3:59 The restoration school.

Early afternoon sunlight beamed hopefully into the Ranclyffe family shrine room, which was unique in that it was set slightly apart from the body of the rest of the house, enabling it to have both eastern and western facing windows.  It grew warm easily, which was the main reason that its door never closed, but since one had to pass both the sitting room, the hearth room, and the kitchen to get to it, it was rarely entered by mistake.  Twisted cord had been hand sewn to the rich red pillows, and although the colors had faded due to age, they were immaculately kept.  On one of them, this day, lay an opened envelope with the wax seal of the College of War Wizards.  Across from it, with glasses perched on top of his head, sat Terezio, who was massaging the bridge of his nose with the first finger and thumb of his right hand.  His wife held the letter, a crisp missive that spanned two entire pages.  The first page, already read, had been placed with the envelope, but the second had been turned over between the slender hands.

" '...without progress, nor any hope of progress, so that the subject himself resorted to trickery to rid himself of her, as though she were unwanted baggage or a children's trifle.  I had not expected, neither had you warned me of, such sharp wit on his part, as might pierce our shared scheme; however, there is no better proof of the integrity of his mind than that its thoughts reached toward our own.  

As I became curious as to what may have caused this unnatural stretching, I made some meager use of a former colleague, who is very fond of scrying work.  Only such information as was needful to her was made available, for she is austere, I felt she would disapprove of the idea of our experimentation.  Fortunately, she is not at all as perceptive concerning the intents of those near unto her as she is of those who are afar off.  From her, I learned that your man has taken up with some other woman, or perhaps two, as well as some sort of charge for whom he feels personally responsible.  I dismissed myself from her presence courteously, of course, but held within my spirit some distrust, for I read not in any of your correspondence concerning the specimen that he is the sort to leap back again into the bonds of responsibility, of which he had so recently and happily been bereft.

The messenger I sent to Westgate claimed that it took some time to find even someone who knew your control specimen, let alone someone who knew the character to whom that specimen referred.  Yet, after the work of some days, found he was, and he was so greatly dissimilar to your control specimen that the messenger saw fit to make question of his target on his own.  The conversation was long, I am told, but the tenor of it was mostly erased from his memory by strong drink, so that he knew it happened, and that he was greatly encouraged by the company of his companion, but could not say precisely why.  The letter of response, when it was given me, was nothing more than my own letter sent me back, with the word 'Mulhorand' spelt out with Sylvan lettering upon the reverse side.  As the messenger is just as much Wood Elf as the contact apparently was (that an Eladrin should be made pupil of a Wood Elf!), I cannot be sure which of the two of them decided to record at least that bit of their conversation.

At last, my friend, I must admit that I have gotten nowhere with the researching of the clan name that you have shared with me.  It is as though it did not exist, and further, had never existed, from the foundations of Arkhosia until this day.  Of course you know that such a severe departure from the flesh, blood, and scale reality that you have near you, to whom you may easily speak, can only be due to the great disgrace of the name you have given me, which would force a collective disowning of said name, due to the strictures of the highly honor-bound Arkhosian culture.  If it is as you say, and the only surviving child of the patriarch is a useless drunkard, a common fixture in taverns and brothels, then it is quite likely indeed that he has been banned from the company of his own, and must take his comfort where ever he may find it.

I have, as you must by now have guessed, written this with my own hand; I crave of you, on Karri's behalf, prayers and offerings to any of the gods.  She has been in such poor humor of late that I fear some imbalance beyond my ability to address.

Long may our king live.

Ever in your service, mightily girded with the honor due you and the crest,
Battlemage Erylanae Beausace of Marsember.'

And that's it."

"Thank the gods," Terezio scoffed.  "And you, of course.  My eyes-"

"The writing is quite small," Druce immediately commented, flipping the paper over to look over a part of the message that had caught her attention before.  "It amazes me that she managed to write a four page missive with the same sizing all the way through, especially if she normally relies upon this Karri creature to pen her correspondence for her."

"Karri is but the pale shadow of what you are to me, my dear," Terezio noted.  "Simply because I am not the one penning letters doesn't mean I don't pen anything, however much the College may wish that to be the case. Eladrin lettering is larger and more ornate than its Sylvan and Elven counterparts, but- well, frankly, I can't read any of it anymore- I'd be blind without you, mon coeur."

"Good to still be useful for something," Druce quipped, scooting closer to Terezio so that she could give him a peck on the bridge of his nose.  "What do you think of this book she's written you?"

"Erylana has always been like that; even in classes, she'd hand in a page or two more of proof or substance, and then be proud of it- typical Elf."  Terezio rested his right arm around his wife, and she, in turn, shifted back and leaned her head on his shoulder.  "Ser Voyonov and Ser Unessmus did not have sufficient in common for my little scheme to work."

"Is that what Trizzi was trying to have you do?  See how similar Ser Unessmus was to Ser Voyonov?"

"On the record, I was supposed to be testing for Voyonov's mental infirmity- to check whether or not he was in control of his own actions," Terezio shrugged.  "Urmlaspyr law is still Sembian law, in places.  If a murder has been committed under duress caused by insanity, possession, or magic compulsion, the criminals aren't simply executed, as they are here.  Unless they are Semmites, they must either be permanently incarcerated with the Afflux bone rattlers, or released to a guardian who agrees, before a priest in a registered temple, to guarantee their good behavior for life.  They're not faulted, and some are practically caudled for the rest of their lives- but they're never permitted to live alone again."

"A frightening loss of autonomy," Druce frowned.  "It would be better to simply end the matter, I think."

"Most logical creatures would agree with you," Terezio huffed.  "But Urmlaspyr is run by committee- and it's not the wisest cluster of living beings, as I hear it.  At any rate, Ser Voyonov, was a complex subject- while he himself was of an upstanding, nearly gentle character, that soul burn-"

"What's a soul burn?" Druce interrupted immediately, putting the letter down completely and leaning her head on Terezio's shoulder.

Terezio reached his arm over and gingerly took Druce's right arm.  "It feels like this does for you," he said quietly, brushing his thumb over the puffy, discolored skin where the stitches refused to heal.  "Only it's branded on... an ephemeral surface.  If one believes the Tri-part Human Composition theory, then it can either sear someone's mind, or spirit, forcing them to act contrary to their normal reasoning, or it be burned into their soul, thereby changing the tenor of their actual being.  Aside from the Tieflings descended from the families responsible for making the original pacts, it's most commonly seen with warlocks; it's normally a function of their... ah, mon coeur; I'm boring you."

"You are not boring me; I'm tired," Druce corrected as she shifted herself in his arms.  "And you have always been very comfortable- only more so, now that there's more padding to you."

Terezio smirked a bit, pulled his glasses all the way off, and laid them on the floor not too far away from himself.  This done, he moved closer to Druce and pressed his cheek against hers.

"If you can stop listening to the matter long enough to remember that I'm comfortable, then I'm boring you," he soothed, kissing her left temple tenderly.

Druce simply made a noise of feigned offense, snuggling down closer to Terezio.

"I still wonder at why Master Ranclyffe pawned him off on me at all," Terezio scoffed.  "As the court mage, she has every right to declare him infirm herself."

"If you ask me, she is every bit as sneaky as her mother used to be, and used you as a cover, to get Ser Voyonov out of the country until she could get that pack of lack-wits she's dealing with to do what she wanted.  A very classy shill job, just as I said it was at the beginning."

Terezio smiled wistfully, with the hint of a chuckle.  "Good to be useful, I suppose.  Her reputation as a heartless utilitarian certainly remains intact in my mind, although I do wish I'd gotten more mileage out of that young Human- no offense to himself, of course."

"For goodness sakes, that's where Trizzi's 'heartless utilitarianism' comes from; right from you," Druce groaned.  "You ask me, you ought to have just let the matter rest after he out right told you 'no' so many times."

"You can't prove mental instability, as I thought I was supposed to do, by just telling the presiding magistrates that you can't get the subject to admit to anything but being the equivalent of a bad parent."  Terezio shrugged at Druce's face when she looked back at him.  "That's exactly why he was so interested in our own familial ties, Maman.  For him, both of those grown women are his daughters, given to him by vengeful gods that may never permit him to have children of his own, for whatever rank sin has gotten him into the state he's in."  The old mage paused for a moment, then chuckled to himself again.  "It's also very boring to be retired."

"They gave you a brace of classes and an apprentice," Druce reminded immediately, choosing to selectively ignore the rest of his answer.

"And I wonder why they did, to be honest," Terezio frowned.  "I'd thought of releasing Eunice; I think it's rather obvious, given her multiple run-ins with whatever denizen of the Hells was so intent on getting a hold of her, that I'm not doing her any favors."

"You can't be serious," Druce exclaimed, incredulous.  "Although it might be nice, and I've said so myself, for Eunice to have a strong female example, that doesn't mean that you ought to take your experience completely away from the poor girl.  Now, I saw some effective, if not particularly gentle, teaching some days ago-"

"No Ranclyffe can be found guilty of being gentle," Terezio sighed.  "But you have a point; Eunice herself told me about that...impromptu lesson she got.  There's only one possible issue the College might have with Trizzi."

"No lack of experience or credentials," Druce shot instantly.

"Of course not," Terezio replied, gently tugging at Druce's waist until she turned back around and leaned on him again.  "She'd have to have her citizenship reinstated."

3:58: The agnostic dedicant.

In the silent darkness of the very early morning, the roofs and walls of the dark wood shacks made inky outlines against the velvet sky.  Various pens, rough wood-and-metal enclosures that, in any other culture, might have held animals, were empty.  The shacks and pens surrounded a circular courtyard, with adult-sized trenches dug three inches into the ground all the way around the perimeter that all smelled faintly of blood and acrid leather.  Ice, so thick that it nearly seemed to have a color of its own, embraced every flat surface upon which it could lavish itself, and a heavy mist hovered over the ground.

Jyklihaimra opened her eyes, and found herself kneeling in the center of the courtyard.  Her arms and legs were covered with marks that were as radiantly cobalt blue as if she had just received them, but only her right wrist hurt.  Her thought process, slow to awaken and realize itself, was interrupted by the shadow of a large winged animal that cawed as it passed over her.  She looked up, and realized that her hair was shorter than she'd become accustomed to wearing it- lopped off at the nape of her neck.

She found she had to stare at the ice.

It was strangely familiar.

Tell me where you are.

The whisper, hardly audible, was nearly blotted out by the cawing of the animal flying above.  Inexplicably drawn to the creature, even though she knew there was no way of touching it, Jyklihaimra reached out an arm to welcome it toward her-

Spíci oighear.

-and discovered that there was a solid spike of ice through her right forearm, just above her wrist.  It ached miserably, and was nearly as blue as her bruises.  With her gaze pinned to it, fascinated, she lowered her arm.

Tell me where you are.

The throbbing pain in Jyklihaimra's wrist began climbing up her arm.  As it did, her hand and wrist began tingling, then went completely numb, as though they had frozen.  The shadow of the bird crossed over her again, crying defiantly as it went.  She didn't look at it; didn't have to.  The knowledge of exactly who it was and exactly why it was there imprinted itself on her sleeping consciousness as surely as if it had been truly branded in her skin.

Nach raibh maith agat.

As she denied the command, a wave of tingling, then of numbness, climbed rapidly up her arm and stretched itself into her chest.  Around her, the ice on the roofs and the pens visibly thickened, taking on a steely grey cast that couldn't be explained by the streaks of rosy dawn in the sky.  The mist thickened and rested, as frost, on the ground.

TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE.

The voice, sharply gaining a shockwave of power, jarred Silveredge's sight and brought stinging tears to her eyes.  A tremor of discomfort went through her bruises.  The ice around her hissed and squealed as deep cracks pushed their way through.  The ice in her arm, however, glowing a blue that was more radiant than her fresh blood could be, suddenly seemed to grow an inch in every direction, causing spectacular pain as it did.  In spite of all her tolerance training, she gasped in response, and was surprised when she felt as though the air she'd taken in had both filled her lungs and rushed over her body-

"Ah, Shadow Child," Aleksei soothed in a rolling tone that left no doubt about whether he'd gotten his frenzywater that morning or not.  "Dobro pozhalovat'."

And Silveredge, glad to be looking at the scarred, half-blind Dragonborn instead of the strange sky, the vicious pens, and the grey ice of her dream-vision, simply smiled, having no idea what had just been said to her. Discovering that neither her voice nor most of her body would stir, she focused only on her breath as it passed slowly in and out of her. Her heart was pounding, and both the back of her neck and her right arm ached miserably.

Aleksei waited, looking from the Shadar-kai in his arms to the Tiefling who lay in the make-shift bed just off to his right. Behind him, Susanna hadn't yet decided to move from the doorway.

"Is she alright, then?" the Human woman ventured quietly, when what was peaceful silence for everyone except for her became too concerning to endure.

Aleksei turned his seeing eye over his shoulder, surprised that the mother-to-be was still on her feet. A moment later, he shifted himself and sat all the way down on the ground instead of simply crouching.

"I do not know this," he admitted. "Please to ask Shadow Child herself."

"Yes," Silveredge managed, the word coming more as a simple exhalation than even a whisper. The ache at the back of her neck pounded with breath-taking ferocity.

"That doesn't sound alright," Susanna countered, "You've missed breakfast, Silveredge; I'll go down and get you some broth."

"My lady is kind," Silveredge said gratefully.  "The handmaiden hopes you will forgive her for not addressing you with proper posture."

Aleksei watched Susanna give a scoff that just barely pretended to be a chuckle.  "Don't worry about that," she replied as she slowly stepped back from the doorway and turned to make her way down the hall toward the kitchen.  "Considering how you looked a few moments ago, I'm grateful you're able to even speak to me; I'll be right back."

"Mishka is also much wanting to know if you are alright, before she is sleeping," Aleksei noted when he could no longer hear the gentle brushing of hand-made moccasin on the well-cared for wooden floor boards.  Balancing Silveredge carefully, he moved to a kneeling position first, then slowly stood up.  "I am thinking it is the weakness of her body, not her own desire, that is making her sleep; it does not much seem as though she is truly resting."

When Silveredge turned her head, she could certainly understand why Aleksei would be of that opinion.  Wide welts were brutally apparent despite all attempts at magic healing.  Silveredge noted with some concern that the Tiefling was noticeably more slender than she'd last seen her, and that the skin surrounding her eyes had sunken slightly and grown darker.

"I am late for learning my letters," Aleksei soothed knowingly.  "I will put you near to her heart, and if something is seeming strange to you, please to call out.  I am not so far that I will not hear you."

Silveredge nodded silently, not taking her eyes from Mi'ishaen.  Aleksei walked the few steps between them and the make shift bed, then knelt down to lay Silveredge next to Mi'ishaen.  The Shadar-kai turned and reached out her hand to offer a sort of silent thanks, which Aleksei allowed to fall on his scaly snout, as though he were a pet instead of a companion.  He smiled at her blush, knowing she'd instantly become self-conscious about her choice to touch him at all, then rose and turned away, closing the richly hand-detailed curtain behind him.

Silveredge, while recovering from the mild embarrassment, took that moment to actually look at the curtain.  Two green satin panes had been joined with lace dyed a slightly tanned hue, and the entire curtain had been framed with radiant gold fringe, such as much have been very expensive to come by.  The Shadar-kai looked over at the Tiefling, and rested her light blue hand on top of the red one.

"I don't know why everyone is making such a fuss," Mi'ishaen managed, smirking without opening her eyes.  "Bahlzair caught nothing but my blocks half the time, and when he did hit, the blow wouldn't have much force.  I think he's doing as badly as I am, and I'm not surprised; all the food in there was rancid.  Worse than Urmlaspyr."

Tears of relieved joy at once stung Silveredge's eyes, surprising and embarrassing her at once.  She was glad Mi'ishaen hadn't looked at her yet.  In the quiet that came with the absence of her answer, the Tiefling shifted on the palette.

"Where's dog?" she asked, turning her hand over and pressing Silveredge's hand in her own.

"At the Sunfire Manse, with a little girl named Amadelle," Silveredge explained, finding that her voice still came quietly and hoarse.  "She's very recently lost her little brother, and so Niku is keeping her company until she finds another."

"More like he's keeping the other animals in that den from snapping her hand off while she tries to pet them, probably," the Tiefling scoffed.  Although she couldn't her voice couldn't sound bitter as the comment obviously warranted, Silveredge was relieved to at last be missing the strange rattling in Mi'ishaen's lungs that had not left her since the glyph trap they'd sprung on the way from Urmlaspyr.

"The dogs there are not particularly used to being little brothers and sisters, but they are very aggressive, determined warriors," Silveredge noted.  "It seems I should be grateful that Niku can be both at once."

"He tries," Mi'ishaen puffed, again trying to laugh.  "He could use some more practice at being a warrior."

And Silveredge chuckled herself.  "It seems he only wants to be fierce occasionally; perhaps it takes too much work.  A few days ago, he brought me a shard of thin cotton that looked as though he had fiercely struggled with whomever it belonged to before him.  I opened it, and my katars, my needles, and my chain were all wrapped tightly inside."

"Must've been heavy," the Tiefling replied with a slight smirk.

"And Aleksei's frenzywater appeared at the bottom of one of the shop barrels, he said, half buried in sand, like one would find in an hour glass.  Same day.  No one was sure where it came from.  And a guard came by to ask us about them, since they were recorded as confiscated, but never as returned, as they should have been when we were both released."

Mi'ishaen moved her head very slightly- what would have been a nod, had she not been lying down.  Silveredge chuckled softly, deciding not to put any more words to what was, for Mi'ishaen, an admission by omission.  The Shadar-kai first delicately pulled stray strands of dark hair out of the Tiefling's face, then scooted toward her in order to lay down with her.

"It's even longer now.   I can probably braid it all the way around your head.  Tightly, so that no one can grab-"

A light knock came from the side lintel outside the curtain, and Susanna poked through, carefully managing a small tray with a bowl of broth and half of a small loaf of bread, after a few seconds of silence.  She reddened slightly in the cheeks when she saw Silveredge's closeness to Mi'ishaen.  Mi'ishaen, as if sensing an incoming conflict, opened her eyes at last.  Although her body couldn't possibly have complied with the threat in her eyes, Susanna felt the force of the glare nearly push her back out of the room, all the same.

"Thank you," Silveredge cooed gratefully, patting Mi'ishaen's hand just once before sitting up and lifting her arms to reach for the tray.  "The handmaiden hopes you will forgive her for not rising to receive your gift."

"No need; no need," Susanna smiled as she brought the tray closer, still strangely embarrassed.  "I'm glad to see you better."

"Blessings of your gods be with you," Silveredge nodded, carefully taking the tray with a small bow.

"And those of yours be with you," Susanna replied as she backed away.  Finding that Mi'ishaen wasn't intending to say anything at all, the mother gave another brief, tight smile, and moved back through the curtain.

Mi'ishaen closed her eyes again almost immediately, and so was surprised to feel the edge of the wooden spoon, dry, but warm because of sitting so closely to the earthen bowl, pressed lightly to her lips.

"If it had a bit more rice," Silveredge said in a strangely apologetic tone when Mi'ishaen had opened her eyes again, "I wouldn't have bothered with the spoon."

Mi'ishaen blinked at Silveredge for a few moments as though she couldn't see her clearly, then spent a few uncomfortable moments getting herself to sit up.

"Does your goddess like the cold?"

Silveredge raised an eyebrow, as she wasn't expecting to talk about spiritual matters with a bowl of soup between them.  "Yes," she replied.  "She was given dominion over the winter."

"Have you ever seen her?" Mi'ishaen asked more urgently, putting a hand against Silveredge's forearm so that she would put the spoon down entirely.  "In paintings, or literature, or something?  Do you know what she looks like?"

"What she looks like?" Silveredge echoed, now completely surprised.  "Why do you ask?"

"Because I-" The Tiefling stopped and sighed.  "Tell me if this sounds familiar.  Tall, thin, pale skin, dark eyes and hair, I'm talking completely black..."

"Were there... chains?" Silveredge asked, feeling quite awkward for not being able to find any way to put the question any more delicately.

"Yes," Mi'ishaen replied, managing a weak, but encouraging nod.  "Everywhere, all over her.  Longer than you would normally make any piece of jewelry, even a belly chain.  I couldn't see where any of them ended or started... winding around her, thin as spider webs... she picked one of them off herself to show it to me-"

What do you think of this one, heart of my beloved's heart?

And for the first time since Urmlaspyr, Silveredge heard the rattle of distant chains without seeing a single one.  She turned her head very slightly and hummed, but didn't want to do anything else, concerned that she may give away the suddenly familiar, yet strange sensation.

"-and there were these empty links where charms should have gone.  She asked me whether she should put gold in them, or rubies," Mi'ishaen continued, looking past Silveredge as the memory of the vision became more and more vivid to her. "I told her the rubies would be better, because... because..."

"...they'd make the piece beautiful; much more striking to behold," Silveredge suddenly supplied, putting the soup tray aside and reaching out to gather Mi'ishaen closer to herself in encouragement.  "I would have done the same- especially if the gold were pale instead of bright or rosy.  I wish I could have seen it; it sounds very lovely."

And for a few moments, Mi'ishaen could do nothing but look at Silveredge.

"And yes, that does sound familiar," the Shadar-kai added with a quiet smile.

"Okay," Mi'ishaen relented, relaxing her body slightly.  "Okay, at least I'm not completely crazy.  I felt crazy.  Well...no.  Not that time.  That time, I was just..."

The ache of not only seeing her brother, but getting to play and speak with him, throbbed strongly enough in her chest to make her eyes sting.  Silveredge pressed Mi'ishaen as closely as she could with still-weary arms.

"You were?" she prompted gently.

"Angry, is what," Mi'ishaen burst sharply, unable to keep the words from sounding harsher than she wanted.   "To have him right there... I thought I'd let him go."

Silveredge turned her face inward slightly, enough to be able to press her lips to Mi'ishaen's neck.

"I understand," she whispered, not needing to guess at the subject of conversation.  "I think one day, you will."

"It's not like it was yesterday," came the frustrated retort.  "He's been gone for years."

From the sound of Mi'ishaen's voice, she'd come close to tears.  Silveredge felt her own eyes well up with empathy.

"I don't think anyone's heart is ruled by the almanac," she soothed, trying not to let her voice tremble.

"I'm not doing it on purpose; everything just keeps... I don't know, bringing him up, for some reason," Mi'ishaen breathed, laying her head on Silveredge's shoulder.  "What am I doing that everybody's bringing him up?"

"Did she... bring him with her?" Silveredge asked carefully, moving a bit more so that her head could lean on Mi'ishaen's.

There was a daring silence during which Mi'ishaen's body shivered a little, but absolutely no sounds were made.  Silveredge felt her shoulder get slightly damp, then absolutely wet, and she bit the backs of her lips, trying not to make any sound of her own.

"He was there first," Mi'ishaen puffed.  "I wanted to stay, Edge, I wanted to stay with him so bad, I could have screamed, but he said I couldn't.  He said I had to go-"

"Then I'm grateful to him," Silveredge urged, pressing her eyes shut tightly as she tightened her hug as much as she could.  After a few silent moments, she sat back just slightly to look at Mi'ishaen, who had closed her own eyes.

Something worthy of my beloved...

The Tiefling bit the back of her lower lip as tender blue fingers brushed at her cheeks, and lifted a hand to touch the one caressing her face.

"Tell me the thing you were going to tell me before," she said, her voice still wobbly with the weight of her brother's loss.

Silveredge smiled and leaned forward so that their foreheads touched. "Bidh gaol agam ord fad mo bheatha, thusa's gun duine eile."

Mi'ishaen made a few puffing noises that were supposed to indicate amusement, but that couldn't do so as yet.  "Did you expect me to get something out of that, Edge?"

"I will love you only, for all my life," the Shadar kai translated.

"Oh," the Tiefling said in response, the sound thudding to the floor like a stone.  She felt as though someone had just punched her straight in the breastbone.

"It's written somewhere- from an old love story that my mother cherished.  She said that always to her good friend- whispering it in the hallways, speaking it as a secret in the kitchen- I realize now that I didn't really know what she meant by it, especially since her good friend only spoke Common and Undercommon.  But when I thought that they... that I might not get a chance to..."

"I told you, I get out of things," Mi'ishaen soothed, with the benefit of about half her voice, when Silveredge's words had died away into silence.  "Don't ever worry about me."

"The handmaiden hopes you will forgive her when she tells you she cannot do as you have asked," Silveredge replied, a wistful look crossing her face.  "It is yet another way in which you are stronger than I."

But Mi'ishaen remembered the anxious days, the nearly sleepless nights, and the vicious attacks that Cloud and Cypher had suffered before Greyscale managed to put her into a very necessary choke hold.

"I'm different," she admitted after a few moments.  "But I wasn't any stronger about... what you had to do... than you were about what I... just trust me.  I was pretty damned worried too."

Silveredge looked more surprised at that than Mi'ishaen thought she should have.  "The handmaiden is sorry to have made you worry," she said genuinely, seeming as though she feared the Tiefling's impending wrath.

"Nobody makes anybody do anything," Mi'ishaen stated flatly.  Silveredge leaned back just slightly to look at her face, whose strange cross between sorrow and relief utterly belied the tone in her voice.  "Things happen, people say things, people do things, and everybody chooses how they will feel about it."

"Then the handmaiden thanks you for choosing to return," the Shadar-kai smiled.  "The Queen guides our fates, but she does not set them.  We do that ourselves."

Mi'ishaen hummed in something that approximated understanding.  "I can appreciate that, if it's true.  Tell me again.  What your mother said?"

"Bidh gaol agam ort fad mo bheatha," Silveredge repeated, snuggling close to the Tiefling again.  "I love you only, Mi.  Only you."

"Okay." Mi'ishaen reached her hand out and wrapped it in Silveredge's hair.  "Entonces, eres la única a quien amo; la única que yo quiero.  Only you."