Caught up in the turbulent waves of regret and anguish, I spent the next four days crumbled inside my room. Consternation knotted inside me, sending sharp icy pangs of panic, twisted around my heart. I flinched even at the presence of Taltil. A raw, nauseating, primal grief overwhelmed my rational senses. Many a time, I pressed my hand over my face convulsively and wept languidly without any hope.

I dejectedly ignored, when the cleaning maids appeared. My voice broke miserably when the kind grandfatherly gnome alchemist took my hand to examine the burns. With the gentle authority sported by his profession, his small pudgy fingers took my hands and gave me a reassuring squeeze. Deep sobs racked inside me at his caring touch. My clamped lips no longer imprisoned those sobs. A stream of hot despondent tears trickled down my cheek.

On the fourth day, the expected message arrived. The following day, a carriage under the payroll of Leyandur and associates checked in, to transport me. The venue that Antilorwe choose for our evening dinner was exactly what one would have expected from the prestigious firm. The poshest restaurant overlooking the harbour district was their preferred location.

The crowd that gathered at the dinner wore the most expensive finery that Sarenthill could deliver. Fine red velvet jackets, silk trousers, suede shoes mingled with silk ballroom gowns embroidered with pearls strung together by golden threads. Figures strode through the gathering, leaving a trail of fragrance from their expensive perfumes. Most of them moved elegantly, their body motion mimicking the music from the hired musicians. Every step was fluid.

None of the grandeur interested me the least, for my eyes sought the most gracefully dignified of them all. Celerim stood amidst a small gathered crowd of admirers. His infectious smile carried over his immaculate candour. In his presence, even the ever-tight-lipped Antilorwe who stood next to him had her defense erode away to his appealing smile.

A passing attendant handed me an expensive spiced aromatic wine to wet my dry lips. Summoning my inner courage, I curled my hands into tight fists and paced myself towards Celerim with quick strutting movements. As an acknowledgement of my presence, the Justiciar drew himself to full height and quickly crossed his arms in front.

“Celerim,” I called out and smiled wistfully.

Celerim’s jaw tightened and a harsh squint was all that he gave in response.

“I was scared that I would never get to see you before your departure,” I reached around and threw my hands around his neck.

Celerim stiffened at my touch and wore a blank expression. After what seemed like a deliberate stalling of time, he spoke in a flat nonchalant voice.

“You are in good health.”

“Nothing that I have not suffered before. There is still more in these old bones. It would take more than that to put me out.” I chirped.

Celerim simply nodded with a wry smile and balanced himself by the waist.

Antilorwe gave me a wink and set herself with the responsibility of dispersing the crowd that gathered around Celerim. That wink was uncalled for. Though I am thankful for her tact, the intention behind her wink was anything but nauseating.

The conversation was one-sided. The humble pleasant Celerim grew more and more distant. As if in response to my silent prayers, the music changed.

“Come, indulge me a bit. You are not old enough to refuse,” with those words, I dragged the reluctant Celerim to the dance floor.

Celerim heaved a deep sigh and uttered warily in a loud and dramatic voice, “Yes, Aunt Rillie.”

I grinned at his words. He still has his wits.

The music started slow, with a deliberate pause. Celerim matched his fluid motion mechanically to the tune that floated around. His eyes darted towards the exit while his body mirrored my motion. Then the music changed to an octave higher and the tempo of the beats increased. As the beats increased, the distance between us narrowed.

“So do you miss your mother?” My question, took Celerim by surprise. His eyes widened and for a split moment, his breathing suppressed and his steps mismatched the music.

“My Mother,” he stammered and stuttered.

“Yes, Your mother,” I repeated.

“Too many things demand her attention. That cannot be changed. I have Sentinel. That is my blade,” explained Celerim, “ The one I used in the...” he stopped, not forcing himself to complete.

“It was a wonderfully crafted blade,” I said with a smirk.

“She always had wonderful tastes. Had a great eye for such details.” flushed Celerim as his face glowed red.

My legs failed to move and my mind returned to the tortured thoughts of Lyria. How would she look like? Perhaps, age added a few layers of fat to her sculpted physique or maybe wiser in the ways of the world?

With a heavy clamp, I suppressed the torrent of unbidden memories. But rationality abandoned me, like always, when it involved Lyria.

“This would be the last congenial meeting between us,” Celerim’s voice pierced my heart like a pair of hot throngs, “I have sworn an oath. I cannot abide by it. Our ways are different.”

Celerim stopped his midstep, heaved his chest and with a deep inhale strode out of the venue without as much as bidding his farewell to the audacious hostess.

Dispensing all dignity, I ran after Celerim calling out his name. The ignominious jeers of the guests failed to penetrate my fortified resolve. I exited the venue and finally caught up with Celerim on the streets.

“Celerim, please don’t be hasty,” I pleaded as I tried to hold his hands.

Celerim jerked his arms violently as they were scorched by flames. Finding my grip harder to shake, he shrugged and shoved as a last resort. A move that surprised me. Celerim projected a hostile glare and his words lashed with a scalding fury.

“You brought it down on yourself. Your own conniving actions. I need no part of it,” Screamed Celerim, His forearm's muscles twitched and went taut. The Justiciar ignored the pain in his palms from the fingernails digging into the skin.

His sudden scream, made me stumble backwards and I landed ... no crumbled on the ground.

“This is not how I wanted it to end. Had I known..... So near and yet I sought elsewhere,” my words broken and refused to attain a coherent form.

“If you really care, then stay away from me,” exclaimed Celerim and after a fleeting moment, as if propelled by revelation, he added, “And stay away from my family.”

“I cannot,” I shook my head, “You don’t know how it has been for me. All those times, centuries. I lamented and finally. I need the closure.”

“Swear it,” demanded Celerim.

“You might as well rip my heart apart,” I replied while my whole body shivered from anxiety.

“I thought so. Next time, if you are near, my blade will not remain sheathed,” declared Celerim, his own hurt at being betrayed and anger no longer controlled.

Without further, Celerim exited my presence with the same disgust as one would exit a viper’s nest.

Figures soon moved in to block my path, to stop me from pursuing Celerim. Followed by the calm voice of Merrick.

“Appears it would be more befitting to change my initial course of action,” divulged Merrick as his eyes followed the retreating back of Celerim.

“Don’t even dare. He is innocent. Leave my boy alone,” I threatened. Anger seeped through me, quickly replacing the pain and consternation that held me in sway a moment before.

My nostrils flared in fury and my voice taut with anger.

Merrick ignored my warnings and simply scoffed.

“Killing and death are merciful concepts,” cajoled Merrick as he slowly walked around me with small deliberate steps, “but not for the craven. You do not deserve such mercy.”

Merrick held a stiff stance, arms locked behind his back tightly and his neck thrust forward like a vulture patiently waiting for its prey. A long-enduring moment later, he issued another scoff and signalled the men around to leave with him. His long glance as he departed clearly conveyed a thousand different meanings, each more egregious than the other.

*****

With the passage of the next six or eight days, clarity slowly returned, disposing of the anguish that plagued my unassailable mind. Lyria, my one weakness. A prime reminder, how the irrational heart could triumph my rational mind when it involves her. My lost strength and vitality slowly regained, I set about doing minor chores. Taltil chirped happily as I called upon her. With nothing much to occupy our time, except to wait for Arlene to arrive with The Aberrant Irregulars, my rational self, now in control set about analysing the past few days.

Except the analysis confounded me furthermore.

Celerim is definitely older than my own daughter but not by much. Lyria never had any whelps of her own when we were together when our daughter was born. Lyria would never utter a lie, nor hide the truth. Not to me. That is how she is.

With the high-elven heritage of Celerim, evidently, Lyria did not give birth to Celerim. She adopted Celerim. That did not hold well with what Celerim shared. There was a fallacy in the assumption. Celerim’s words about growing up with cousins stuck a hidden vibrant note. Lyria was a loner, a creature of solitude. Her family, almost non-existent like every other tiefling.

Lyria, not just adopted Celerim, she married into his family. Extrapolating into all what Celerim said, that would tie up all the loose ends. She probably married his mother. Celerim spoke of his mother with reverence, when I questioned. I admonished myself for being a fool. When I broached the subject of his mother, Celerim’s answered were marked with hesitation but not choices. He definitely has one mother. Did Lyria marry his father then?

Was my love inferior to the love of a male? The icy pangs of regret twisted around inside me. I bit my lips, clamped them tight and with all my strength suppressed the self-loathing that reared its head. I cannot let it control my actions again.

The most logical and ethical side of me compelled me to accept the truth. Lyria is married to Celerim’s father and she is probably living a fulfilling life as the wife of an eminent house leader. One that I failed to provide. An acknowledgement of her role in my life, in public. Regrets and delayed decisions haunted.

The stormaire’s may not be a leading noble house in the high-elven political scenario but they are a prominent family. I had sent agents to look for Lyria on her disappearance. If she ever married into such a salient family, my agents would have noticed. Unless..... my lips dried and a heavy feeling stuck in my throat.....unless Lyria changed her name. She no longer goes by Lyriendriath.

Lyria what trouble did you encounter?

What trickery forced you to not approach me?

What did you find yourself in?

This runs far deeper. Aram’s words at Merranvale, though boastful, still held a sliver of truth. Aram did not obtain the Warhammer through honest means. The brigand was definitely not of physical prowess to best Lyria. She would have crunched every bone in his body, re-mended them and crunched them again, without breaking a sweat. Nevertheless, Lyria did not part her creation on her own accord. Aram threatened Lyria, forced her to comply.

What sort of influence did Aram exert on Lyria? How could a lowly slave trader and smuggler, hope to threaten a lady from a noble high-elven family and the mother of a celebrated Justiciar at that?

Lyria, I swore under my breath but my conviction was still the same, whatever seeks to destroy your ideal family life, I would make sure to keep you safe. In my own way.

I had multiple plans of how to effectively utilize the funds we have after registering the mercenary company, but now I had a definite priority. Aram would be, very soon, getting a capture-alive bounty on his head.