and her judgement implicitly.” Avyna smiled something just a few steps removed from a genuine smile at their emotional intruder.

…Yeah, she needed to warn her Gemheart about Sunny’s proclivities. But that could wait.

“I wasn’t worried.” Sunny lied; her ears even redder than the alcohol had already made them. “Anyway, good, you do speak Creation. I can’t stand speaking that pretentious language the Academy shoves down our throats.”

Eh, it was probably a promising sign that she was back to pretending she didn’t have feelings or concerns.

“Come on, both of you. I have no idea what in Xaoc’s name is in that bowl, but I’m sure you’d appreciate a better lunch option.” Ranthia delivered two more kisses to her forehead before she released her inebriated friend and started walking toward the kitchen, dismissing her abandoned image as she went.

“Oh, my pretty, you have no idea how horrid this is!” Sunny cackled hard enough that she was left swaying for a moment before she recovered. “I like fish more than most, but for the love of festering flesh, this is just rancid! I’m pretty sure if I finished the bowl, I’d turn mortal and age into dust.”

It happened every now and then. …Not elves spontaneously turning mortal or turning into dust—the unexpectedly terrible meals. Years could pass between incidents, but every once in a while, a passionate elf with divisive tastes managed to sweet talk their way into running one of the meal service stations and inflicted horror far and wide. Occasionally, it was done with intent, because some artists loved to make ‘statement pieces’ that seemed to be little more than an excuse to make as many people as possible uncomfortable for no good reason, but more often than not it was just someone with a malformed palate that legitimately believed they were giving everyone something that they secretly yearned for.

Having to put off her long-awaited passionate reunion was unfortunate, though she was genuinely looking forward to showing off for Avyna. Some of her favorite memories to relive were just those quiet, intimate moments while they cooked together, side-by-side. But Ranthia was no longer just some unSkilled cook; she was the [Wielder of the First Flavor]. She was proud of the Skill she acquired by merging the omni-Skill that Scaldos had helped her create—[The Flavors of Pallos]—with an unexpected bonus that she couldn’t possibly resist: [Cooking from the Heart].

[Wielder of the First Flavor]: The talent and know-how to cook any and all cuisine was just the beginning. Now, seize the secret of the greatest chefs from throughout history. Understand that the greatest flavor any food can possess is love—an emotion that comes in as many forms as there are flavors to be found throughout Pallos. Wield both your love for cooking and your love for the people that you cook for and imbue that love into every ingredient through every step of the process. And in doing so, ensure that every last bite will be unforgettable.

“I’m still mad at you.” Sunny let the words linger in the air for a few moments, before she resumed speaking. “But I’m not mad enough to murder anyone over it. At least as far as you know, my pretties.”

The weight of her threat was somewhat diminished by her ongoing fascination with Avyna’s vividly dyed hair. It was just hard to read much menace from a woman while she couldn’t keep her fingers out of the pretty, multicolored hair.

“Are you sure you’re okay to walk home?” Ranthia asked the question that she needed to as a good friend, even if she really hoped the answer was a genuine yes.

Her savory stuffed pastries had proven to be an unmitigated success. She had bought the mushrooms a few days ago and, more or less on a whim, decided to adjust the dish to accommodate them—but by Xaoc, the result was even better than she had hoped. She had baked enough pastries to have leftovers for breakfast, but none of them managed to escape their fate that night.

“I’m fine, and I mean it. Nothing like a bit of overeating to take the edge off your intoxication.” Sunny waved it off, before she finally released Avyna’s hair.

“It was lovely to meet you.” Avyna smiled at the woman, eagerly stepping back.

“It’s okay, Gemheart. You can say alarming. She won’t be offended.” Ranthia stage-whispered into Avyna’s ear, once they were next to one another at last.

Sunny, of course, cackled her agreement. “Well, you two probably have more to talk about, so I’ll get out of your hair. And thanks for trusting me. I’ll keep what you told me a secret; it’s more fun that way. Maybe next time I’ll tell you about how I heard about this ‘great machination’ of yours at the Academy—my first time there!” And with those words, she opened the door and stepped out into the night before anyone could react.

“<…I am putting that out of my mind for tonight.>” Avyna exhaled through her teeth after Ranthia closed the door.

“Mhm. <Besides, I do believe we were in the midst of something else when we got interrupted.>” Ranthia gently pulled her long-absent lover back into her arms, enjoying the familiar warmth of her slender elf.

“<My love, as much as I missed you and as thrilled as I am to be here… Are you certain? I do not deserve this kindness. You should not be willing to just accept me so readily. There is still so much I need to say, and—>” Instead of returning the embrace like a sensible woman, Avyna chose to fret.

Or so she tried, until Ranthia silenced her with a tender kiss.

“<Gemheart, we don’t need to figure everything out in one day. I say we take our time with the lingering questions. Instead, we really should just focus on each other and take things one day at a time. Because right now these ‘big’ issues aren’t important—the woman here in my arms, she’s important. Just as important as what I hope to rediscover with you. Let’s find our rhythm. Then we can tackle the remaining questions, catch each other up on what we’ve been up to, fill in any other lingering secrets, and maybe sign a new contract.>” Ranthia made her proposal with a smile on her face.

The words were corny, but they were true. There were so many questions still lurking in her mind, but her heart had no interest in them. Even before Avyna returned, she’d already chosen her answer. She wanted to love Avyna, no matter what came of it.

“<There is no need for a contract.>” Avyna refused in a surprisingly forceful—and somewhat aggrieved—tone. A heartbeat later, she finally embraced Ranthia properly. “”

“<Besides, my cooking Skill isn’t my only new one.>” Ranthia whispered in a sultry tone, as she stared into Avyna’s eyes, leaning closer.

“<Mm, well, if this other Skill of yours is half as good as your cooking, I do look forward to testing my mettle against it. Just remember, I have to be Sylphene, not just on your lips, but in your thoughts as well. If you call me the wrong name tonight, I shall be cross with you.>” Threat or not, Ranthia knew when Avy—fine, Sylphene, was flirting with her.

And she knew just how to respond to that provocation.

Unfortunately, spending the entire day in bed wasn’t a viable plan. For some reason. By every god and goddess though, Ranthia sorely wished that it was. Indulging in uncounted hours of passions had been great, but somehow, the best part was just waking up alongside the woman she loved. She had missed it so much that she found herself overcome with emotion, just from the simple act of waking up in a perfectly warm bed to behold Avyna’s beautiful face from the very first instant she became aware of the world.

Still, after breakfast, they set out to do what must be done. And first and foremost was a visit to the stone tower to speak to one of the city’s administrators. Sure, Sylphene would undoubtedly spend almost every night in Ranthia’s bed—and much of her free time in Ranthia’s home—but she still needed her own place. Even by elven standards, moving in together on the very day they met would be rather noteworthy, and while Sylphene intentionally stood out a bit, she didn’t want to draw suspicion. There was a potentially deadly difference between the two.

Without a Maestro smoothing the way, the process was slightly more involved than Ranthia’s own experience suggested. It was still easy—and more importantly, free—but there were a few more questions involved and her attempts to request a room near Ranthia’s were flatly ignored. Ultimately, Sylphene chose a room in the crystalline tree, offering Ranthia an apologetic glance as she did so.

Honestly, it was fine! Wherever she picked, Ranthia was perfectly willing to journey there whenever they chose to use Sylphene’s place. Besides, she’d already adjusted to life inside of crystalline buildings during her time in Ithil.

After grabbing some food from the lunch service, they ate in Sylphene’s new place while they planned their next task. And, well, the City of Arts was still the City of Arts. Sylphene needed an art that she could compete in if she wished to stay.

Singing felt like the obvious choice, but Sylphene flatly refused—Avynaria sang, and she didn’t want to get connected to either of her past identities. Drawing seemed like another promising candidate, but Sylphene finally declined, concerned that she might inadvertently reveal her true level if any of her drawings brushed too close to her enchantment Skills.

“<Well, if the traditional arts are out, there’s always the art of making out with Ranthia.>” It was a joke. Mostly.

“<No. I need a proper art.>” Sylphene replied, highly unamused. Assuming Ranthia was somehow blind enough to miss the smile that touched her lips.

“<Oh, we can make a proper contest out of it. I’m sure the women will be lining up to—>” Ranthia’s impish daydream cut off abruptly when Sylphene bounced a cube of overbaked bread off her nose. After, it landed perfectly in her own salad.

More garlicky crunchy goodness for her!

“” Sylphene made up her mind.

“<…Prepare yourself. I’d call the Pink Pavillion an acquired taste, but there really is no getting used to it.>” Ranthia offered a dire warning before she hurried to finish her meal.

They were about to lose most of their day. She just knew it.

Sylphene clearly had opinions about the layout of the Pink Pavillion, but she was remarkably restrained. She barely even sighed when they found themselves at a dead-end blockaded by a dizzying array of colorful bottles of ink. And after briefly considering a few instruments along the way, Sylphene seemed to have decided that a flute suited her.

And flutes just happened to be the first instrument they found that had multiple shelves of different instruments grouped together. Surely there was no causal relationship there.

Ranthia just stood back and enjoyed the sound of her ‘latest girlfriend’ trying flute after flute. Okay, so Sylphene called the instruments “three octave” flutes, as opposed to other physically similar varieties, but Ranthia knew flutes—Remus had them as well! Sure, Reman flutes were carved from wood and pointed straight forward from the mouth, instead of sideways like the crystal and metal instruments that touched Sylphene’s lips, but they were practically identical otherwise. They even sounded… vaguely similar.

“I had hoped for a crystal instrument that performed adequately, but this one continues to sound far superior to my ears.” Sylphene frowned at the metal flute in her hand.

Well, it’d certainly been the loudest of the set. Ranthia thought each instrument produced beautiful music—it definitely wasn’t the first time Sylphene had played a flute—though her ears were good enough to recognize that there was a genuine difference between each. Of course, recognizing the difference didn’t necessarily mean she shared or understood her beloved’s point of view about what differences were an improvement.

“I cannot afford it. May I hear your thoughts about which instrument comes closest?” Sylphene abruptly announced, giving Ranthia a shy expression that was utterly unlike Avyna herself.

Her Gemheart was an incredible actress, she had to give her credit. Ranthia had barely lasted a few days when she pretended to be ‘Prima’ while she journeyed away from Remus, and ‘Sylphene’ felt far more realistic and complete than her own pitiful efforts. Yet still, Avyna wore her guise effortlessly and consistently, except while they were alone—or with Sunny, since she already knew the truth.

“I don’t mind buying you a present, my opalescent beauty.” Ranthia cooed shamelessly. She knew that Sylphene wasn’t seriously asking her to buy it—she was genuinely asking for advice. But hey, Ranthia had established a decent nest egg over the years. She could splurge.

Also, in her defense, she was still trying to figure out a cutesy pet name for ‘Sylphene’. Honestly, she wanted to just reuse Gemheart, but for whatever reason, Avyna had gotten upset at that suggestion. And Ranthia wasn’t that selfish.

“Are you certain?” For whatever reason, Sylphene seemed to be genuinely surprised.

Seriously, how expensive could a piece of impractical metal be?

Okay, so the instrument was made out of pure platinum. A metal only a half-step removed from the magic metals in terms of rarity and value. And, just in case that wasn’t enough, it was hand-crafted by a master [Artisan] too. Just another Ranthia-wished-it-was-priceless masterwork, collecting dust amongst the eclectic junk of the Pink Pavillion.

Worse, she already knew that haggling with Mystos was a losing proposition. Rousing the man was a hassle and a half, and his narcolepsy—thank you, Clover—made any involved process outright impossible. She had even witnessed Skilled [Merchants] paying more than the listed prices after attempting to negotiate with the man. And it wasn’t like Sylphene could have tried without revealing far too much.

With her teeth gritted, Ranthia paid full price.

Then, with her Spatial-enchanted pouch a large diamond and ‘change’ lighter—for a flute!—Ranthia led Sylphene toward the Lodge, completely unbothered by her own hubris. She’d been looking forward to introducing the woman she still loved to the sister she cherished, and she adamantly refused to let her lingering regret diminish that excitement!

“Come on, there’s someone that I want you to meet. Anthelleon should be at the Lodge.” Ranthia explained as they walked.

Also, for whatever mysterious reason, she was kind of craving a drink.

Sure, Sylphene wasn’t a hunter—and it wasn’t like she could join while hiding her level, even if she wanted to—but it wasn’t like non-Hunters never frequented the tavern for its drinks. There was Darthent, for starters. And… Well, sure, maybe there was rather a short list of regulars, but it was still a thing that happened!

Fortunately, there was no nonsense awaiting them as they entered the Lodge. Instead, Ranthia offered her customary greetings to choice peers as she made her way through—the fact that Sylphene was hanging off her arm answered most immediate questions about who she was—to the bar. Anthelleon, as expected, was at their preferred table. Face-down and radiating misery, because life just had to be persistently difficult.

“Three mugs of the usual. And some hot bread.” Ranthia gave her order, successfully preventing her eyes from tracing the barkeep’s exquisite musculature for once.

Her [Divine Eye] didn’t count; she’d yet to meet anyone that could perceive it.

The willfully nameless elf glanced Sylphene’s way, shrugged ever-so-slightly, then turned to prepare the drinks and bread, saying nothing.

“Thank you.” Ranthia offered polite gratitude, as she set a handful of small gems on the counter to cover the order.

The barkeep offered no reply, though Ranthia noted the gems were gone by the time she picked up the tray. And Sylphene definitely released a little tension from her shoulders as they moved away from one of the most powerful elves in the region—probably the most powerful. Sure, Elsynthene might have the level advantage, but after working with Ranger off and on for decades, Ranthia had a feeling that the enigmatic barkeep was truly the most powerful woman around. Not that either of them could hold a candle to Ranger himself.

“Hey An.” Ranthia offered her sister a greeting, before she sat down across from her.

She never ended up giving Sylphene any advanced warning about their whole sisters thing. But it was probably best experienced as a total surprise. Just as her Gemheart had hoped, she truly had done well for herself in the City of Arts. It wasn’t just the first real home she’d ever had since her brief time in Sardonia as a child—it was the first place she’d ever truly felt like she belonged.

Ranthia flashed Sylphene a quick, grateful smile.

“I am the most loathsome failure of a mother to ever walk Pallos.” Anthelleon informed the table of her latest woes without stirring.

“And people call me melodramatic… An, I regret to inform you that after conducting a thorough survey of Pallos’ terrible mothers, you don’t even appear on the list. Yes, I got a letter from Mahvel too, but I want to hear you explain what happened. In a bit. But first: An, I’d like you to meet Sylphene. Sylphene, this beautiful mess that’s trying to merge with the table is my closest friend—and my one and only chosen sister—Anthelleon. We’ve hunted together for well over eighty years now.” Ranthia proceeded with her introductions, as she carefully slid a mug over to Anthelleon’s head.

“Latest girlfriend? May she put up with you for more than three months.” Anthelleon grumped.

Ranthia sighed, leaned across the table, and flicked An’s ear in retaliation.

“She’s usually a delightful, charming person.” Ranthia explained, while her sister sputtered and hissed in agonized fury.

The great thing about Anthelleon was that she was completely unfazed by pain and unheeding of wounds… in the heat of battle. Yet somehow, the exact same woman could be debilitated by an unexpected bruise while she was inside the city. It hardly made any sense, but Ranthia was used to the absurdity. And she was quite happy to weaponize it whenever Anthelleon insisted on being a grump.

“That was cruel and uncalled for, Ran-ran.” Instead of promising that she would remain with Ranthia, Sylphene chose to chide her instead!

“She was being a—!” Ranthia protested.

“I am aware, but your actions were still unwarranted. I would appreciate it if you apologized to her.” Sylphene insisted, plainly enjoying herself.

“Fine.” Ranthia exhaled through her teeth before she turned her attention back to her sister. “An, I sincerely apologize for my actions.”

“You are both vile and loathsome.” Anthelleon grumbled, but at least she wasn’t face-down on the table any longer.

“Well, I am your sister.” Ranthia sassed. “Anyhow, are you ready to tell me what happened with my favorite nephew, or must I flick the other one?”

Her menace earned her a flicked ear, courtesy of an unamused Sylphene. Of course, her ears were nowhere near as sensitive, but she still emitted a (mostly) performative wince. To ignore it would have been folly.

“I think I like this one.” Anthelleon offered Sylphene a respectful nod, before she sighed anew. “Mahvel is planning to leave the Tympestshard Council with a group of students, including that paramour of his that he refuses to tell me about, to visit a mortal nation. He just doesn’t understand how dangerous those loathsome mortals can be!”

No offense intended, Ranthia was sure.

“Well, that explains why he accused you of trying to control his life, at least. An, you know he isn’t your little cuddlebug anymore.” Ranthia reached for her sister’s hand with one arm, while placing her other hand on Sylphene’s leg to offer a reassuring squeeze.

The conversation had to be weird for Sylphene to sit through. Due to her false identity, she couldn’t offer the wealth of advice she undoubtedly possessed as a fellow mother.

“Accepting his independence is one thing, but I shan’t allow him to make a potentially deadly mistake! I refuse to sit by and say nothing.” Anthelleon argued, her temper rising. A moment later she muttered an apology and took a deep drink from her mug.

“An, Mahvel is the son of one of the greatest Hunters that have ever set foot in the Lodge. His father is the Bond of another fierce and fearless Hunter. And his one and only Aunt is something of an expert on violence and exploration too. There was no way that he was ever going to be the sort of man that just sat around in safety. And yes, I know, it’s hard to think about him this way, but he really is a grown man—even by elven standards. I also miss the little rugstomper I made clay knives with, but I choose to trust that I taught him how to use them properly, even with the stone tower’s stupid rules. Besides, even if they somehow run into trouble, he still has a few blades charged with my [Void Lacerations].” Ranthia offered her best reassuring smile.

“He’s young and reckless.” Anthelleon countered.

“Maybe, but he’s over seventy, An. He’ll be eighty in just a few years. When I lived in Remus, people that age were the masters of their crafts and professions. They were the ones that gathered and trained apprentices, relying on a lifetime of accumulated wisdom. Old enough to have the experience, yet spry enough to keep up with everything that they needed to. Yeah, he’s immortal—elves have a different worldview, fine, I get that.

“But if you ask me—”

“And I notably did not.” Anthelleon interrupted Ranthia’s efforts to make a good point.

“And you did not, because you have questionable taste. But if you did, I’d tell you that sooner or later you need to trust him. The reason he writes to me is because he knows I won’t try to tell him what to do. If he wants advice, I can wait for him to ask. Instead, I offer my support. Try wishing him luck. And sure, you can remind him that we’re both a single [Courier] away if he needs anything at all, but let him know that you believe in him, An.

“Don’t drive him away just because you think you have to decide who and what he’s supposed to be.” Ranthia stressed the words using as much weight as she could convey.

“My parents controlled me for much of my life. I was forced to be little more than a doll within their care. And in the end, I found that I had no tears to offer when they passed.” Sylphene piled on.

Her words were partially a lie—her false persona’s family had perished, but as far as she knew, her real parents were still out there. Of course, it had been well over a thousand years since she last interacted in any capacity with either of them… Perhaps the words were less of a lie than they seemed.

Anthelleon sat in silence as she stared into her mug of blackberry spirit, as though there was some greater answer within the sable liquid. The rapidly cooling bread went entirely ignored as Ranthia and Sylphene waited for her to find her decision. The Lodge was hardly a quiet place, but at the very least they could offer her their own silence and patience.

“Perhaps… I suppose I can give your advice a try. My own loathsome approach has caused us both enough pain.” Anthelleon made her decision and promptly drained the contents of her mug.

Not that Ranthia minded buying her another.

“<Your advice was sound. I was quite impressed with both the content and delivery, my love.>” Sylphene was the first to speak once they returned to Ranthia’s place.

Silly Ranthia, she gave her lover a choice between grabbing dinner from a meal service and Ranthia cooking dinner for them—unsurprisingly, Sylphene didn’t even bother to sniff the wind before she made her emphatic choice. Ranthia honestly didn’t mind, but she was struggling to come up with what she wanted to prepare. She wanted to show off again, but her mind was failing to grasp any promising options.

“<Hm? Oh, yeah. Honestly, I was kind of just meshing a lot of the advice I got and rephrasing it a bit using my own experiences. I mean I wasn’t her mom, but I still raised my Bond.>” Ranthia was so distracted with her thoughts that her response came a bit late.

“<Your what?!>” Unsurprisingly, Sylphene had frozen in place when Ranthia glanced her way.

Ah, right, that hadn’t come up.

“<What did you think I had a water bowl in my room for?>” Ranthia tossed the question back, smirking to herself as she proceeded into the kitchen.

Mentioning Clover had given her an idea—she hadn’t made them since the last time her Bond visited, but pork chops were a perfect meal to flex a bit! There was so much that she could do with the seasonings, flavor profile, and pairings too. Perhaps she could use a couple of apples…

“” Just as Ranthia was reaching toward one of her cabinets, Sylphene suddenly came up behind her and set her hands on Ranthia’s shoulders, radiating sympathy.

“<Oh! Gods, no—Clover’s doing just fine. She’s at the Academy right now. I really should have clarified. My little bunny’s all grown up these days.>” Ranthia hurriedly explained after wincing. Sylphene’s assumption made a lot of sense, in hindsight. Had Clover failed to seize immortality, yeah, Ranthia probably would have kept her bowl around for a long time out of sentimentality. And it wasn’t like she left hay scattered around her home when there was no one eating it.

For some strange reason, Ranthia never found it even half as tasty as Clover thought it was.

“<You… sent a rabbit to learn at the Academy?>” Sylphene released Ranthia’s shoulders, but she was definitely giving her a look.

“<She walked herself there, on her own two feet. And she’s a researcher, not a student.>” Ranthia couldn’t resist the impulse to cause a little mischief as she started preheating her pans. But she could always give Sylphene the details on Clover while they ate—so she shamelessly segued into a distraction while her Gemheart struggled with those words. “<How’s Caelillia doing, by the way? I haven’t had a chance to ask.>”

“<You were there the last time I corresponded with her.>” Sylphene answered in a wildly unamused flat tone. She knew exactly what Ranthia was doing, of course.

Though Ranthia was the one who stopped chopping apples. Stiffly, Ranthia set the knife down and turned to face the one-thousand-six-hundred-and-eleven-year-old ridiculous woman that she chose to love.

“<Gemheart… Are you seriously telling me right now that your only daughter has no idea that you’re even alive?!>” Ranthia’s second-hand indignation was strong enough that the words came out with far more force and heat than she’d ever intended them to.

“<If luck favors me, she has no idea that I was even caught up in any incident. It has been a bit longer than we usually go without communicating, but—>” Sylphene was digging her metaphorical heels into the ground.

“<There’s paper and quills in the adjacent room. Write to her.>” Ranthia ordered, refusing to even engage in any debate. Gods and goddesses…!

She loved her Gemheart. She really, truly did. But she was no longer blinded by her love—and she was starting to become all too aware of some of her elf’s rougher edges.

“<It is too dangerous! If anyone becomes aware of the contents of any letter I might send, her life will be in peril. And I refuse to invite the Wardens to her door, no matter what I must do.>” Sylphene snapped back.

“<Okay, fine—then tell me where I can send letters so that they might reach her. I won’t tell her anything, so don’t worry about that. I’ll just invite her to come here so we can talk, face-to-face.>” Ranthia held her hands up in surrender.

She didn’t want to start an argument and there was some—small—merit to Sylphene’s concerns. But more than anything, Ranthia wanted another lovely night. She wanted to cook for the woman she was renewing her love with. She wanted to kiss and cuddle with her too, progress from there until their passions could no longer be denied, and once again fall asleep entwined in an embrace. She needed each night to be wonderful, until her heart finally believed that their reunion was real.

That everything could be okay once again.

The night largely proceeded just as Ranthia had hoped. She was still kicking herself for forgetting to add the cinnamon, even if Sylphene had heaped praise on the final dish after greedily inhaling her portion. But beyond that, her Gemheart had relented and Ranthia had prepared two letters that could accompany the next merchant caravan. Xaoc willing, one of them would reach Caelillia’s hand. Sylphene even finally admitted that she was grateful for the opportunity.

Afterwards, Ranthia listened to Sylphene practice with her new flute for a while, Ranthia traded the tale of her and Clover’s battle against the wyvern for Sylphene’s story about a deadly encounter with a dragon, then they retired to bed.

And roughly three hours after that, Sylphene was sleeping soundly in Ranthia’s arms.

Yet Ranthia found herself wide awake, watching her lover rest. Unfortunately, her insomnia had nothing to do with her lingering breathlessness.

Avyna had kept her word. Ranthia wasn’t supposed to even think of Sylphene as Avyna, but whichever name her Gemheart wished to use, she truly had kept her word. She was right there, alive and at peace. Just as Ranthia had desperately wished for well over eighty years. And she was still a dazzling, beautiful woman whose smile made Ranthia’s life so much brighter than it normally was.

But—there just had to be a but—everything wasn’t quite as perfect as Ranthia had hoped.

Sylphene had encumbered herself with enough guilt that it nearly crushed her. She genuinely regretted her role in the so-called great machination, especially since it had cost so many ‘young’ elven lives when Ranthia and the others caught up to her. Beyond that, she carried an outsized amount of regret for how selfish she’d been when she approached Ranthia—no matter how Ranthia insisted that it didn’t matter. Her Gemheart had refused to accept a favor from Ranthia in the end, because they genuinely came to love one another.

For Ranthia, that was all that mattered. But Sylphene refused to let herself be exonerated of her so-called sins.

Ranthia wasn’t stupid. She knew that Sylphene was doing the exact same thing that Ranthia had once done with her—Sylphene had put her on a pedestal. She was trying to make Ranthia her reason for continuing to live. But what could she even do about it?

Ayllara was a charming person, but as the City of Arts’ sole [Mind Healer], she was wildly unprepared for people with genuine baggage. Her specialty was helping artists of all flavors overcome mental blocks and helping people with the simple woes of love and family. She had confessed as much after Ranthia’s first experimental session with her. In the end, they chose to become friends instead of [Healer] and patient.

And it wasn’t like Ranthia could convince Sylphene to risk spending time in Ithil or another larger city to find a more qualified [Mind Healer]. Similarly, her efforts to find Aellea—her [Mind Healer] from Coalition City—had never borne any leads. There were just far, far too many elves living in the Tympestshard Council’s territory to make it easy to find an individual. Unless you already knew exactly where you might find them, of course. That was actually the same logic that made Sylphene willing to endure the risk of returning. So long as she didn’t run into anyone that knew her well, a change in style and apparent personality made her into just another elf amongst the uncountable masses.

In some ways, it felt absurd for Sylphene to carry so much guilt. And as Ranthia laid there, awake and unmoving as the night slowly passed without her, she found herself struggling with resentment. After all, she was the one that was carrying true guilt. Remus had pledged to slaughter every last shimagu—and she knew that the dwarves would be the next to experience the might of Remus’ Legions. Yet she chose to preserve herself. She did nothing to save them.

It was too late for the shimagu. And even if humans and dwarves were locked in a bitter war, it wasn’t like the average elf hidden away amongst their fellow immortals would give a damn. Mortals were prone to conflict and horror, after all. It was hard to pick up an elven book without being slapped in the face by that belief. Not that it was in any way wrong.

But while Sylphene desperately depended on Ranthia to be her mage-rock, she couldn’t possibly turn to Sylphene for comfort from her own darker thoughts.

Slowly—careful not to be too loud—Ranthia exhaled and tried to push the resentment out of her head along with the air from her lungs. The resentment wasn’t even fair. If Sylphene needed her to be a point of strength and serenity, she could do that much. After all, she genuinely still loved her slender, gorgeous elf.

…She did miss Avyna’s long hair though. The shorter opalescent hair was beautiful, true, but it just felt wrong to not feel those silky, cascading tresses against her arms. Yet through the differences, Sylphene was still Avyna. And that was the important thing.

While they were together, they could work their way through anything. She had to believe that. Because that was what it meant to truly love someone. Trust could be restored. Minds could be healed. So long as their hearts remained true to one another, everything else would be okay.

Ranthia repeated those words to herself until, at last, she too found sleep’s comforting embrace.