Post by Zola Rhomdaen on Feb 16, 2024 14:55:09 GMT
(Continued from Checks and Balances.)
Tebrin Zoland makes his entrances without the fanfare or mystique one would expect of a devil. His apparition is announced with but a simple knock on the door, a delayed moment after Zola has torn another one of his business cards. He strides into the Gilded Mirror suite and seems to stand still for a second, eyeing up the room as if judging it or taking a quick inventory. His gaze flits from the queen-sized bed with silk sheets, to the mirror right above it on the ceiling, to the oversized Drowic tome entitled Egwynir the Wordweaver: The Complete Collection lying on the nightstand, and to the table stocked with wine goblets and Aeschiran delicacies — a plate of blind cave fish sashimi with a tiny helping of edible moss atop each slice, a small jar of cloaker caviar, slices of truffle bread, and deep rothé bresaola and milk cheese. Finally, he turns to Zola with an enquiring look on his face.
Dressed in a short, white satin dress with thin straps, Zola looks a little tired, strands of her white hair curling slightly out of place. “Tebrin, thanks for coming,” she says as she shuts the door. She walks over to the table and makes a gesture, inviting him to partake in the food. “Oof, that Heart Bell is really something. You weren’t kidding. Um, anyway, I have…news.”
“Indeed… And you should know, it works both ways. Once you’re in rhythm with it, leaving can be just as upsetting. Your father, for instance, would not have been so much of a pushover had you encountered him within the city. So — what news of the homeland do you bring?”
Zola begins pouring wine into one of the bejewelled goblets. “It was the Ithyrs who kidnapped the Amnian. I hadn’t seen that coming at all. By the time we realised that Idosen Ithyr was in the room, it was too late for me to disguise my appearance. I think…he recognised my face. However.” She approaches Tebrin to put the goblet in his hand, her hands cupping his as she does, and holds his gaze. “It’s not all bad news. I also got a bit of dirt on House Ithyr.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Oh? And what would that be?”
“Okay, it’s not much, but listen to this. So Idosen and the matron were explaining their dastardly plot — they’d kidnapped Mr. Olem as a ‘gift’ for Mr. Velnnarul, so he can climb up the corporate ladder faster. But really, I think they just wanted him to be their puppet in the company and they felt he needed to be higher up to be useful to them. But then, suddenly, this itty-bitty little mind flayer showed up and an elder brain spoke through it. Infernum. Turns out it was the elder brain who put the thought in Mr. Olem’s head that he should come to Aeschira, and it also put the thought in Matron Hyoseer’s head that they should kidnap Mr. Olem! Hyoseer Ithyr was played by an elder brain and didn’t know it.” Zola pauses to pop a slice of fish and moss into her mouth. “Who knows how many times Infernum’s done that to her?”
Tebrin seems to freeze his usual cocky demeanour as he listens to her recounting. “Hmmm. Well. That is something quite interesting… Hmm. Okay, one thing at a time here: why? Why is Infernum interfering so much, seemingly all around this one company man?”
“It said it wanted Mr. Velnnarul to help rebuild its colony after what happened in Vorsthold. They had a trade deal in the past, you see. Basically, it used the Ithyrs to do the dirty work in bringing Velnnarul there.”
“Interesting… And how does the company sit now?”
“Nothing’s changed. Heret turned both Inferum and the Ithyrs down but said business will continue as usual. Hyoseer was furious. And then…everyone walked out of there unharmed. It was a bit mad, actually!”
“Hmmm. Dull.”
Zola leans back against the edge of the table, picks up a slice of truffle bread, and scoops up a spoonful of caviar to spread across the surface of the bread. “So what do you make of it? Like I said, it’s not much, and there’s no proof this happened other than eyewitnesses…”
“No… But the proof is not the important thing here. The important detail is that it happened. Suggesting something like this to the right people could cause a great deal of upset… And also means there is a weakness within their house. Something they will, no doubt, be aware of now, but a door is a door.” Tebrin places the goblet down on the table and paces to the window, ignoring the spread of food, and stares out into the night sky for a moment. “And you feel you were recognised?”
“Yeah. Idosen did a double take when he looked at my face. Do you think that’ll cause us problems?”
“I’m not sure… And that is the concerning detail. Recognition isn’t necessarily bad depending on the house agenda, but confirming that is where the problem lies. They could seek to use it to their own ends — that may align with our own intentions or it could provide us yet another blockage to face. On the other hand, if it does align, it could be an ideal ally for our scheme… The issue, Zola, is we cannot confirm it. Not now, at least. If anyone were to go asking about, it could confirm what may only be a fleeting idea for them and set things into motion before we want it to…”
Zola nods. “Yes. No point in worrying about it now, I suppose.” She takes a crunching bite of the caviar-spread bread and her face scrunches up. “Oh. Oh gods. Rich people eat this?”
Tebrin narrows his eyes as he turns around to face her. “On the contrary. It’s exactly what I need to worry about now. There is a great deal riding on this, and a rogue entity like this has too much potential to simply ignore. In truth, it would have been better had he recognised you and said something, good or bad. We could at least learn something from that as to how they might behave. The wispy notion that maybe there is another heir out there leaves too much to speculation and chance. And leaving it could prove to be fatal as addressing it too soon. Who knows what clever ideas they might start concocting… And yes, we do,” he finishes, taking the jar of caviar from the table.
“It’s certainly an acquired taste.” She forces herself to chew and swallow, before washing her palate with a gulp of wine. “Okay, so what do we do now? I’m all ears. I want to help if I can.”
There is a few moments’ silence before Tebrin appears to come to a conclusion, a smile creeping across his face like shadow. He starts walking slowly around the table.
“You shall do nothing, my dear. If your mother is sensible, she cannot possibly reveal anything about you, but any rumours that leak will only force her hand to eliminate you. And that, she will do before anyone else has the chance to capitalise on your existence. You will wait. I will make sure someone hears a particular rumour here or there… Then we await to attend what I’m sure will be a lovely dinner — one to die for, no doubt. In the meantime, you should eat it like this.”
He turns back to Zola, a much smaller portion of caviar neatly served on top of a cucumber slice, accompanied by a tiny blob of sour cream, and dusted with sugar. “And — something sharper.” He hands her a tiny flask from under his waistcoat. “And yes, it is poison, but you’ll be fine.”
Zola’s breath stops for a brief moment — a worryingly common occurrence in conversations with Tebrin. She gives him a long, wary stare, but eventually, she takes the amuse bouche and the flask in her hands. After a moment’s hesitation, she puts the loaded cucumber in her mouth, chews, and follows it up with a sip from the flask. It’s vodka, but with something else in it, something acrid. Her lips involuntarily pucker up when she tastes the poison upon her tongue.
However, her face relaxes only a second later. The smaller serving of the caviar, the plainer base, and the cream and sugar combination balances out the briny taste of the caviar well, whilst the vodka-poison mix reintroduces the sharpness that otherwise would be missing. It’s still quite a lot to take in, but it’s much more palatable than the previous thing.
“…Okay, that’s pretty good, actually,” she admits, surprised and appreciative. She lays a hand on her sternum and her skin glows moonlight-silver where it is touched — the poison is cleansed from her body. “Hold on. Where’d you get that cucumber from? And the sour cream and the sugar?”
“If you are going to be a matron, Zola, you must always be ready for caviar.”
Zola snorts out a chortle. “You dummy.” She steps in closer and tugs playfully at the front of Tebrin’s waistcoat. Her wet tongue slides along her upper lip, taking in the delicious mix of flavours once more. “Oh, and I guess… Wouldn’t a matron being mind-controlled by an elder brain be considered a major security risk? Enough to justify a decreed destruction of the house? Of course, I don’t actually want that to happen. It’d just be a bluff. Just to make them stay out of Rhomdaen affairs.”
“It would… But tell me, how would you respond to someone threatening you and your hag mothers with what amounts to total annihilation?”
“Well, I suppose I’d try to kill them first…”
“Exactly. Throw a threat around like that, bluff or no, you risk bringing an entire house against you, as well as any other houses and their paid mercenary bands they can swing to their side of things. And you don’t have anyone besides me right now. That is not a course of action we can take. But we can remember it, and make use of it later when we find ourselves in a stronger position. Consider it like your swords… Having this information is like wielding a sword. Any idiot can swing a hunk of metal around like a club. What makes it truly dangerous is knowing the correct techniques on how to apply it, how to gracefully deflect, slip through defences, and pierce the heart — a swift execution, rather than useless flailing and hoping for a solid strike.”
“I hate to admit it, but proposing to you was probably the smartest I ever did,” Zola sighs, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Yes, it very well may have been,” he says as he wraps his own arms around her waist, pulling her in closer.
Though several minutes have passed, Zola is still basking in an afterglow. The silk sheets feel like heaven on her flushed skin. She is lying on her side and staring at Tebrin beside her, watching the steady rise and fall of his bare chest, her fingers gently playing with his hair.
“What’s the first thing you plan to do? After we win the house.”
There is a pause before he answers. “Most likely begin the interrogations. Root out whoever might be sympathetic to your mother and have them removed. Then, have my own people scour any properties for traps and secrets she left behind for us to clean up. Skeletons in the closet are bad enough; someone else’s skeletons are not something I want to be dealing with.”
“That’s…wise. First thing I’d do is take down those statues in the villa and let our masons repurpose the stones. I mean, who has statues of themselves built when they’re still alive?” Zola scoffs.
“The arrogant and the powerful.”
“Is that what my mother and sister are like?”
“Powerful, yes… Perhaps not so arrogant. The statues you’re referring to are for show. If you are entertaining guests, there is nothing so straightforward to remind someone of how important you are as having a massive slab of stone in your image staring down at them the entire time. It just so happens to also have the benefit of making anyone working for you feel as though they are being watched. Because they are.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want to treat the people working for me that way. Call me naïve, romantic, foolish, whatever, but I want the people under my care to be happy. Or, if not happy, at the very least, okay.”
“Hmm… We will worry about the particulars of how you aim to objectively achieve that at the time, I suppose. There are much larger issues to deal with first, such as your mother. As for your sister, though, that is a different case. I’ve been largely kept away from her, so I can’t say for sure what she knows of the house’s arrangements behind closed doors. Another wild card.”
He’s very focused on this. It’s as if it’s all he can think about. Well, at least, whenever we’re not fucking.
Zola purses her lips. “Yeah… I’m worried about her too. I don’t blame her for what’s happened. She probably never knew I existed.”
As the two of them contemplate the long and dark road ahead, an odd silence settles on the pillows, between their restful breaths. This must be the longest they’ve gone without bickering.
Zola is searching for her courage. She doesn’t know why she’s lost it in that moment — she has moaned and shuddered in his arms, she has cried out his name and begged for him with shameless need, she is about to marry him, and yet she can’t seem to tell him how she feels?
This is silly. And so she forces the words out of her mouth.
“I meant you too, you know. I want you to be happy.”
“Oh! I wouldn’t worry about that, Zola. I always aim to be happy. I work hard to make sure of it.”
“And what is it that makes you happy?”
“Hmmm… Getting what I want. Security. Control. And what do you get from this, Zola? Where is your happy?”
“I…want to make a change. I want to stop the suffering.”
“How very noble…”
“You don’t think I should be? You think I should try to accumulate power at any cost, like my parents did?”
“I’d say what your parents did clearly isn’t working since their own daughter is currently trying to overthrow them now, wouldn’t you agree?”
She gives him a look as if to say, you know what I mean. “So why do you want security and control?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You forget, Zola, the Hells is a place of contracts and power struggles. The more power and control I have, the less I can be controlled. There is no sweeter sound than the gears of a grand scheme or play, seamlessly slipping through each other as you watch your masterpiece unfold according to your plan. I am not content being a mere cog in a machine, Zola.”
“Well, you saying you want those things implies that you’re lacking those things in your life right now. Are you?”
“Perhaps. It could also simply imply that I desire more than I currently have.”
Unadulterated ambition. That’s what drives him. So pure and simple, it seems almost single-minded. Is there room for anything — or anyone — else in his life?
Zola examines him quietly, and then snuggles up against his body and lays her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know if I can give you control over everything…except in bed… But security — that, I can try.” She looks up to gaze into his red eyes. “I know you work hard, but you can share the load with me. If you’re okay with that.”
Tebrin looks back at her, before resting his head back and staring up at the ceiling again. “Perhaps. We shall see in time, I suppose. But for now, we know what we need to do. You need to be ready to meet your mother. It will come at short notice, and it will likely be under the guise of a friendly invitation again. I doubt she will waste time like your father did, however, and you will be walking into an attack.”
“I do hope House Menat considers my request for an audience quicker than their current pace…” Zola sighs. “But we can’t rely on anyone other than ourselves.”
“For now, yes.”
She, too, turns her gaze up at the ceiling. The mirror there is showing a most unusual sight: a paladin and a fiend lying in each other’s embrace, planning for their future life together.
Co-written with Anthony
Tebrin Zoland makes his entrances without the fanfare or mystique one would expect of a devil. His apparition is announced with but a simple knock on the door, a delayed moment after Zola has torn another one of his business cards. He strides into the Gilded Mirror suite and seems to stand still for a second, eyeing up the room as if judging it or taking a quick inventory. His gaze flits from the queen-sized bed with silk sheets, to the mirror right above it on the ceiling, to the oversized Drowic tome entitled Egwynir the Wordweaver: The Complete Collection lying on the nightstand, and to the table stocked with wine goblets and Aeschiran delicacies — a plate of blind cave fish sashimi with a tiny helping of edible moss atop each slice, a small jar of cloaker caviar, slices of truffle bread, and deep rothé bresaola and milk cheese. Finally, he turns to Zola with an enquiring look on his face.
Dressed in a short, white satin dress with thin straps, Zola looks a little tired, strands of her white hair curling slightly out of place. “Tebrin, thanks for coming,” she says as she shuts the door. She walks over to the table and makes a gesture, inviting him to partake in the food. “Oof, that Heart Bell is really something. You weren’t kidding. Um, anyway, I have…news.”
“Indeed… And you should know, it works both ways. Once you’re in rhythm with it, leaving can be just as upsetting. Your father, for instance, would not have been so much of a pushover had you encountered him within the city. So — what news of the homeland do you bring?”
Zola begins pouring wine into one of the bejewelled goblets. “It was the Ithyrs who kidnapped the Amnian. I hadn’t seen that coming at all. By the time we realised that Idosen Ithyr was in the room, it was too late for me to disguise my appearance. I think…he recognised my face. However.” She approaches Tebrin to put the goblet in his hand, her hands cupping his as she does, and holds his gaze. “It’s not all bad news. I also got a bit of dirt on House Ithyr.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Oh? And what would that be?”
“Okay, it’s not much, but listen to this. So Idosen and the matron were explaining their dastardly plot — they’d kidnapped Mr. Olem as a ‘gift’ for Mr. Velnnarul, so he can climb up the corporate ladder faster. But really, I think they just wanted him to be their puppet in the company and they felt he needed to be higher up to be useful to them. But then, suddenly, this itty-bitty little mind flayer showed up and an elder brain spoke through it. Infernum. Turns out it was the elder brain who put the thought in Mr. Olem’s head that he should come to Aeschira, and it also put the thought in Matron Hyoseer’s head that they should kidnap Mr. Olem! Hyoseer Ithyr was played by an elder brain and didn’t know it.” Zola pauses to pop a slice of fish and moss into her mouth. “Who knows how many times Infernum’s done that to her?”
Tebrin seems to freeze his usual cocky demeanour as he listens to her recounting. “Hmmm. Well. That is something quite interesting… Hmm. Okay, one thing at a time here: why? Why is Infernum interfering so much, seemingly all around this one company man?”
“It said it wanted Mr. Velnnarul to help rebuild its colony after what happened in Vorsthold. They had a trade deal in the past, you see. Basically, it used the Ithyrs to do the dirty work in bringing Velnnarul there.”
“Interesting… And how does the company sit now?”
“Nothing’s changed. Heret turned both Inferum and the Ithyrs down but said business will continue as usual. Hyoseer was furious. And then…everyone walked out of there unharmed. It was a bit mad, actually!”
“Hmmm. Dull.”
Zola leans back against the edge of the table, picks up a slice of truffle bread, and scoops up a spoonful of caviar to spread across the surface of the bread. “So what do you make of it? Like I said, it’s not much, and there’s no proof this happened other than eyewitnesses…”
“No… But the proof is not the important thing here. The important detail is that it happened. Suggesting something like this to the right people could cause a great deal of upset… And also means there is a weakness within their house. Something they will, no doubt, be aware of now, but a door is a door.” Tebrin places the goblet down on the table and paces to the window, ignoring the spread of food, and stares out into the night sky for a moment. “And you feel you were recognised?”
“Yeah. Idosen did a double take when he looked at my face. Do you think that’ll cause us problems?”
“I’m not sure… And that is the concerning detail. Recognition isn’t necessarily bad depending on the house agenda, but confirming that is where the problem lies. They could seek to use it to their own ends — that may align with our own intentions or it could provide us yet another blockage to face. On the other hand, if it does align, it could be an ideal ally for our scheme… The issue, Zola, is we cannot confirm it. Not now, at least. If anyone were to go asking about, it could confirm what may only be a fleeting idea for them and set things into motion before we want it to…”
Zola nods. “Yes. No point in worrying about it now, I suppose.” She takes a crunching bite of the caviar-spread bread and her face scrunches up. “Oh. Oh gods. Rich people eat this?”
Tebrin narrows his eyes as he turns around to face her. “On the contrary. It’s exactly what I need to worry about now. There is a great deal riding on this, and a rogue entity like this has too much potential to simply ignore. In truth, it would have been better had he recognised you and said something, good or bad. We could at least learn something from that as to how they might behave. The wispy notion that maybe there is another heir out there leaves too much to speculation and chance. And leaving it could prove to be fatal as addressing it too soon. Who knows what clever ideas they might start concocting… And yes, we do,” he finishes, taking the jar of caviar from the table.
“It’s certainly an acquired taste.” She forces herself to chew and swallow, before washing her palate with a gulp of wine. “Okay, so what do we do now? I’m all ears. I want to help if I can.”
There is a few moments’ silence before Tebrin appears to come to a conclusion, a smile creeping across his face like shadow. He starts walking slowly around the table.
“You shall do nothing, my dear. If your mother is sensible, she cannot possibly reveal anything about you, but any rumours that leak will only force her hand to eliminate you. And that, she will do before anyone else has the chance to capitalise on your existence. You will wait. I will make sure someone hears a particular rumour here or there… Then we await to attend what I’m sure will be a lovely dinner — one to die for, no doubt. In the meantime, you should eat it like this.”
He turns back to Zola, a much smaller portion of caviar neatly served on top of a cucumber slice, accompanied by a tiny blob of sour cream, and dusted with sugar. “And — something sharper.” He hands her a tiny flask from under his waistcoat. “And yes, it is poison, but you’ll be fine.”
Zola’s breath stops for a brief moment — a worryingly common occurrence in conversations with Tebrin. She gives him a long, wary stare, but eventually, she takes the amuse bouche and the flask in her hands. After a moment’s hesitation, she puts the loaded cucumber in her mouth, chews, and follows it up with a sip from the flask. It’s vodka, but with something else in it, something acrid. Her lips involuntarily pucker up when she tastes the poison upon her tongue.
However, her face relaxes only a second later. The smaller serving of the caviar, the plainer base, and the cream and sugar combination balances out the briny taste of the caviar well, whilst the vodka-poison mix reintroduces the sharpness that otherwise would be missing. It’s still quite a lot to take in, but it’s much more palatable than the previous thing.
“…Okay, that’s pretty good, actually,” she admits, surprised and appreciative. She lays a hand on her sternum and her skin glows moonlight-silver where it is touched — the poison is cleansed from her body. “Hold on. Where’d you get that cucumber from? And the sour cream and the sugar?”
“If you are going to be a matron, Zola, you must always be ready for caviar.”
Zola snorts out a chortle. “You dummy.” She steps in closer and tugs playfully at the front of Tebrin’s waistcoat. Her wet tongue slides along her upper lip, taking in the delicious mix of flavours once more. “Oh, and I guess… Wouldn’t a matron being mind-controlled by an elder brain be considered a major security risk? Enough to justify a decreed destruction of the house? Of course, I don’t actually want that to happen. It’d just be a bluff. Just to make them stay out of Rhomdaen affairs.”
“It would… But tell me, how would you respond to someone threatening you and your hag mothers with what amounts to total annihilation?”
“Well, I suppose I’d try to kill them first…”
“Exactly. Throw a threat around like that, bluff or no, you risk bringing an entire house against you, as well as any other houses and their paid mercenary bands they can swing to their side of things. And you don’t have anyone besides me right now. That is not a course of action we can take. But we can remember it, and make use of it later when we find ourselves in a stronger position. Consider it like your swords… Having this information is like wielding a sword. Any idiot can swing a hunk of metal around like a club. What makes it truly dangerous is knowing the correct techniques on how to apply it, how to gracefully deflect, slip through defences, and pierce the heart — a swift execution, rather than useless flailing and hoping for a solid strike.”
“I hate to admit it, but proposing to you was probably the smartest I ever did,” Zola sighs, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Yes, it very well may have been,” he says as he wraps his own arms around her waist, pulling her in closer.
Though several minutes have passed, Zola is still basking in an afterglow. The silk sheets feel like heaven on her flushed skin. She is lying on her side and staring at Tebrin beside her, watching the steady rise and fall of his bare chest, her fingers gently playing with his hair.
“What’s the first thing you plan to do? After we win the house.”
There is a pause before he answers. “Most likely begin the interrogations. Root out whoever might be sympathetic to your mother and have them removed. Then, have my own people scour any properties for traps and secrets she left behind for us to clean up. Skeletons in the closet are bad enough; someone else’s skeletons are not something I want to be dealing with.”
“That’s…wise. First thing I’d do is take down those statues in the villa and let our masons repurpose the stones. I mean, who has statues of themselves built when they’re still alive?” Zola scoffs.
“The arrogant and the powerful.”
“Is that what my mother and sister are like?”
“Powerful, yes… Perhaps not so arrogant. The statues you’re referring to are for show. If you are entertaining guests, there is nothing so straightforward to remind someone of how important you are as having a massive slab of stone in your image staring down at them the entire time. It just so happens to also have the benefit of making anyone working for you feel as though they are being watched. Because they are.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want to treat the people working for me that way. Call me naïve, romantic, foolish, whatever, but I want the people under my care to be happy. Or, if not happy, at the very least, okay.”
“Hmm… We will worry about the particulars of how you aim to objectively achieve that at the time, I suppose. There are much larger issues to deal with first, such as your mother. As for your sister, though, that is a different case. I’ve been largely kept away from her, so I can’t say for sure what she knows of the house’s arrangements behind closed doors. Another wild card.”
He’s very focused on this. It’s as if it’s all he can think about. Well, at least, whenever we’re not fucking.
Zola purses her lips. “Yeah… I’m worried about her too. I don’t blame her for what’s happened. She probably never knew I existed.”
As the two of them contemplate the long and dark road ahead, an odd silence settles on the pillows, between their restful breaths. This must be the longest they’ve gone without bickering.
Zola is searching for her courage. She doesn’t know why she’s lost it in that moment — she has moaned and shuddered in his arms, she has cried out his name and begged for him with shameless need, she is about to marry him, and yet she can’t seem to tell him how she feels?
This is silly. And so she forces the words out of her mouth.
“I meant you too, you know. I want you to be happy.”
“Oh! I wouldn’t worry about that, Zola. I always aim to be happy. I work hard to make sure of it.”
“And what is it that makes you happy?”
“Hmmm… Getting what I want. Security. Control. And what do you get from this, Zola? Where is your happy?”
“I…want to make a change. I want to stop the suffering.”
“How very noble…”
“You don’t think I should be? You think I should try to accumulate power at any cost, like my parents did?”
“I’d say what your parents did clearly isn’t working since their own daughter is currently trying to overthrow them now, wouldn’t you agree?”
She gives him a look as if to say, you know what I mean. “So why do you want security and control?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You forget, Zola, the Hells is a place of contracts and power struggles. The more power and control I have, the less I can be controlled. There is no sweeter sound than the gears of a grand scheme or play, seamlessly slipping through each other as you watch your masterpiece unfold according to your plan. I am not content being a mere cog in a machine, Zola.”
“Well, you saying you want those things implies that you’re lacking those things in your life right now. Are you?”
“Perhaps. It could also simply imply that I desire more than I currently have.”
Unadulterated ambition. That’s what drives him. So pure and simple, it seems almost single-minded. Is there room for anything — or anyone — else in his life?
Zola examines him quietly, and then snuggles up against his body and lays her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know if I can give you control over everything…except in bed… But security — that, I can try.” She looks up to gaze into his red eyes. “I know you work hard, but you can share the load with me. If you’re okay with that.”
Tebrin looks back at her, before resting his head back and staring up at the ceiling again. “Perhaps. We shall see in time, I suppose. But for now, we know what we need to do. You need to be ready to meet your mother. It will come at short notice, and it will likely be under the guise of a friendly invitation again. I doubt she will waste time like your father did, however, and you will be walking into an attack.”
“I do hope House Menat considers my request for an audience quicker than their current pace…” Zola sighs. “But we can’t rely on anyone other than ourselves.”
“For now, yes.”
She, too, turns her gaze up at the ceiling. The mirror there is showing a most unusual sight: a paladin and a fiend lying in each other’s embrace, planning for their future life together.
Co-written with Anthony