“I’ll just step outside,” the boy nods, “Call me when you’re ready to reply.”
Once the door to the inn is shut, Emlyn starts to pace.
“This is from Abato,” Emlyn grimaces, “What kind of pets would she have that might give me pause? I can only think of two things: either undead or imps, demons, or some other evil entity. Undead, I can manage easily enough. If they’re pets, truly pets, I might even be able to forgive someone for wanting to keep a beloved animal past its natural span. I still miss Rhemp, so I at least understand the attraction. I’m not up for a big fight with a demon or something worse, and depending on what her pets are, my oaths might compel me to act.”
“He’s trying to get you alone,” Atres frowns, “I don’t like it.”
“Don’t be silly. Can you see Abato stepping into a ring to defend his place at my side?” Emlyn shrugs, “I cannot. He’s as unsuitable as the prince or any of the others. Perhaps more so, since he deals in lies, skulking, and treachery as his stock in trade. These are things that I’m sworn to avoid.”
Atres shoots her a look, but Emlyn shrugs and smiles at him, “There’s no need for that. I’ve made my choice, and I’m pleased with it. Hopefully, you’re pleased with it, as well.”
“Oh, my bonnie lass, I might be the happiest man to ever breathe to hear you say it,” Atres grins, “but that doesn’t mean I like this business with Abato any better.”
“Nor do I,” Emlyn shrugs, “but don’t think that Abato, of all men, would ever be able to tempt me.”
Emlyn calls the boy back in, “Tell him that I said it depends on what the pets are. We can discuss it tomorrow.”
The boy repeats the reply twice to ensure he has it correctly and then scampers off.
Atres moves to face Emlyn with a sultry smile, “Repeat that bit about your choice again.”
“What part wasn’t clear?” Emlyn asks, blushing at his look, “I’ve made my choice, and I’m pleased with it. Hopefully, you’re pleased with it, as well.”
“Mmmm,” Atres purrs, “I just wanted to hear you repeat it so that I can respond properly.”
Puzzled, Emlyn looks at him as everyone else suddenly tries to find something else to be interested in. Kethas retreats to the kitchen, followed by Benger, who offers to help peel vegetables. Loket nudges Gramin, who nudges Vorlig, and the three of them head up the stairs. Atres reaches out and tangles his fingers in her hair, drawing her to him.
“Gods, those little pink ears,” Atres whispers, “I am going to enjoy kissing them.”
He smiles down at her for a moment as she blushes before bending to meet her, and his mouth closes over hers. His other hand comes up to frame her face, tilting her head up, giving him more access, and she yields to him readily. Purring with contentment, he explores her slowly, but her responsiveness stokes his desire. He reins himself in and turns the kiss into something slow and lingering, with more than a hint of promise. As his lips leave hers, he plants small kisses along her jaw as Emlyn blushes furiously.
“Mmmm,” Atres purrs, “That’s better. Now you look like you’ve been kissed properly, and you should be kissed properly after making a declaration like that.”
Emlyn, blushing again, burrows into his shoulder, and Atres laughs, “One thousand seventy-six days to go, fy lleidr bach. I told you if you ever let me steal a kiss, I’d return it. Gods above! You’re the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. I’ll keep taking my payment in those blushes.”
“Payment for what?” Gramin asks from the stairway.
“Those blushes are my payment for waiting,” Atres grins, and Loket chuckles.
“I told you,” Loket says to Gramin, “He’s gone for her.”
“That happened when we were still standing under that tree,” Atres agrees, “I told you I was well and truly done. I meant it.”
Turning back to Emlyn, he smiles down, “Now, let’s see if Kethas can’t fill up some of that bottomless pit you call a stomach.”
“Why do you call her a bottomless pit?” Gramin asks.
“Because,” Kethas laughs, “She eats more than Atres and I combined and hasn’t put on an ounce, as far as I’ve been able to tell.”
“Girlie,” Loket says with concern edging his voice, “How bad off were you when they hauled you back to this Temple of yours?”
“She was so shredded and burnt,” Benger says, “that we weren’t sure if she was male or female for the first month. The priests and clerics stood over her in shifts, chanting resurrection and healing spells, for that first month. It was three or four months before she had enough skin back for Ember to figure out that she was tattooed and go looking for anyone who knew anything about people who tattooed themselves.”
“Hmmm,” Gramin nods, “I might know what’s wrong and what to do to fix it, but we’ll have to wait until Otrin’s back.”
“What are you thinking?” Loket asks.
“I think she needs one of the things that’s in the clan vault for a few days,” Gramin shrugs, “We’ll talk to Otrin when he’s back. Until then, we feed her when she’s hungry.”
“You should probably go see Astridir,” Loket says with a nudge and grin, “We seem to have some downtime at the moment. Maybe take care of a few things while you’re there.”
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Gramin looks serious for a moment and nods before grinning, “Astridir seems lovely. I think I’ll go take care of that little detail now.”
Whistling, Gramin heads off to see Astridir.
Patting a stool, Loket grins at Emlyn, “Sit here, Girlie. We need to talk a bit. Otrin had an agreement with your Mama to take you and any of your siblings if anything happened to her. I had the same kind of agreement with your Mama to take Bri and Carwyn, and any siblings. Gramin’s was for Lefi and Gwern, and siblings.”
“Mine was for Arwydd and Myfanwy and siblings,” Vorlig says.
“When we started comparing notes,” Loket says, “We didn’t understand why she’d make four overlapping agreements.”
Snorting, Kethas explains, “She wanted to be damn sure that at least one of you, if not all four of you, took the children, in case one of you wouldn’t or couldn’t. She wanted to be certain any others she might have had later would be cared for as well.”
“She knew that they’d be safe in the Taig,” Vorlig says.
“I don’t think,” Loket sighs, “that your mama counted on all four of us being willing to acknowledge them.”
Vorlig snorts again.
“Ah,” Loket says, “You think she did. She wanted all four of us to be willing to defend you. The four of us have carved our way through some things. With all four of us involved, the whole clan would have rallied.”
Emlyn starts to cry again and says, “It seems I’ve gone from having a father who wasn’t worth calling one to having some of the best men I know willing to stand for me. Ember, since I’ve been here, has been more of a father to me than my own ever was. Even Kethas, who barely knows me, has been kinder than that man. Grandda was the closest...”
“Hrmph,” Benger says, “You left out Gethin, Yanthus, Parth, Lokrag, and Branaulf. Even my Da, if it came to that. They’d stand for you, too.”
“Your sire, as Atres calls him,” Loket sighs, “might be a rat bastard, but you have the four of us now. I think you know that all of us love you as if you were our own. We have ever since you toddled into the forge that day. We’ll all do our best by you, Girlie. I’m going to say some things, and I want you to hear me. The Culling wasn’t your fault. What happened to your family wasn’t your fault. That thing you worshiped wanted to eat all of you, tried to devour every last one of the Cymry. You never dishonored your House. If anything, they dishonored you. You’re not ruined. I can tell the way you blush when Atres so much as looks at you. Even if you were, no one at this table would care. Atres wants you, and he’s a man, so no more of that no man will want you nonsense, eh? I’m as happy as a rock troll in a gravel pit that you’re my daughter, got it? I think Otrin’s over the moon about it. Gramin, too.”
“Me too,” Vorlig adds while Loket waits for Emlyn to nod.
“We’re going to keep saying these things to you until you’ve heard more of what I have to say, what all of us have to say, about those things than your sire’s insane bullshit. Atres is right. He’s not worth calling father or even Da. He’s just the man who happened to get your Mama pregnant. Your grandfather was your Da, and you’re lucky you had him.”
“Give me his blade,” Vorlig says, eyes glinting in anger, “We need to chat.”
Emlyn unclips it and hands it over. Vorlig takes the blade and retreats to a corner of the inn.
“I’m glad I’m not him right now. Vorlig looks angry,” Emlyn grimaces.
“That man,” Atres sighs, “has every bit of that coming to him and then some. No one – NO ONE – not even me gets to talk to you like that. I think you know by now I’d never say anything like that putrid drivel to you. Your Goddess told you. Lugh himself even told you. Your people told you. Sit here and let Vorlig have it out with him. Maybe it helps, maybe it doesn’t, but so help me, if I can find you a better replacement, I don’t care how much it costs or what I have to do to get my hands on it, you’ll have it.”
“You might have your work cut out for you on that, boyo,” Loket grins, “That blade was made by some master Cymry smiths and enchanted by some master Cymry mages, unless I miss my guess. They were second only to our artificers when it came to weapons.”
“I hate having that thing dripping his poisonous spew in your ear every time you reach for that thing,” Atres grumbles, “Maybe we get the artificers to make her a replacement.”
“He’s useful when I fight,” Emlyn sighs, “otherwise I’d have gotten rid of it long ago. He hates to lose.”
“Then let him stick to that and leave off on all the foul and unfounded comments,” Atres growls, “before I have to start testing ideas to make him as uncomfortable as he’s made you. If I hadn’t had a premonition about it and thought for an instant that you’d forgive me for doing it, I’d have snapped it into bits and tossed it into the ocean so the seawater could take the steel.”
“I think you’re right. I don’t think Girlie would forgive you for that,” Loket nods, “but I understand the sentiment behind it. I had a similar thought, myself, and discarded it for the same reason. I’m not sure that Girlie would forgive me if I did. My thought was to melt it down and reforge it.”
“No, I probably wouldn’t,” Emlyn agrees, “Rotten as he is, he’s some of the only family I have left. I’ve been limiting my contact with him to just fighting for quite a while now. I’d been hoping he’d calm down, but he hasn’t. I think… I think they made him watch what they did to my siblings.”
“He still doesn’t get to use you as his punching bag because he’s angry,” Atres insists, “Nothing gives him the right to say those things to you. He’s not a proper father, or even a proper man. I’ll take you to Dotara and let you meet my Da. He’s a bit on the gruff side, but that man would carve his tongue out of his mouth before he’d say things like that to any of us. You’ve seen Benger’s Da. Can you see Daki ever saying those things to Benger or you? Or your grandfather? Or Ember? Or even Kethas, who you admit barely knows you?”
“No,” Emlyn says softly, “I can’t see any of them ever doing that.”
“I think you could go out into the street right now and pick someone at random and they’d be a better Da to you than that man,” Atres says, “He’s got an amazing, remarkable daughter and fails to see her for the treasure that she is. Now do you see why he makes me so angry? I’m not angry with you. I’m angry for you – at him.”
Emlyn’s face screws up, and Atres gathers her to him.
“Come here, lass,” Atres says gently, “Fy lleidr bach, you can come cry on my shoulder any time. It’s all yours, whenever you need it. I expect it will get a lot of use.”
As Emlyn cries on his shoulder, he soothes her and murmurs into her hair. He sits there for a time with his cheek on the top of her head.
Sensing, finally, that the storm has passed, he takes out his handkerchief and wipes her face.
“Now, come here and eat. Kethas had made you a lovely lunch. Loket and I ate earlier, but I think we can sit and chat with you while you and Benger eat. Then we can decide what to do with the rest of the day.”
Emlyn digs into the food, and Atres starts the conversation with some questions about the saddle she’s commissioned. Emlyn is still eating when a courier arrives with a note from Milvara, saying that the test garment is ready.
“That’s sooner than expected,” Atres grins, “I suppose I know what we’re doing this afternoon then.”
“You’re asking for trouble,” Loket shakes his head, “I suppose I should tag along. Benger, you can take a break.”
Benger starts to disagree, but Loket grins, “You can tell Mama Bevis that I’m her father and I have an axe. Take a break.”
Laughing, Benger agrees.
Atres goes to hail a carriage. Loket grins at Emlyn, “There’s a bit more to him than meets the eye. I’m starting to see why you like your boyo. He’s very patient with you. I think you’re wrong about them turning him into a house cat. He mostly keeps the tiger contained and hidden around you. It comes out when it needs to make an appearance, but then it’s back under wraps again. You’ve definitely got a softer side around him, and unless I miss my guess, you get his softer side in return. Now let’s see what this uniform is going to look like on you. We’ll just let Vorlig finish up his chat with your sire.”
Want to binge the future? > I have months of backlog for Order of the Storm Crow waiting for you. Get 50+ chapters ahead of Royal Road today!
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Current Count: 35 "Incandescent Blushes" and 1 "Successful Theft."
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Observation: "Atres is officially a 'lleidr'—a thief! He stole a kiss and then promised to return it with interest over the next 1,076 days. He’s playing the long game with such patience that even a mountain would get bored. But I have to give him a half-point for bravery: he’s actually looking forward to the 1,500-pound jealous warhorse (Braw) and the four dwarven 'fathers' breathing down his neck.
Boltir Interviews Vorlig
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Boltir: "Master Vorlig! I saw you take Nia’s father’s blade into the corner for a 'chat.' Did you pulp him? Did you whisper something that made the steel weep?"
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Vorlig: (Stares in absolute, soul-crushing silence).
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Boltir: "Right. Excellent point. Very profound. I’ll just… go over here and compose a poem about how terrifying you are.
Tip Jar
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Current Jar Total: 215 coppers, a half-eaten apple (tribute for Braw), and a very damp handkerchief.
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Boltir’s Plea: "Nia is crying on Atres’s shoulder again. It’s a 'lovely lunch,' apparently, while I’m starving for some attention! Toss a coin in the jar, kin. I’m saving up for 'Camouflage Face Paint' so I can sneak into the next chapter and see what this test garment from Milvara looks like. If it’s as 'fetching' as Atres thinks, I’m going to need a very large mug of ale to drown my sorrows. Leave a review if you think Boltir would look better in King’s Guard leathers than the Tall Obstacle!"
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