Those [in the clan] of Sabaed followed in her ways of trickery and deceit, stirring up wars in the pursuit of unbridled power. The last [Segara] was said to be the child of the first two, a matron of destruction.

  Some legends speak of another goddess born of Sabaed, the twin of Segara. However, she has faded from memory with no remains of a clan and only the faintest recollections that her followers fell to her own power: division.

  History attests this could be the case. Every nation falls eventually, and if the only unifying value within a civilization is division itself, then this process would be accelerated. Therefore, the lost clan failed to stand together against the others, and was either swallowed or destroyed. Disunity once again was proven to be bane of survival.

  Fennorin’s Guide to Elven History, 20th Anniversary Ed. UE 2362

  Fenn stomped into camp with a confidence he’d never shown, setting satisfaction blooming in Syrdin’s chest. Not just because he’d told the she-elf off, either. Syrdin suppressed the grin that zhe no longer wore a cowl to hide. Now if I can only get this version of Fenn to decide I need to stay. Zhe had a few ideas on how to do it, and this rest was zheir final chance to try.

  Fenn released his frustration in a huff as he squatted beside Syrdin, plucking up a mallet. He drove it with steady gusto into a stake zhe’d placed, stabbing deep into the dingy earth. They worked in silence until they reached for the same final peg.

  He stopped and let zhem take it.

  “Thank–erm, that was good of you.” he whispered, composed again. “Gale’s alive because of you.” His gaze flicked to where she sat with her empty stare set on the forest.

  Syrdin snorted. For a moment as zhe watched the pathetic girl–the one who’d sworn to see zhem gone–zhe regretted alerting him. But letting Gale die would have destroyed the agency zhe had worked to instill in Fenn. Too bad.

  A touch cruel, don’t you think? Even after days of silence, the goddess’ mental whisper didn’t surprise Syrdin.

  Fenn’s next words did. “For someone who used to kill for a living, you have saved us a lot of times.”

  Zhe didn’t know what zhe had expected him to say–probably nothing–but not that. It was frank in a way he usually wasn’t, and it was… grateful. Zhe’d saved Mell from the flotymus, Fenn from the Everguard, and Gale from some poppies. So what? They were all necessary for the purpose of the mission. He spoke as though he believed zhe genuinely cared. Zhe peered at him.

  Regardless of the truth, if Fenn truly believed zhe cared about the group, it was the ultimate weapon to win his trust. Zhe resumed hammering that final stake and decided on a ploy at honesty, one veiled in half-truths. Zhe didn’t even need to pretend to care about Gale, just about life. “Honestly, Fenn, I thought about not warning you, but she shouldn’t die just because she hates my guts.” Except that it would’ve been so easy! Zhe sent a sly grin up at him.“Besides, it’d probably break you. Kinda need you operational, our fearless leader.”

  “Me?” He cocked his head stupidly.

  “You.” Zhe playfully pounded the dirt next to his toes with zheir mallet, as though zhe was not weighing their deaths transactionally. “Besides, she’s kinda our ticket home, what with Ferngal’s soft spot for her.”

  “Ticket?”

  “Arcane Engines? Hulking rail machines that have taken over travel? No?”

  “Right.” He scratched his temple. “Glad to know the designs worked out so well.”

  Zhe suppressed a chuckle as zhe rose. In all likelihood, he’d been one of the artificers consulted on the machines.

  When Fenn arose and wished everyone good night, Gale turned her nose away, trying to punish him–a tactic that had not worked at all. If anything, it pushed Fenn away–away was toward Syrdin.

  If Gale weren’t such a pain, the whole drama would’ve been amusing. In zheir country, a highborn lady like Gale would’ve owned Fenn, body and soul. And he wouldn’t be her only consort, either. In a way, it was surreal to watch Gale struggle to hold some influence over him, a man. She was, even by Syrdin’s estimation, stronger than him. Yet, Syrdin already had more influence on him than Gale did, and zhe wasn’t employing gender or sensuality at all.

  In truth, zhe didn’t wish that style of partnership on anyone, especially not poor little Fenn. Besides, Etnfrandia’s equal partnerships left Fenn free–free for Syrdin to influence.

  “Sleep well.” Krid nodded his return to Fenn’s wish.

  “Night,” Mell raised a hand. She had dropped a blanket over her face for shade, but had bothered with neither tent nor pallet.

  “Mell,” Fenn sighed. “Wouldn’t you at least like to use a bedroll?” He pulled hers from her pack and unrolled it next to her. Mell’s back was aging, and she’d often rub it in the morning. It had been worse when traveling across Hethbarn, before the rations had begun to slim her; gods forbid that an inn didn’t stuff its mattresses fresh, then! Somehow, Fenn had noticed her ailment. He had seemed denser than that.

  At the sound of the roll unfurling, crackling as it crushed leaves, Mell uncovered her head. She set a squint on the pallet, then on him.

  “There. Now you’re only required to scoot over to benefit.”

  Mell groaned and heaved onto the roll, sighing into place. “And you wonder why Gale wants you.”

  Syrdin barely withheld a snort as Fenn’s ears turned a hint purple. Instead, zhe ducked into their tent and unfurled his bedroll along with zheir own. If that was what friends did in his mind, zhe would imitate it. This was zheir last chance.

  Fenn was only moments behind zhem. Now to win my place here.

  You sound confident. Ath-togail’s presence formed an astral body inside the tent, and she stretched her arms up, straight through the tent’s ceiling. It was a strangely mortal gesture, as though the physical act could release the tension of limiting her deific power to one vessel. I don’t see how you intend to convince him.

  Ignoring the comment, Syrdin faced Fenn as he ducked through the entrance. Their eyes met, and his glimmered with questions. Perfect. Zhe raced him to the punch and won. “Hey, what is she to you, anyway?”

  “Who? Gale?” His confused moon-eyes meant he’d be easy to harass.

  “No, Mell, your work-friend with whom I’ve already travelled for weeks before coming here.” Zhe positively oozed sarcasm. “Of course I mean your,” zhe raised air quotes, “betrothed.”

  “She…erm…” Fenn sat down on his own bedroll, giving it, then zhem, a boggled stare. “You… really want to know what she means to me? You?”

  Pft, no. Zhe kept that to zhemself. “I like to think I’m good at reading people, and not even I know, which makes me think that you don’t know. Arsdark, man, Mell doesn’t know, and Mell always knows.”

  Ath-togail’s ghostly form sat, creating a triangle between the three of them. She wore a bemused smirk on her face. And what does this have to do with recruiting him to my cause?

  Just wait and see. Syrdin leaned back on zheir hands, legs stretched forward on zheir bedroll. Zhe shrugged at Fenn and ran with the honest gambit. “What you feel or whatever isn’t as important so much as keeping the group intact. That girl is the wedge in the log right now, and the axe is ready to fall. To fix it–oh fearless leader–you’ve first got to make up your mind. So, what’s she to you?”

  Actually, it held a two-fold purpose. First, this would feel to Fenn like talking to a friend, taking advantage of his natural weakness for empathy. Then, it also would tell Syrdin just how much zhe could undermine the girl–for fun. Gale’d done a fair job on her own, so her significance to him was vulnerable. Syrdin meant to go for the kill. Just an obligation? Then Syrdin could slander her. A friend? A break-up and a stern talking to from Fenn would do. Gods forbid he loved her. That would give her a dangerous amount of sway.

  Fenn swallowed too hard.

  Zhe wondered how many decades–nay, centuries–the man had avoided that question. “You really don’t know? Fine. Let’s start easy. If she had died today, you would have been upset. How upset?”

  He turned even paler, hands curling into sinuous fists at his stomach.

  “Okay, very. Why?”

  “We grew up together!” He snapped. “How could I not be upset?!”

  Actually, that was news to Syrdin, but at least it made sense why Gale acted like Fenn’s tolerance toward Syrdin had been such a betrayal. It was never about national pride, but the betrayal of an old bond. “Then you care a lot about her?”

  His ashen eyes roved back and forth in front of him, unfocused on the surroundings, instead tracking what he thought. His teeth clenched and unclenched, knuckles turning white until finally he opened them, staring at his palms. “She… erm, she’s my friend. And I… I promised I’d look after her. It’s my fault—since she followed me, and I let her believe—so it’s my… it’d be my fault.”

  Syrdin raised a brow at him. Overgrown sense of guilt. “What if we assume she’s responsible for following you around like a duckling, even into the Fae, knowing full well it was the Fae? Hm?” Zhe wasn’t entirely convinced she was just his friend.

  “I still let her believe I’d be her patron–her partner.” His head lowered. “And she’s still my friend.”

  I still don't see how this helps, the goddess sent.

  Well I can't pay him to help like we could have Golfinga, and you don't permit me to threaten innocents, so I'm having to get creative here. “Mell’s your friend. I don’t see you coddling her.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Permit you? For how long will you let Syrrah influence you? She is dead.

  Syrdin hid a flinch while Fenn spent a moment in thought.

  “I set out her bedroll,” he pointed out.

  Syrdin rolled zheir eyes, thinking of how he’d tried to protect Gale from all kinds of knowledge. If Fenn’s notes were anything to go off of, it was largely the same thing his “House of Tradition” had done to his whole nation, withholding information in the name of “protection.” He was accidentally repeating that same mistake. Then there was also the time he’d cradled her face very intimately. And every time he entertained her smiles and questions–and meltdowns. And how even in Etnfrandia he scarcely could make himself defy her. “You don’t even know you’re doing it. Great.”

  He stared at zhem, uncomprehending. “I’d reassure anyone who needed it,” he protested. “That's most of what you've seen.”

  This was the first time he’d seemed aware their friendship wasn't completely normal. “So Gale needs special attention?”

  “Well, she asks it of me, and I’m the reason she’s here, so…” he trailed off, his brows furrowing, but he was unable to complete the thought.

  Syrdin leaned forward and finished the implication. “So she’s an obligation to you?”

  He went a little cross-eyed then, leaning back as though offended by the idea. “No, she’s my friend–!”

  “Who needs special attention?”

  “Yes!” He blinked. “Yes?”

  “So you don’t respect her?” Syrdin hoped that was true.

  “Respect her?”

  Zhe should've kept that one to zhemself. Zhe turned it finally toward a breakup–to break off Gale’s say in things and finally take her down about twenty notches. “You keep babying her feelings, protecting her from truths she needs to know, and has rights to, man.”

  “She would’ve died without me!”

  “And without me–though I wouldn’t have needed to step in if you actually told her anything.” Syrdin parroted Krid. The more Fenn denied, the more obvious the truth was.

  He closed his fists. “I just want her to be happy!”

  “And you can make her happy?”

  “No! That’s the problem. I can’t, and she thinks I can!” His voice pitched desperately.

  “But you want to?”

  “No! Yes? I don’t know! She wants a family!”

  “And you don’t?”

  “Yes! No? I…” he looked away, turning sallow cheeks toward Syrdin. The knot in his throat bobbed where it protruded too much. “I never wanted to make one, no.”

  To make a family? Weird wording. And he’d struck zhem as the kind of man who would enjoy kids. Tiny gremlins. Syrdin had yet to regret trading the ability to make a deal with the dwarves. Zhe squinted at him. It’s obvious. Except to him. That was most useful of all.

  Now you've really lost me. If you aren't intending to threaten him, then why ask?

  “So, why haven’t you told her, then? Because we both know how this ends: pain, fury, disappointment.”

  At the last, Fenn slumped forward, rubbing under his glasses. “Syrdin, how did you know about the Fae poppies?”

  Ath-togail chuckled. He, apparently, couldn’t even bear to think about it.

  Nice deflection, though. He’d finally remembered what he’d intended to ask when he’d entered. The implications of the honest answer included which clan zhe’d been born to, and though it might take a day and several pages in his notebook, Fenn could figure it out. Zhe shot him a winning grin. “Dodging questions is my thing. You don’t get to do it.”

  Fenn frowned. “I’m not dodging. That’s what you’re doing. I’m only unsure how to answer. So, you can instead. How did you know?”

  “I’ll answer honestly if you do.” Syrdin’s smile twisted with all too much pleasure. These games were fun. Besides, if zhe did have to spill, then there’d be the illusion of trust, and Fenn would be in zheir pocket. If not, he’d have been teased with the possibility of more information–his one great passion.

  “Deal.”

  “Deal.”

  Syrdin felt the inner twist of a deal sinking into place. This was the fae, and they fae creatures. Magic bound it.

  Not wise to deal, Ath-togail warned.

  Fenn thought for a long time, scratching his chin and then rubbing his neck. “Gale… she wasn’t just my first friend. She was the only one I had. She was always there for me,” he said, glancing to Syrdin for the briefest moment before his gaze fell to the ground. “Especially when my family wasn’t. In some ways, she was my family. Even when I came back, she always had this unshakable faith in me. I don’t know why, but…” He swallowed a throaty, bobbing swallow.

  Syrdin blinked. Is he about to cry? Zhe pretended not to be ashamed of him and put a hand on his arm. “You don’t want to lose her faith.”

  “She’ll be disappointed in me. It’s selfish, but really, I think it’s the true reason I never told her anything about my plans; because I couldn’t bear to witness it when she realized I’m not what she thinks–thought.” He plunged his face into his hands, rubbing under his glasses. He didn’t cry, to his credit. “I think I hate the idea of losing her faith almost as much as the thought of losing her.”

  That… was the stupidest thing Syrdin had heard in zheir entire life. Zhe just kept on patting his boney shoulder. It wasn’t only Gale who’d felt they’d been close friends at some point–and wished they still were. This limited Syrdin’s options. Fenn had to be the one to put her down. And–Arsdark!--zhe hadn’t expected him to answer. Zhe had to answer next, or suffer the pain of a broken deal.

  “I know what’ll cheer you up!” If zhe had to answer, zhe may as well frame it as a friendly gesture.

  He sniffled. “Your answer?”

  “Exactly. So, we have them.”

  “Them?”

  “Fae poppies. We interbred them with Midnight Blooms and made them into poisons.”

  “Your people farm a hybrid for poisons?” He sat up, intrigued.

  “Yes, among other things.” Zhe lifted zheir chin under half-lidded eyes, titillating him with the hint of more information to learn. We can bribe him, Ath.

  “But… how? And what if–accident–there’s no cure!” Fenn sputtered.

  Zhe let a slick smile spread over zheir lips. Fenn understood the horrors such a poison would inflict to the hearts of those with someone to lose. He’d known the moment Gale had nearly fallen victim. He would have watched her wither and die all while she smiled in inescapable dreams. Inescapable… without outside help.

  “It’s honestly one of our less cruel ways to kill, pal. But we are more calculating than that. It’s a blackmail poison. ‘No antidote unless you do as we say.’” Zhe summoned a vial of deeply purple liquid from zheir bottomless bag and held it up for him to see. It felt like a gamble to include that much information. Only those clansfolk of the warmongering Nighmelders had a use for such a tool. He could realize and be mortified, or he could notice a different implication…

  Fenn’s eyes fixed on the vial. “The poison?” He leaned forward, a hand rising toward it.

  Zhe snatched it away. “The antidote.” Yes, I could have used Gale’s sleep as blackmail over you, had I not warned you. Part of zhem wished zhe had. It would be so much less annoying. But that was what Syrrah’s mother, the priestess, would have done. And what Sabaed–curse her name–would have commanded.

  I would never allow—Ath-togail began.

  I know, I know. But it is simpler.

  It's cruel. Let Syrrah stay dead.

  Zhe seethed inside. And so we coerce and bribe another way. One that's not “cruel.”

  He will never be motivated by coin. We agreed that was for the best.

  But he doesn't need coins to be bribed. Watch.

  Fenn studied Syrdin in a panic. “When you say ‘we,’ who do you mean?”

  “The clan I was born to.” Zhe clenched zheir jaw, silently threatening him not to press further. He can be bribed with information.

  “There’s no point in asking, is there?” He sounded like his voice had been strung through a compound bow. But his eyes gleamed with hunger. He wanted–no, needed—to know.

  “Nope.” Zhe flopped back onto zheir bedroll, signaling an end to the conversation. He would figure it out, but the test was issued, and results in. The magic of the fae unbound; a deal for information, complete. Fenn was entirely bribable. And coerce-able. All zhe needed was novel information and an appeal to empathy. Those came cheap.

  Fenn followed zheir lead more carefully. His breath fell swift and uneven, anxious. He wasn’t settled with the conversation at all.

  “What is it?” zhe demanded.

  His breath hitched. “If… if you…erm”

  “Oh calm down; It’s not like I’d kill you for asking.”

  He winced. “Would you ever… threaten my friends?”

  Zhe bit a lip, undecided whether the question was insightful. “If I were going to do that, then I would’ve done it today.” Ath-togail would never let me. Zhe left that part unsaid.

  “Oh.” Fenn settled back down, contemplative.

  You wouldn’t be able to go through with it, Ath-togail argued. It’s too much like what you suffered.

  Syrdin ignored the goddess. “All bets are off if they threaten me, though.”

  “What?”

  “Just saying. If they try to kill me, I’ll kill them first.”

  “But you won’t start it?”

  “No. Now is that all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. If you start freaking out again I’ll smother you.”

  “Sorry!” he squeaked.

  “Hmph.”

  Mell’s steady snore leaked through the tent canvas. There was one last piece of business before zhe joined the snoring. Less important and totally unnecessary, except in how satisfying it would be to see the girl break.

  “So, when are you going to tell her?”

  “What?” Fenn mumbled.

  “When are you going to tell Gale her feelings are one-sided?” Of course, they weren’t–not completely, but Fenn didn’t know that.

  He heaved a sigh worthy of a dragon. “Either she’ll call it off, or I’ll tell her matronages don’t exist outside of Etnfrandia and let her understand.”

  “Half-truths don't suit you.”

  He was quiet, his breath falling and rising until zhe thought it drifted into the pattern of sleep.

  “How greatly do you think it will hurt her?” he whispered.

  He asked for advice as from a friend. The fool. Zhe grinned. He was finally in zheir pocket. Zhe didn’t know a thing about love, only seduction. But zhe knew what zhe needed. “The longer you wait, the more it will hurt her.”

  He didn’t answer, and neither of them spoke again.

  Syrdin could not imagine where such an innocent soul had come from. He’d apologized for mistrusting zhem, a literal mercenary assassin. Somehow, he had managed to force zhem to be a bit too honest, also, but it had been for the best. Honesty felt natural with him. Zhe listened to the songs of foreign birds, and marveled at that.