There was much time to think. Enigmatic as Rook’s actions were, Eris, once her mind sharpened back to its usual quick wit, came to understand him. He told her the truth. In fact he told her often, and she was so blind—so distracted by her own perversions—that she had not assembled the pieces together.

He was in love with her.

That was the only explanation. And why wouldn’t he be? If she were Rook, she too would love Eris. Any man would. Truly it was a stroke of misfortune that their party had found itself as a congregation of women and girls, with Rook the only man to be seen; for clearly the benefits in drawing the desires of such a man were immense. He would kill himself to save her.

Well. That was a trade Eris could learn to appreciate. If men felt the need to sacrifice themselves for her…who was she to object? The only downside was that there were not a dozen Rooks battling for her affection. It was not as if his feelings demanded any reciprocation from her. Commanding affection had no detriments. Desire, perhaps, but affection?

Yes, he said he would protect any of his friends just the same, yet he had done little to stop Guinevere from engaging in her own heroic sacrifice. But then Guinevere had been ugly. Short, skinny, sinewy and flat, not to speak ill of the dead, yet all the same not what a man wanted in a woman. Eris was just the opposite. The feelings he possessed for her were therefore unique, and that was only natural. They had engaged in certain light indiscretions. Made their desires known. She knew men’s simplicities. During her final years at the tower they—boys, more accurately—had fallen over themselves in pursuit of her; so now she commanded his heart, and now he would do anything for her. Of course he would. She was Eris.

The reflective surfaces in the small room had been hidden away for the last month. She couldn’t stand to see herself consumed by rashes and hives, or to see her hair matted, or her skin blemished. In the days following Rook’s departure, however, she was brave enough to retrieve her mirror and gaze upon herself once more. No other act could have more assured her she was right in her line of thinking. Her beauty outshone any elf’s. Truly, the only mystery in regard to Rook that she could not decipher was that he had not been more aggressive in the pursuit of his love. That he had not visited her room with lascivious intent…she would not have objected overmuch if he had…

Thus she made sense of everything with absolute certainty. Eris rarely felt doubt about anything, and this was no exception. Her only uncertainties lied in her own feelings toward him. Those were more troubling to pin down. But he was very physically impressive, as was she, and so it was only natural that she felt some degree of desire, as he did toward her. That did not mean she loved him as he loved her. No parallels existed there. Perhaps it was naïve for her to think her desire could be sated by only a kiss—more might be required—but nothing more than more.

Of that she was certain, too. Nothing interested her less than romance, and indeed relationships. She saw such things as avenues toward larger goals and little else. A woman needed a man for security, for protection, and in return she gave him children, service, and dinner each night. But Eris did not need protection. Thus she did not need a man, nor romance, and would not be enthralled into anyone else’s service. Not even Rook’s. For far too much of her life she had been captive to the will of others, and she would not allow that to happen again. As near as she could see, that was all ‘love’ was. And besides, it was a shallow folly that reduced men and women alike to drooling imbeciles, willing to perform idiotic acts like throw their own lives away for others. Eris would never be so reduced.

So all the world was rationalized and everything confusing in her life understood, never needing consideration again.

Except Guinevere. Guinevere she could not understand. For Guinevere there was no easy explanation to fall back on, no line for Eris to tell herself. She toyed, at first, with the idea that she was in love with Rook, and thus seeing Rook in love with Eris, and willing to sacrifice himself for her, she was overcome with the desire to sacrifice herself for him…this fit too precisely with her preconceived notions, even she realized. The real explanation was something more complicated. Something she could not see. It was her mind’s eye that strained to find that sight while she was imprisoned in the Ancient Cheeseman, and yet, brilliant though her mind (in her own estimation) was, in this regard she remained blind.

She did not mourn. She felt no sorrow. But she was still confused. Were misconceptions about honor and glory even more dangerous than she at first realized? So it would seem. But then Guinevere went to her death happily, in the way most women go to their weddings; perhaps there was some truth to the idea that an honorable end was easier. We should all be so lucky to die sword through the gut, smile on our faces. But then Eris did not plan to die in such a way, and if by some stroke of misfortune she did, she decided in those weeks that it was just as well she faced it unhappily. It would not matter for long.

One week after the party’s departure north she felt well enough to leave the inn and prowl Kaimas’ streets. The tepid Fall sunlight burned her pallid skin and scorched her maladjusted eyes, but cool, fresh air in her lungs was a reward well worth the price. The exertion did excite another rash, under her arms: small pustules of vibrant green erupted atop her skin, growing itchy, yet not overtaking her hands or shoulder enough to become truly painful. She still carried with her the sensation of some venom in her veins, but her energy was restored, and the pain in her gut mostly migrated up behind her eyes.

Rook left her with only a few more gold coins. If he did not return soon, she would have no choice but face eviction from her suite. A cell at the local jail might suffice in an emergency—but the fiasco of the bugbears had seen their welcome worn out. Now the Big Folk in this fishing village attracted no curiosity, only wary glances and evil glares, and she was not so certain the sheriff would extend the same hospitality to her again. The one point of mercy was that her spell on the tower’s hatch seemed to still hold, for no townspeople had gone missing since their return. If it were to fail—her flight would needs be swift.

It was not in Eris’ disposition to fret. She pursued what she wanted and worried not the consequences. She tried her best, despite her malaise, to enjoy the pleasant day on a bench that overlooked the sea, and she secretly longed for her party to return as soon as they possibly might.

That was when she remembered her vision, and the words of the manawyrm. What had it told her? I am assuming control? She made her deal with that creature in its cave with no intention of living up to her side of the bargain; she presumed she had power enough to control whatever shard the wyrm gave her, to repurpose it and wield it for herself. All had not gone as planned. Her underestimation of that terrible beast proved a large mistake. It had given her nothing; no power to speak of, no gift of mana, no font of energy. And in exchange for nothing it was attached to her very Essence—her soul, a parasite in her bloodstream…

Yet its interferences were limited. She knew it could do much, if it wished, but for now it still remained dormant. She didn’t understand why, or what motivated it, yet that was a problem for her to face in the future. For now, she once again rested easy, because it was not in Eris’ disposition to worry.

For once she bore fortune’s favor. Rook returned the next day. She lingered, somewhat pitiful, in the inn’s ground floor. The door flew open. Aletheia entered first. There were tears in her eyes. She ignored Eris altogether and stormed up the staircase to the Big Folk rooms—for which she had no key, and presumably could do nothing but sit and wait.

Then entered Astera. She carried a bow in a quiver, the recovered Dwarven sword at her hip, and her usual damaged leathers. She glanced at Eris; and with a look of utter exhaustion, took a seat alone at a table.

Then there was Rook. He followed slowly. The fabric of his jacket sliced open, the mail beneath revealed. Eris perked up at the sight of him, and he at the sight of her. He came to her table and took a seat, retrieving a pouch from an inner breast pocket, and revealing a handful of golden coins.

“There is fortune to be found in guarding merchants after all,” Eris said.

He took three coins and slid them to her. “Your tithe,” he said.

“Am I a church now? I could grow used to being worshipped.”

Rook flagged down the halfling waitress and ordered a mug of mead. “You are a cathedral and I invest in your renovations.”

“I think a cathedral is not half so pleasing to look upon as I.”

“I appreciate you both for the same reasons, your graceful arches and rounded curves…” he trailed off, as if lost in deep contemplation. “And stained glass windows. Are you well?”

“Better, not well.”

“You better be well soon.”

“Why Rook, I do believe you missed me!”

“Only your commentary.” There was a seriousness in his look.

“You had Zydnus’. I see he is missing from your number. Where is he?”

“Asleep.”

This took Eris aback. “Asleep.”

“Swep-Nos. It’s Dwarfish for sleep, or maybe bedrest. They’re very literal people. I learned the word at the university but now it’s something forgotten. I wonder how the town got that name.”

“So he remains at Swep-Nos, therefore you say he is sleeping. Why does he linger?”

“He doesn’t linger, yet still he sleeps.” His expression remained serious, although the tone of his voice carried a sardonic levity.

“I do not understand.”

“He’s dead, Eris.”

She stared into his eyes. Eris felt nothing, because the words meant nothing to her. They deflected off like an arrow against a column of steel. She laughed. “He cannot be dead.”

“My mistake,” Rook said.

“Where is he, truly?”

“In Aether. We’ll be reunited soon.”

“This is not amusing. I spoke to him not one week ago, before you left.”

“If speaking to you is a guarantee of invulnerability then we should start charging for conversations.”

“Offer kisses and we may soon buy ourselves a kingdom. Where is he?”

Rook’s mead was delivered. He took a very long sip. “Tucked into covers of dirt.”

Astera moved to their table here. “He’s right, Zydnus didn’t make it.”

Eris paused. How long had it been? Six months? She did not know Zydnus long, but it felt an eternity, so many nights had they spent in camp together, so many days on the road. Many faces came and went in that time, yet his was always constant. Thoughts of his death were always close to her mind, and never much dreaded, but still—that he was anything but as invulnerable as Rook—it had not occurred to her.

“I was not there,” she said, as if this might make a difference.

“Had you been, the effect would have been the same,” Rook said.

“What happened?”

“An ambush, hobgoblins,” Astera said. “We drove them off, but they took supplies from our wagons—valuables, mirrors and jewelry.”

“The Master said it wasn’t worth pursuing,” Rook said, “but Zyd was determined to do right by him. So he ran after. Alone. By the time we caught up, it was too late.”

“An arrow through his heart,” Astera said. Now there were tears in her eyes, too, which, considering the elf’s recent addition to their ranks, seemed unwarranted and melodramatic to Eris. She herself glanced back to Rook.

“You do not seem overly bothered,” she said to Rook.

“We will all go ere he comes.”

“Perhaps you will,” Eris said.

“All humans and halflings will. That is the tragedy of the Old Kingdom,” Astera said.

“All the same,” Eris said, somewhat perturbed by the elf’s presence, “were you not his friend? Yet you joke about his departure as if he will come stumbling down the street, late for supper.”

“Cry if it makes you feel better,” Rook said. “Zyd made his choice. He sought redemption—he found it. For fifty drachmae of trade goods. For my part, I’ve seen much death; I don't shed tears."

Silence fell. Eris’ mind swam. She felt no sinking in her heart, but she couldn’t make sense of the idea. Zyd. Gone. When she was not even there to see it, to smile and find gratification in the moment, nor to warn him and be proven right that is foolishness would be his end. Dead, and for no reason. His coins would do him little good now.

Again she felt no sorrow. Yet this time there was something else, something very unfamiliar to her. What had she told him before his departure? What insult or beratement? A reminder that their predicament was all his fault? His own death was his fault, too, it seemed. Could it not have been her words that drove him to such a point? And what if it was?

For the first time in her life, Eris wondered if what she experienced was guilt. Or regret, or some mixture of the two together. She did not like it, and she held it against the halfling’s memory that she was forced to dwell on him in this way for even a second after his departure from this world. The sooner he was forgotten the better.

And, she realized, all said and done, it was a suitably pitiful and anemic end for a pitiful and anemic adventurer. There was a kind of poetry in the workings of the world.

There was something else. The look in Rook’s eyes. He had ‘seen much death.’ She imagined a young Rook, strapping, flirting with ladies, riding horses about a Katharoi estate. An idyllic portrait of aristocracy that was based on nothing in particular but the preconception that a nobleman must have lived in happy luxury. Yet here he found himself, with her, in Rytus, impoverished. What was in his past? For the first time, she realized, his history may have been as bloody and brutal as her own.

“Did you take his lantern?” Rook said at length.

“What?” Eris said.

“His lantern that went missing. Was it you?”

She contemplated how to answer for a very long time. This was a secret she had sworn to take to her grave, and yet now some strange compulsion overcame her for honesty. “Yes,” she admitted. “Yes, I took the lantern. Are you happy now?”

“When?”

“After the ambush. The bandits left the lantern behind. He was unconscious—I put it in my backpack. It seemed only fair, when he had a father who was willing to clothe and feed him without charge. I do not understand how he knew it was me. He did not see.”

“He assumed that was something a person like you would do,” Astera said.

“Then I am at least glad he went to his end without having complete certainty,” Eris said. “Can we please forget about the lantern? I would like for it to never be mentioned again.”

Rook shook his head. “Okay.” He slid Astera the bag of coins. “I’m going to return his things to his family. Rent our rooms.”

Aletheia cried all through the night. Eris was forced to endure the distant voices of her and her elven protectress through the walls of her room, muffled but, unfortunately, audible:

“Why does this keep happening?”

“All mortals must die.”

"But they were young. I thought...it was just so pointless..."

"It often is."

“Was it like this…before I came? Am I going to end up like him?”

“Yes.” Even Eris, who prided herself an antisocial creature, was stunned to hear this from Astera. Aletheia burst again into tears. “That’s the way of things. The Magisters wanted the world to be this way. It’s good to die, and feel sorrow for those we loved.”

“How do you know?”

“Even elves suffer loss, Aletheia. I have lost much. My family...even we can be slain. But I promise you. I swear. I will keep you safe.”

Eris could take no more. She screamed. “Shut up and go to sleep, you pompous, existential fools!” That bought a moment of silence. She almost fell asleep in that time, when Aletheia screamed back:

“Fuck you!”

Eris groaned and buried her head in a pillow. Idiot as Zydnus was, she would take a dozen of them before this girl and this elf. They were unbearable. She could not endure them any longer.

There were four mercenaries in the Ancient Cheeseman.

“We’re looking for a girl,” the Captain said. He wore a suit of chain and had a sword at his hip and his voice was very deep. He stood at the counter.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific, mister,” the Matron said.

“Two girls,” the Spearman said. “But only one of ‘em matters.”

“Be careful with how ya wave that thing around, you’re gonna scrape the chandelier! Now, you aren’t here to cause any trouble, are ya?”

“Trouble?” the Captain said. “Never looking to cause trouble, us.”

“Oh, that’s good to hear. Ya hear about that stuff to the north, with the bugbears? Nasty business. We’ve had some trouble with the Big Folk, ya know, but they do good business by me. So how many rooms is that for ya?”

“No rooms. Just the girl.”

“Oh, right. You betcha. What does she look like?”

"Human height. Blonde. But you'd know her right away. She’s got yellow eyes.”