Chapter Text
“Love. Mavari.”
“Zevlor?”
“Our child’s name…Tilith. I choose the name Tilith.”
“Tilith. It’s a beautiful name.”
“Cerys, Lia. Listen to me. If we fall, don’t try to avenge us. Use one of the Teleport scrolls and get back to Baldur’s Gate immediately.”
“But, sir—"
“That’s a direct order, Cerys. Come. Let’s show them how proud we Tieflings are.”
At this point in their relationship, neither of them saw much of a point in shielding their feelings. They could read each other like a book, anyway, after everything they had been through. And, yet, Mavari could see how rigidly Zevlor held himself as he tossed the envelope on the table in front of her. Why was he trying to hide his reaction? She frowned at it, then glanced up as he checked the kettle on the stove. “What’s this?”
“Read it,” he spoke, moving toward the liquor cabinet, “then tell me what you think.” His voice was level but carried a hint of heat to it. Though his back was toward her, she could tell he was pouring a glass of whiskey for himself.
“Did your meeting with Wyll go well?” she asked, tentatively reaching for the envelope.
“Just read it,” he commanded. She saw him take a long pull from the drink, staying still for a breath, and then moving toward the opposite end of the kitchen.
Absently, she rubbed the side of her belly as she reached for the envelope. She slid out the contents, immediately noting that it was nice stationary. Upon reading the salutation, Mavari’s eyebrows lifted. “’To our esteemed Commander’?” She didn’t miss his thinned lips as he set down a cup of tea in front of her. “None of the coalition addresses you that formally.”
He gave her a plain look before moving back to the counter. She got the hint and continued reading. As she did, she started to understand why he was controlling his reaction. Not wanting to agitate him further, she swallowed the urge to ask questions. Once Mavari got to the end of the letter, she frowned. “The High Observer is…?”
“The head of state.” He was busying himself chopping vegetables and not looking at her. But, for as still as the rest of him was, his tail was flicking back and forth. Alarm bells started going off in her head.
She set the letter down carefully. Digesting what she just read, Mavari grabbed her cup of tea and took a long drink. She was aware that Grand Duke Wyll Ravenguard had been trying to secure a political meeting with Elturel for quite some time. Somehow during the correspondence, it must have come up that the Tiefling refugees had found their way to Baldur’s Gate three years prior. And, now, he was requesting specifically that Zevlor come along on the diplomatic visit.
Not just Zevlor, though. “…he wants all of us to come?” she asked tentatively.
“I would like to cordially invite you and your family to stay in the newly renovated Shieldhaven Manor in High Hall,” Zevlor recited. She heard the sharp thwick of the knife hitting the cutting board. “Pretentious pricks,” he muttered to himself.
That flavor of comment was unusual for him, but she didn’t blame him. “Something seems off about this. Why would they want you to come back after exiling the Tieflings?”
“To serve as an example, perhaps.” Oh, she didn’t like that dark tone in his voice. Neither did she like the speed in which his tail started thrashing the air. “I don’t trust it, either.”
She wrapped her hands around the tea cup. “But we don’t have much of a choice, do we?”
That was enough to warrant a glance from Zevlor. His face carried a myriad of emotions, but the most prevalent one at that moment was frustration. “We do have a choice,” he told her quietly. “The children aren’t going. You’re not going.”
She clenched her jaw. “I’m not letting you go back to Elturel by yourself, Zevlor.”
“If this is a trap,” he argued, placing the knife on the counter, “I’ll not put you or the baby in danger.” He took a moment to collect himself before he crossed the room toward her. Quietly, he knelt beside the chair. Placing both hands on her stomach, he leaned his head forward to rest on the baby bump, exhaling low and slow. This baby was too precious to risk it. Not after they had spent all that time begging her patron to let them conceive in the first place. Zevlor was understandably protective, but—
Mavari placed her hands on his cheeks, gently forcing him to look at her. “And I won’t let our daughter go without her father,” she argued quietly. His expression turned from frustration to surprise. It took a moment before realizing what she had said. “Ahh…surprise?” She gave a weak laugh as Zevlor rose onto his knees, the surprise shifting into affection. “Mira accidentally let it slip the last time she and Halsin came to check on me.”
“A daughter,” he repeated, voice hushed with wonder. He carefully leaned in to rest his forehead against hers. His fingers were tracing circles on either side of the bump. She could feel the baby shift in her belly.
Allowing her arms to loop around his shoulders, she added, “I guess you better be thinking of some names, Papa.”
“It’s bold of you to assume I haven’t already picked one.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you serious?” He snuck a quick kiss to quiet her, clearly in a better mood than he was minutes before. “Zev—” He snuck another one. “Stop that.”
“No,” he remarked simply, pressing his lips against hers once again. This time, she wasn’t fighting it, returning the kiss in kind.
The sound of the front door slamming open interrupted the moment. Zevlor pulled back and rose to his feet, smoothly grabbing the letter from the table. He stuffed it in his pocket. “We’ll discuss this later.”
“Later,” she agreed, though she couldn’t resist swatting his behind while he moved away. He gave her a half-exasperated, half-amused look as he returned to chopping vegetables. She smirked at him and turned as their adopted children rounded the corner.
Zevlor clicked the lock on the door. At this point, it was a formality—when one had adopted multiple children with lockpicking skills, it wasn’t as though a simple lock could keep them out. But Mattis was old enough to recognize what it meant and was much more adept at keeping the younger ones from interrupting…most of the time. Every once in a while, Mirkon or Silfy would sneak their way in despite this.
Tonight wasn’t that, but they didn’t wish to be interrupted regardless. He headed toward the bed. Mavari, already lounging against a pile of pillows, was looking over the letter again, frowning. He carefully slid in next to her, giving a kiss to her temple. She looked over and tapped the letter against her palm. “What’s Shieldhaven Manor?”
“As I recall, it used to house one of the more influential families, until they were wiped out by vampires. Now, it’s little more than a glorified guest house.” He resisted the urge to sigh.
“Cute. We get to stay in a place where the entire family died. That’s not morbid at all.”
“The same thing may have happened to this very house,” he pointed out to her.
“Nope. I’m not considering it.”
He grazed her cheek, a quick, playful gesture, before turning serious again. “I would assume their intention is for Wyll and the Flaming Fists to stay there, as well.”
Mavari kept tapping the letter against her palm. “Do we trust the Fists?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he began. “The elder Duke Ravenguard has worked hard to whip them into shape.”
“Do we trust them to effectively guard Tieflings in a place that hates Tieflings?” she asked bluntly.
“No,” Zevlor responded immediately. He paused at the answer. “To be frank, I wouldn’t trust anyone but our kin. Anyone else, and I’d be constantly watching our backs.”
“Our backs,” she repeated. “You’ve come around to us going?”
“I would heavily prefer you all to stay home and safe,” he argued, “but I think I’m going to lose that argument.”
“C’mere.” She patted her chest. Zevlor stared at her for a long moment before sighing and shifting down the bed. He tangled his leg with hers and allowed an arm to sling across her midsection. He nestled his head against her chest. Gently, she reached up to scratch his scalp. He groaned, pressing a warm kiss to her skin briefly, and let himself enjoy the gesture. Only after a few minutes of massaging his head did she speak again. “Truth be told, I’m not keen on the kids going, either, but I think we need to give them the option, love.”
“For what purpose?” he mumbled. “They don’t need to be put in harm’s way.”
“Well,” she began. “You’ve talked about how you wished you could see Asher’s grave just one more time, right?”
He paused before lifting his gaze toward her. He wasn’t going to deny that the idea had a certain appeal to it, despite the present danger, but… “…What are you getting at?”
“This may be the only chance any of you get to see Elturel again,” she spoke quietly. “The kids may want to see it one more time, too.”
He drew in a breath. Her fingers started to lightly scrape his scalp again. Zevlor closed his eyes and let his head lull against her chest again. He muttered, “You’re too clever for your own good.” She knew she could convince him of anything like this.
She hummed. “I know.” Mavari moved her fingers from his head down his neck to his back, gently scratching all the while. “…You said you want Tiefling guards?”
It was easier to concentrate with her fingers on his back, but he still felt like he might be lulled to sleep if he stayed in this position too long. A little longer wouldn’t hurt. “Yes. But I’m not sure how many we can pull from the coalition without putting Lelith in danger.” The Hellrider Coalition, formed of Elturian veterans and volunteers, started as her idea, after all—they couldn’t leave her unguarded. Taking away a soldier for each family member plus himself as the Commander would leave a sizeable dent in their number.
She tapped her chin. “We’ve also the problem that our kids wouldn’t take well to being guarded by a coalition member,” she mused.
Yet another reason he wanted them to stay home, but his wife had been right that they should have the chance to decide for themselves. “Just what are you proposing?”
“We know our fair share of adventurers. Highly capable ones that the kids adore. Let’s hire them to watch the kids, then you and I can have coalition members for us.”
He paused at that, sitting up to look her in the eye. “I don’t need—”
“You’re having a coalition member guard you,” she told him flatly, “and I won’t hear otherwise.”
He side-eyed her. “Are you giving orders to the Commander?”
“I outrank you,” she cheerfully informed him.
He snorted at her but didn’t argue. “Adventurers would be able to avoid certain…red tape that we would not.” It wasn’t a bad idea. He rubbed his chin. “You have some in mind?”
“As a matter of fact, I—” She winced. “Damn, kid.” She absently rubbed her belly before pausing. Without warning, she snatched his hand, placing it on her belly, then holding hers on top of his.
“What—” And then he felt it. The little bump against his palm, for the first time. He felt his breath catch as he looked to his wife, speechless.
“She’s active tonight,” Mavari laughed, turning her face toward his.
He swallowed, feeling the tears brim his eyes, and pressed his forehead against hers again. The conversation would be shelved again.
“You’re going to Elturel.” It was a statement, not a question.
Mavari glanced up from her spot on the floor at Mol, standing over her with arms crossed and a frown on her face. She pursed her lips as she placed another piece of laundry on the pile. “We’re going to Elturel,” she confirmed, keeping her voice carefully level.
“Silfy let it slip,” Mol continued casually, leaning against the door frame. “When?”
“Within the tenday.” Sensing this was going to be a longer conversation, Mavari carefully moved to stand. As she rolled forward onto her hands to support her weight, a sharp pain in her back made her wince, leaving her in a completely awkward position. “Damn it,” she grumbled. Well, she was officially at that stage of pregnancy, she supposed.
The young teenager looked at her for a moment before stepping forward. “Here.” Her tone was gentler than it had been a moment ago. “Let me help.” With Mol’s assistance, she was able to get to her feet long enough to sit on Mirkon’s bed. Mol settled in beside her. “I’m surprised Zevlor’s letting you go with the baby and all.”
“I’m not completely helpless, Mol.” She rubbed her back. But it was true she was slowing down as she entered her third trimester. If they had been going earlier in her pregnancy… The warlock sighed. “And I didn’t exactly give him a choice in the matter, either.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” The teenager idly kicked her feet, glancing around the room. “Little surprised the kids want to go though.” Kids. She was all of a year older than Mattis. “Maybe not Mirkon, but the other two.”
Mavari paused and looked at her. “What do you mean?”
Mol ignored the question, picking lint off her clothes. “…I want to go, too.”
That gave her pause. “You…do.”
“Yeah.” She looked to Mavari. “Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing for me in Elturel, not anymore. But I want the kids to be safe.”
She scrutinized the thirteen-year-old. For all she could tell, Mol was being sincere. “I’ll have to run it by Zevlor before I commit to anything.”
“Oh, he won’t say no,” Mol brushed off. “He never says no to you.” That was completely untrue, and Mavari had no clue where she got it from. Before she could say anything in response, Mol was hopping off the bed. “Anyway, you’re useless right now, so tell me what you need help with.”
“Useless?” she snorted. “You’re being awfully critical for someone who is asking a favor.”
“I’m doing you a favor.” Mol looked back and smirked at her, picking up the clothes piles.
Mavari sighed and started instructing her on what to do. But, in the back of her mind, she hadn’t forgotten that comment about Mirkon. Her adopted son’s words from earlier that day rang in her mind: “Oh, I can see my other mom and dad again.” At the time, she assumed what he meant, and now she was questioning it. Was their son, the dreamer, hinting at something else?
“Elturel?” Cerys repeated, sounding doubtful. “Are you sure this is wise, sir?”
“On the contrary, I think this is a terrible idea, Lieutenant.” She and Zevlor were walking through the Ravenguards’ gardens, which had proven over the years to be one of the most private places to speak in all of Baldur’s Gate. This was not a conversation he wanted to have in front of the other members of the coalition. “But the Grand Duke insists on my counsel, and the High Observer formally requested the presence of my entire family.”
Cerys’s eyes widened. Over the three years they had been in the Gate, her skills had improved immensely. When the coalition formed, it didn’t take her long to rise in the ranks. Over time, she had become one of Zevlor’s most trusted advisors, as well. It was only natural for him to confide this in her. “I don’t like the sound of that,” she admitted. “Wasn’t that long ago we were all told to leave, and now this?”
His hands were clasped behind his back, and one tightened around his wrist. “My wife proposed that this may be our only chance to see Elturel again,” he began. “I would wish to leave them all here, safe, but I couldn’t deny her that point. We left the decision up to the children, and they all wished to go. And Mavari, of course, won’t stay home if the children are going.”
The young woman glanced at him. “We’ll send some of ours with you, then. Can’t trust the Fist to protect you like we’d protect our own.”
He nodded slowly. “I’ve considered that, although we can’t risk splitting our numbers. If I’m honest, I’d prefer having more guards along who aren’t confined to the rules of our order. We’re looking into hiring adventurers, ones we trust, to watch the children.” He looked to her. “I was considering asking Lia to guard Mavari.”
Cerys looked to be considering this. “You’re going to want someone who is adept at taking down enemies from a distance but still capable at close range combat,” she mused. “Not to mention someone who is tenacious. Of our group, she’s your best bet.” The way the sentence lingered, it sounded like she wanted to add more but cut herself short.
He knew what she was going to say, though, and he beat her to the punch: “Of our group, you and she are the best for the job. However, I would like you to come along to guard me.”
Cerys stopped, straightening stiffly. He paused, turning back toward her. “Sir?”
“Is this a problem, Cerys?”
“Well, I…” She frowned. “Am I the best person to guard you, Zevlor?”
Interesting. She had dropped the honorific. He considered this. “The children do not know the other Hellrider veterans like they know you. They’ll be much more comfortable with you present than, say, Guerus.” His longtime Lieutenant was a trusted ally but not as friendly a face as Cerys was. “Besides, I need them here to run things in my absence.”
She opened her mouth to protest then promptly shut it. “Yes, sir. I’d be honored.”
He smiled at her, feeling a wave of relief, before he continued walking. She fell into step behind him. “If you have anything you’d like to do in Elturel,” he began, “I would not prevent you from doing such.” He paused, realizing he knew very little about Cerys’s family. “We’ve…planned to stop by the graveyard.”
“I’d like that,” Cerys confirmed quietly. “Would be nice to visit Mom’s grave, put some flowers on it or something. I doubt my dad’s bothered.” Zevlor glanced back at her, raising a brow. “Dad’s human,” she supplied. “He walked out on us when I was twelve. Came back around when my mom got sick, maybe out of guilt, then left again.” She exhaled. “Not sure if I wanna see him again though.” She sounded conflicted.
“You don’t have to,” he reminded her gently. “I am sorry to hear about your mother.”
“It was…years ago. Just wish things could have turned out differently, is all.”
He made a non-committal noise of affirmation in his throat and changed the subject. “We will need to consider supplies to take with us.”
“I don’t want you going,” Rolan said bluntly. “Either of you.”
Lia looked up sharply, scowling at her brother. “Either of us? I thought you and Cerys were on a break. Again.”
He shifted, almost imperceptibly, and scowled back. “We are on a break, but that doesn’t mean I can’t—”
“Worry? Fine. Worry all you want. Make demands of her? Not a damn chance.” She liked Cerys. It frustrated her how much of an idiot her brother was when it came to the lieutenant. She shoved one last item in her pack and worked on tying it. “And, by the way, last time I checked, I’m an adult, and you don’t have a say in what I can or can’t do.”
“Lia.” His voice was sharp. But, when she glared at him, his face was softer. Scared. “We don’t know what’s waiting in Elturel. And you…you’re there to take the fall if something happens.”
“That’s a sh*tty way to say I’m hired muscle.”
“It’s the way that your worried older brother is looking at it,” he snapped at her. That gave her pause—Rolan admitting his concern wasn’t usual. She willed the tension from her shoulders, and he did the same. “I know it’s your job. But I don’t…like the idea of you going back there. Any of you. Why is this necessary?”
He already knew the explanation, about the High Observer specifically requesting Zevlor’s presence and that of the family. He knew that Lia was being asked as someone they trusted to keep his pregnant wife, their own family friend, safe. There wasn’t anything she could say in reply to that he didn’t already know. Drawing in a breath, she slung the pack over her shoulder. “That’s why Zev is requisitioning scrolls, Rolan.”
She pushed past him out her bedroom and toward the dining room, Rolan trailing behind. There, on the table, the siblings had laid out everything that was requested of Sorcerous Sundries for the trip. Cal was there, leaning against the wall with a frown. She gave him a cursory glance before setting her pack down with her other things. “Say it, Cal.” She might as well hear them both out.
“I don’t see why you have to go back,” her younger brother blurted out. Where Rolan had been hard, commanding, Cal’s voice sounded a lot smaller. “Getting out the first time was hard enough, but you—”
“Cal,” Lia said patiently, “Cerys recommended me because I have a good chance of getting out if things go south.” That wasn’t strictly true, but Cal didn’t need to know that. Now that both brothers were here, she looked at them both in turn. “…I want to see Mom’s grave.”
That drew their attention. Cal stood up straighter, and Rolan stiffened. “Lia,” Rolan began softly.
“We might never get this chance again,” Lia continued, “and I…” She shifted. “I want to be able to see it one more time before I die.”
“It sounds so morbid when you put it like that,” Cal mumbled.
Rolan, for his part, looked conflicted. “I don’t…” He sighed. “I want you to have that opportunity. Truly, I do. But not like this.”
“It’s the opportunity I have, so you better get okay with it fast.” She winced. “Sorry. I just… We’re not changing the fact I’m going, okay? Help me count these scrolls.”
Both stared at her for a long moment before Rolan stepped forward. “Teleportation scrolls have a tendency to transport you to the wrong location if you’re not careful,” he warned her. She shot a look at him before seeing him withdraw something from his pocket. He grabbed her wrist to hold her palm upright, placing a sending stone in it. “If you need a more reliable way of getting out, use this. I’ll come to you immediately.”
“There’s going to be twelve of us Tieflings,” she pointed out. “You can only take eight with you using the spell, can’t you?”
Rolan thinned his lips and used his other hand to close her fingers around the stone. She knew better than to argue.
Cerys’s nerves were on fire as they were loading the airship. It would be the fastest and safest way to get to Elturel, according to the Grand Duke, but the unfamiliarity made her nervous all the same. She watched as the Fists loaded crates onto the airship before turning her attention back to Zevlor, who was quietly conferring with Lelith. He and the Grand Duke of the Coast looked grave, though Cerys could not hear what they were saying. She watched as a worried looking Silfy crept up to her father, wrapping her little arms around his waist. Though Zevlor did not stop speaking with Lelith, Cerys watched as his tail curled around the eight-year-old protectively, one arm resting around her.
The sight simultaneously filled her with warmth and made her a tiny bit jealous. If they all managed to survive this trip, Silfy was going to grow up with a dad who loved her and was proud of her. Cerys badly wished she could have had that experience, but none of them could go back and change the past. Probably would make things worse if they could.
Her eyes scanned the area as she walked. No sign of Mol, who had insisted on coming along, much to her Commander’s chagrin. Mirkon and Mattis were sitting off to the side, snickering to each other. Lia hadn’t arrived yet, either. That left…
Ah, yes. Mavari was standing with Minerva, one of the adventurers that had been hired for the trip. Minerva was a gray-skinned Tiefling woman with white hair pulled into a high ponytail and long bangs framing her face. She stood a couple inches shorter than Mavari. Wracking her brain, Cerys recalled that she had some training as a cleric of Tymora, but most of her skills were a little more subtle. But, she had some experience working with pregnant women, which, in addition to being a friend of the Commander’s wife, had appealed to Zevlor.
Presently, they were both engaged in conversation with the druid Halsin. Cerys didn’t wish to interrupt, so she merely nodded politely as she passed by. Mavari met her gaze and offered a quick grin of acknowledgment. “…important to make sure she eats properly on the trip,” Halsin was saying, unaware of her presence.
“The blood of her enemies, got it,” Minerva chirped in response.
Halsin was taken aback. “No, that’s not…”
“Breathe, Halsin. I trust Minerva.”
Cerys coughed politely and moved away quickly. In her haste, she didn’t think to look where she was going first. Unfortunately for her, this meant she didn’t realize until it happened that she ran face first into someone’s chest. “Oh, damn, I’m sorry, I—” It was the very familiar feeling of hands at her back that had her looking up into an even more familiar face.
Devils take her. Of course it had to be him. “Rolan,” she half-yelped. “You’re not—what are you—why?”
The look of concern on his face melted into one of annoyance at her stammering. Typical. “I came to help Lia with the scrolls,” he began, “but evidently I’m not supposed to be here.”
She felt her temper flare. His hands were still on her back, and, she realized with horror, her hands were on his chest. She quickly stepped back and cleared her throat, aware of the heat rising to her cheeks. Damn it all. “We have everything under control,” she informed him curtly, “but of course we need the supervision of the Master of Ramazith’s Tower.” Cerys was being catty. She knew she was. But something about his presence made her so mad.
“Far be it from me to want to see my little sister and my friends off,” he shot back, “let alone my irritating sometimes lover.”
A cough interrupted them. They glanced over to see Lia, in the middle of unloading the cart, jerking her head to the side quickly to indicate they were going to attract an audience. She made a quick shooing motion with her hand before she continued her task.
Right. “This way,” he commanded. Clasping his hands behind his back, he led her to a spot behind a large pile of crates. It wasn’t the most private location, but it would block them from the people milling about the airship dock. He turned toward her and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
Several seconds went by, and, the next thing she knew, she was perched on a crate with her limbs wrapped around him, dragging his mouth down to hers. She felt his hand at her back, the other supporting himself on the crate, as he pushed back against her. Emotions rushed through her, but she tore her lips away, gasping for breath. “I’m still pissed at you,” she grumbled, although, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember why that was this time.
“What else is new,” he grumbled at her, nipping at her neck before pulling back to face her. He stood up straighter, letting his hands fall to either side of her hips. “You’re the most irritating woman on the planet.” Before she could argue back, though, he sighed. “I’m sorry. Can we call a truce?”
Cerys paused. Their…relationship, if one could call it that, was complicated. It seemed like they spent just as much time arguing as they did actually enjoying each other’s company, breaking up and getting back together often enough she was embarrassed to even talk about it. Sometimes, she wondered if she should just give it up entirely, and then he’d do something sweet for once and draw her back in. But calling a truce during one of their off again periods? That was…new. “…Rolan, are you feeling okay?”
He grumbled. “I’m fine.” He paused, then relented. “I’m…not fine.” With a sigh, he brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers before letting his hand settle at her neck, thumb lightly stroking her cheek above the jaw. “I don’t want either you or Lia to go on this trip.”
She set her teeth. “It’s part of the job, Ro. Lia’s our best archer. If anyone’s gonna be able to keep danger at a distance, it’s her. And I…I’m not going to let the Commander walk into danger without a friendly sword at his side.” Again.
“Anywhere but Elturel,” he mumbled. “Anywhere else, and I’d feel better about this.” He let his other hand rise to her face, mirroring his first. It felt weirdly tender for him, and Cerys wasn’t sure whether to feel more pleased or weirded out. Awkwardly, she let her hands slide to his chest. “I’m convinced you’re all walking into a trap.”
“I know.” They all were, if she were honest, but saying that now didn’t seem to be helpful. “Look at how much we survived since leaving the first time. We’re stronger, now. Better.”
He closed his eyes and placed his forehead against hers. “Lia has a sending stone. The minute you need the help, say the word, and I’ll come immediately.”
That probably should have made her feel mushy inside, but, instead, she felt awkward. “We’ll manage.”
His fingers twitched a little, and he opened his eyes to meet hers, looking exasperated. “I’m trying to be vulnerable, Cer.”
“Stop it. It’s weird.”
“You’re impossible.”
They stayed like that for a while. Then… “Does this mean we’re on again?”
“No.”
“Great, then you can enjoy the new bartender you like so much at the Elfsong while we’re gone. He looks strong enough to handle your mood swings.”
“Damnable woman. I ought to hex you right now.”
“Go ahead and try.”
“Well,” a new voice boomed, sounding amused. “You two look like you’re having fun. If I weren’t here on a job, I’d ask to join you.”
Rolan quickly jerked away from her. Observing them, amused, was a tall red Tiefling. He had dark eyes and long black hair slicked away from his face. A pair of impressive horns curled back along his skull in a large C shape, with the tips just above his shoulders. He was tapping a trident against his shoulder idly. Cerys knew her face had to be bright red by now, but she had work to do. Hopping off the crate, she cleared her throat. “You’re one of the adventurers, aren’t you?”
“I am,” he confirmed. “Name’s Ranveer. Nice to meet you both.” A lopsided grin.
Ranveer. He was the one meant to guard Mirkon. “Lieutenant Cerys,” she said by way of introduction. “The Commander and his wife are over by the ship.” She felt the press of Rolan’s hand against her back. “I’ll be there shortly.”
“Far be it from me to interrupt you,” Ranveer responded cheerfully. He moved toward where Cerys indicated.
She watched him go before feeling Rolan’s thumb and forefinger at her chin. He tipped her face toward his and gave her a tender kiss. She faltered a little, caught off guard by the sweetness of the gesture, before placing a hand at his cheek. “Don’t die on me,” he half-demanded, half-pleaded.
“I can’t make any promises, Ro,” she began, and that only made him kiss her again, harder this time. She swallowed down a groan and reluctantly tore her face away from his. The affection was making her uncomfortable. “We’ll talk later.”
Later could very well mean never. She felt his hand tighten at her hip, but she pushed him away, moving back toward her charge. She willed her tail to stop wagging.
“Everything is loaded and ready to go, sir.”
“Thank you, Blaze.” Wyll turned his attention toward Zevlor. “Once everyone is on board, we can depart.”
“As you command, Your Grace,” he responded with a brisk nod. True that they were on more familiar terms than this, but formality was to be called for on this diplomatic mission—especially in front of the Flaming Fists escorting Wyll. He turned his head toward and called: “On the ship! We’re leaving!”
They had gathered a bit of a crowd at the airship dock. From his vantage point on the ramp, he saw Lia hug her brothers in turn before embracing her girlfriend. Ever observant, he didn’t miss the awkward hug between Rolan and Cerys before she stiffly jogged toward the ramp. “Are you…?” he questioned.
“We’re not,” Cerys grumbled, quickly boarding.
He resisted the urge to chuckle. As much as he tried to keep from the affairs of his subordinates, his wife had no such boundary, and the coalition members tended to talk freely. He usually heard the gossip from her whether he wanted to or not. Unfortunately for Cerys, her tumultuous love life was a favorite topic amongst the ranks. But he let her pass without commentary and instead kept his eyes forward.
A figure swooped overhead, landing in front of Mavari. With frantic hand movements, an alabaster Tiefling fluttered her batlike wings nervously as she spoke, loudly apologizing for being late. His wife held up a hand to silence her before going in for a hug. A little late, Samara, Zevlor thought to himself. It was hard to mistake her for anyone else, with the equally white hair and two sets of black horns. Despite her tardiness, she was a capable cleric and a friend of the family. There was no question they’d ask her to accompany them.
He heard his daughter squeal before seeing Silfy streak toward Samara, arms outstretched. Samara pulled away from Mavari to kneel, arms wide. As the girl crashed into her, Samara stood and swung her around. They hugged tightly as Samara jogged toward the airship. “Sir,” she greeted, pulling an arm free to salute Zevlor.
“Papa,” Silfy chimed in, mimicking her guard.
It was more formal than was required, but Zevlor politely returned the salute. “At ease, soldiers,” he intoned. The pair giggled as they got onto the airship. Five seconds later, Samara swooped back down to the ground to grab her forgotten packs and boarded again sheepishly.
Next up the ramp came Ranveer with Mirkon slung over his shoulder. His younger son was laughing his head off, squirming, but the druid kept a tight hold on him. Ranveer tossed Zevlor a friendly smirk before boarding. “You just wait until my next birthday,” Mirkon was yelling, “then I’ll be able to beat you up!”
“I look forward to it, kid,” Ranveer laughed.
Almost immediately on their tail was Mattis, followed closely by Minerva. He noticed the bashful way his older son was carrying himself and willed himself not to grin. Though Mattis never outright admitted to anything, he was sure that the boy would be on his best behavior this trip, if only to impress his assigned guardian. As they passed, Minerva gave Zevlor a quick wink. She, too, was fully aware.
“Mavari,” he called in warning.
She held up a hand toward him, turning toward newcomers. Truthfully, he had half-expected Mol to back out of the trip, but the young teenager, packs in hand, came trotting up to the warlock. Behind her was the tallest Tiefling he had ever seen, with red skin, white hair, and black horns that curved at an angle before growing straight up. He was less familiar with the man than Mavari was, who confirmed that Mol’s choice of guard was a good pick. A paladin, she had said, and one who did frequent work for Rolan. Judging by the armor and the cape fluttering behind him, with fur lining the top, he looked imposing enough. Good. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to worry so much about Mol after all.
Without wasting any time. Mol and the man came up the ramp next. “That’s Zevlor,” the girl supplied, pointing him out to her guard. “This is Kefkar.” She jerked a thumb at the tall paladin.
“Kefkar,” Zevlor repeated, holding out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.” A firm, strong handshake. He liked that. He gave them a nod and allowed them to board.
Finally, Mavari and Lia ascended the ramp. One look at his face must have told her everything, because Mavari smoothly supplied, “I had to make sure the kids made it on first, love.” He allowed himself a frustrated sigh. Smirking, she lightly touched his stomach—or, rather, the armor covering it—before passing. Lia shrugged at Zevlor as she hopped on, too.
That was all of them, then. He nodded toward one of the dock workers as he stepped down onto the deck. “Prepare for departure!” yelled one of the workers. The ramp was pulled promptly as the airship whirred to life.
As the airship lifted into the air, the Tieflings gathered at the railing to watch as their loved ones got smaller and smaller. They waved down to those gathered below. Zevlor drew in a breath as he wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders, hoping they weren’t making a mistake.
