Chapter 14

Syvilas had not wished to ask the dwarves the way to Brosa and Syreilla had said that Lew was attached to the mine, it wouldn’t be wise to ask there either. It would be best to go to Pale to inquire. Preferably with a new face. 

Evening was falling quickly as he rode out through Lew. The men following him must have mistaken him for an easy mark. He smiled to himself. Finding a place to stop for the night would arouse less suspicion than continuing on his way. Turning in his saddle he called back to them, “Perhaps you would like to join me?”

There was no answer. 

“My sister said there was a secluded place to camp here somewhere, perhaps you could show it to me?” She hadn’t but the pretense would be useful.

A large man stepped from the gloaming, looking dubious as he uncovered a lantern. “Syreilla is your sister?”

“She is. Unfortunately, they would not allow me into the mine even with her assurances of my good character.” He was careful to give them a small smile remembering what Syreilla had said about his smile being too wide. “Elvish charm doesn’t seem to work on dwarves.”

“Ha! I bet it doesn’t.” The man glanced at one of his companions who thought himself hidden in the trees. “I know where she was sending you. I’ll help you get set up for the night.”

He inclined his head and dismounted, walking with the man into the trees. There was, in fact, a small campsite hidden away well back from the road. Syvilas tied his horse, removing the saddle, and smiled appreciatively as the man filled a battered bucket from the nearby stream for the animal. A small fire was laid and all he had to do was wait for the others to come out of hiding. He settled in, lounging on the saddle.

“How do you know my sweet Syreilla?” Syvilas asked curiously.

The man looked at him oddly and then made a gesture bringing one man out of the trees nearby into the firelight. “You’re not her brother. I was worried about robbing you for a few there.” He grinned wolfishly at Syvilas.

Syv returned the grin. “Why do you and the dwarves think otherwise?”

“No one calls Syreilla sweet.” A voice came from behind him as a loop dropped around his neck.

Laughing as the man tried to strangle him, Syvilas reached up and dug his fingers into the man’s hands, consuming him as the other two watched horrified. As he lunged for the larger man the other broke out of his horrified stupor and ran.

Vezar changed his face and form, growing larger and more imposing as his clothes tightened and tore, darkening his hair and taking the man’s beard as well. Syvilas had served his purpose, but he would miss the elvish senses, they heightened and refined his own, a perfect complement. Listening for the crash of branches as the man frantically made his way back toward the road, Vezar followed eagerly. After catching and consuming him within sight of the empty road, Vezar dragged his limp form back to the fire and tossed it with the other two, going through their pockets for coins and anything of interest.

He settled in well-fed and comfortable under the trees to sleep by the fire.

The black mist was driving him forward. He knew what was happening this time and he raged forward ahead of it through the maze. It looked different and still the same. 

Vezar burst into the center of it ready to attack. This time he was not tired, this time he was ready. This time the coffin rushed to embrace him and he screamed out his fury beating on the glass, the sound like a drum, maddeningly loud in his own ears.

“You will not keep me here!” He pounded harder trying to break the glass. Syreilla would come. The thought was a shield against despair, but he could feel himself withering. She stepped into the room. Perfect Syreilla, staring at him in horror.

He watched as she pushed the gathered traitors aside and looked to the locks before trying to wrest tools from one of the elves. They grabbed her forcing her on top of his coffin as Vezar screamed out for her to run, beating frantically trying to get to her.

The stone rose around them and he pressed his hands against the glass. Wailing in agony as she was kept so close but so far from him. He would have to watch her die. Alone. 

The strangled wail burst from him as he woke. “Syreilla!”

It took a moment for him to realize where he was and to remember where he needed to go. Pale and then Brosa. Syreilla would join him. He needed her to. Closing his eyes he pulled on the threads urgently.

Wherever he stopped next he would reach for her. Vezar needed to see her. He breathed and calmed himself. “Sweet Syreilla. You will come back to me.”

He saddled his horse and made his way to the road, riding urgently. It didn't take as long, without the cart and slow plodding horse, to reach the fork. The small walled city of Pale was only an hour’s ride past the fork at his pace. It seemed to be a hub of activity.

Finding a bustling stable, he gave over his exhausted horse and paid some of the coin he had taken from the thieves before inquiring, “Where would I find inexpensive lodging?”

The stableman looked at him carefully, “The Good Queen has decent food and clean beds. It’s not the prettiest but it’ll do if you need cheap.”

“Which way?” Vezar smiled wryly as he moved in the direction the man pointed in. This face looked rough and his clothes were poor. Syreilla would help him find better. He touched the threads with a thought. She was agitated. They were keeping her from leaving. Allowing himself a sharper smile, he remembered her boasting, they could not keep her for long.

The sign for The Good Queen bore a busty woman in a crown. It was not a place where men with other options would linger long he surmised as he looked around inside. The woman who came to meet him with a frown and a judgemental look was dressed like a harlot. 

“What do you need?” Her tone was sharp.

“A room only.” He watched as her eyes narrowed. “I will be here only as long as it takes my horse to rest and to find someone who wishes to travel in my direction.”

“What direction would that be?” She looked thoughtful.

“Toward Brosa.”

She nodded. “You’ve come at the right time. There’s a caravan looking for men to guard it leaving in a few days. I can send you that way, for a consideration.” 

He watched her flinch as he gave a broad grin. “Of course, Madam. What consideration would you ask?”

Shuddering, she muttered, “You stay in your room unless you’re leaving. I don’t want you down here with the girls. Three coppers tonight and my boy will take you to the caravaners tomorrow.”

Vezar drew the money from the slim purse and held it out in his hand. The woman hesitated before she took it and showed him up to a small windowless room. At least the bed was clean as promised. He took off his clothes and lay naked on it. Fresh clothes and a bath would be ideal.

A knock at the door came as if his thoughts had been read. A girl bustled in with a basin of water. Her amusement at his undress was short lived as the older woman barked at her to come back down immediately.

“Would it be possible for my clothes to be washed?” He inquired as she stepped out.

“I can do that.” She gave him a sly smile. “Two coppers.”

Making certain his coin was all accounted for and laid next to the basin he gave her his clothes. “When they are returned clean. I will be delighted to pay.”

She grinned and bustled off with the clothes.

The water was cool, but he made do. He felt somewhat cleaner afterward and having clean clothes would be a pleasure no matter how poor they were. Vezar lay back down on the bed to try to draw his Syreilla into dream. He would be able to see her and speak with her for a few moments at least.

He murmured her name and brought a memory to mind, his favorite mistress’ chamber. It was Syreilla he wanted on that large bed. He made the memory solid and waited.

It took longer than Vezar expected to draw her in. But finally Syreilla came, appearing on the bed in the sheer shift he had been imagining her in.

Her eyes opened and she looked around in confusion before her eyes settled on him. “Where am I? And who are you?”

He grinned at her waiting to see how long it would take. “A place I wanted to show you.”

“Syv?” To his surprise she leapt out of the bed with pleased astonishment and came to him.

“I miss you, Syreilla.” He pulled her into his lap and held her tightly. “I need my sister.” Drawing her as a sister would have to do. In her sheer shift, she made him ache with desire.

“I know. I’m sorry, Syv.” She leaned against him so sweetly. “I feel like I’m being torn apart. I want to come and find you, and I want to stay at home. I want them both so badly that I can’t think straight for some reason.”

“I will not stop pulling you.” He ran a hand over her ear. The bonds that drew her back to that wretched mine were strong.

She spoke softly against his shoulder. “I hate having my ears touched. You’re the only one I let do that.” He caressed her ear, tracing the edge and then the ridges inside. Vezar smiled using it to strengthen their bond. “It tickles.”

Laughing softly at the way she felt the bond, he murmured, “Yes.” He pressed his hand against her ear pressing her head into his shoulder, the more and longer he touched her ears the stronger this bond would become. “My dear Syreilla. When will you come to me?”

“As soon as I can, Syv. It may be longer than you’d like.” Syr’s voice had a hesitant sound to it.

“A day is longer than I would like.” He kissed her head. It would make the trip to Brosa less urgent, but being parted from her was unpleasant.

“And six months?” 

He tensed at the figure. It was a short period of time in the scheme of things but when he wanted her by his side it was far too long. “Why six months?” 

“Because after that I would have a husband to come back to here at home. Kaduil-”

“No.” Cutting her off, he stood, holding her close like a doll. “I forbid you to marry. I need you, Syreilla. I need you to myself.” Marriage to a dwarf would be a waste. She belonged with a king. 

“Syv, I love you, but you don’t get to decide that for me. I can’t break his heart anymore than I can bear the thought of leaving you alone.” Her earnest tone brought the realization crashing down on him. The threads. He had primed the threads of her desire.

“The dwarf. You let him touch you. You kissed him.” Vezar set her on her feet, gripping her by the shoulders staring into her eyes intently. He already knew the answer, the threads were no longer loose.

“Yes, I’d gone to bed with him before but this time was…” 

Stepping away from her he began to curse in the ancient, divine tongue he had been born knowing. Cursing the dwarf and his own stupidity. Seeing his new face, the sibling bond would begin to fade. He could lose… Vezar turned to see her backing away her hands covering her ears looking at him as if he were a monster. “No. Please, Syreilla.” He held out his hands. 

Syreilla didn’t come to him. “What language was that? It-” She shuddered.

“Are you afraid of me?” He took a step closer expecting her to back away.

The hard look she gave him was comforting. “I wasn’t afraid of you when you showed me your gifts, Syv, I’m not afraid of you now. I don’t understand how a language can sound so,” he watched as she rubbed her ears, “so full of stingers.”

“An apt description.” Vezar touched her face gently and pulled her into an embrace, relieved that she didn’t flinch. “Forgive me.”

Syr wrapped her arms around his waist. “You’re forgiven, brother. Please don’t do it again.”

“I will try.” He pulled her close, the thought of losing her was bitter. But he still had to ask, “Why did you make the time to go to bed with him when you should have been finding your way out?”

“Batran seemed to think I was under some sort of spell, he said and still says I’m not acting like myself. He’s adamant I can’t leave until it’s removed.” 

Vezar growled in his throat, that wretched dwarf. Syreilla rubbed his back as if she wished to soothe him. 

“He knew I would like the house Kaduil has built for me, for the two of us. He suggested Kaduil show it to me and… one thing led to another when Kaduil took me down to the bath he’d-” 

He ground his teeth as she spoke, imagining a dwarf having her in the bath. 

“Stop that. You’re going to break your teeth.”

“I can repair them.” Vezar scowled, teeth were easy to fix in comparison to the mess the dwarf had made of his plans. 

“You picked such an unhappy face.” Syr stroked the beard he’d gotten for her. “And you need to learn how to take care of this. A comb and beard oil are the first things I’m going to steal for you.” 

If she knew how much he hated beards…  

The feeling of her threads being touched by a familiar hand got his attention. Olthon. “Olthon is there.”

“Not in my room I hope.” Syreilla frowned. “He shouldn’t be allowed down there.”

She was in the lower levels. It would be difficult, even for a skilled thief, to sneak out of a dwarf mine from too far below. “Regardless, sister. He is at your side trying to wake you. Tell me, did you speak with him?” He seemed to know her true name, but Vezar had a firm hold on her and swatted the elf away.

“Some. I didn’t like him. I made him talk to Batran and Kaduil.”

Laughing, he kissed her forehead. “I can imagine that went well.”

“He wanted to know about the nightmare I had. With the maze and the black mist.” Vezar lifted her chin and looked at her intently as she continued. “You were in it. I called you Vezar when I was describing it, because you had the dark hair and the same face as when you brought the cart.” 

Smiling, he asked curiously, “That certainly got his attention. What else was in your dream?”

He listened as she told him the dream from the beginning and by the end he could only marvel at the strength of the bond he’d built. She should not have experienced that horror. “I had not meant for you to share that dream, my dear Syreilla. That was my nightmare, not yours.”

“You walked the maze?” Her curiosity charmed him.

“I was driven down it by the black mist.” The guileless concern spreading across her face at the words made him want to kiss her. “I will try not to bring you into my nightmares again.”

“Brother, if it helps you feel less alone, I’ll join you in that awful place every night.” His Syreilla lowered her head and pressed her face back into his shoulder. Her words made him ache.

“Syreilla.” He pulled her as close as he could, wishing he could pull her through the bonds in the dream and have her at his side when he opened his eyes. As he did, he felt Olthon’s cold hand at work. The elf would kill her if she did not wake. “Go back.” Vezar released her pushing her back toward wakefulness despite his desire to keep her. The elf would suffer if she were harmed.