Twelve

Waiting in their chamber, Vezar paced as he’d often seen Syreilla do. He hadn’t fully understood what could drive her to cross the floor over and over ceaselessly, but now, the thought that his golden treasure was roaming without him, threats looming, and dwarves, damnable dwarves! If there was a way to steal her from him they would seek it out. Pulling her back while she had a task would earn him Hevtos’ ire, and it had been forbidden him to draw her into a dream. It could both draw attention and leave her vulnerable. The threads that connected them were pressed down to prevent him from distracting her at all. It felt as if his skin was on too tight and his blood was about to boil. Her absence was unbearable.

He snarled as the chamber door opened. 

The hooded spectre didn’t flinch. “The Divinity summons you.”

It would be something to do with Syreilla, Hevtos had been making inquiries each time she did something peculiar or made a request of him. He made haste to discover what his golden Syreilla had done now.

Entering the dim chamber he nearly stumbled. Like a spectre, Syreilla knelt at the seated god’s knee. 

“Tell him I accept. I will call these favors at a time of my choosing. Vezar will be sent to you, my Golden Rook, to open the way and carry them from my doorstep to Zyulla’s Temple. Remember my warning.”

“I will, Uncle, and I thank you for being willing to make the arrangement.”

She flickered and vanished and his heart ached that he hadn’t been able to speak to her.

“Vezar, I have tasks for you.”

“I will serve, Divinity.” As he waited to be told, he noticed the pleased look on Hevtos’ face. “My Syreilla has done something well?”

“The Golden Rook has garnered me two favors from Odos. He has children, his songbirds, gentle creatures that he wishes to become poets. They are young and helpless, and Imos has chosen to take them. The attempt was thwarted but Odos would have them brought to safety until the matter can be resolved.”

“I am to bring them here and then take them to Zyulla’s temple?”

“Yes. A mother, father, and two children will need to be moved and it will not be an easy task. Bringing them to my doorstep should not be difficult, but taking them to Zyulla will be. I warned my Golden Rook that all of the goddess’ children may come to her. Imos may still make the attempt or have his White Hands try to draw you as you ferry your charges.”

“I was unable to fight six of them, Divinity.”

“There are only four, now. The Golden Rook slew two and will be occupying a third that Imos wishes her to educate. You will be prepared and you will not fail in your tasks.”

“I will not fail, Divinity.” He bowed and when he straightened again Hevtos was smiling and studying him. 

“It has begun to amuse me that you have always called me Divinity and my… grandniece calls me Uncle at every opportunity.”

“Family means a great deal to Syreilla, respect means more to me. You are my grandfather but I would be disrespecting you, my father, and myself to call you less than Divinity.”

Hevtos looked pensive for a moment, “You’re certain she intends no irreverence?”

“The only thing she holds reverence for, Divinity, is luck. She did not believe gods existed until after we met.”

The god looked surprised at that. “Odos is her father, how could she not believe?”

“Her parentage was concealed from her. He taught her to rob temples and she observed that priests… ‘fat priests fleecing their flocks’ was her assessment. She believed they were lying about the gods to get money from the people. Family is something real.”

“For a thief she is… peculiar.”

“She has a more tender heart than she wishes people to know and in her threads I could see clearly, it was the dwarves who gave her the opportunity to become something other than the monster she saw herself as. Bought from the headsman’s block, during her time of enslavement they showed her kindness and she found much to admire in the dwarf mine.” The reminder that she had felt such a strong pull to the mine despite the way he had once meddled in her threads made him want to be certain nothing had changed since she’d left.

“My covetous sons.” 

Vezar brought his attention back immediately and noted the sadness of the god’s expression. “Divinity?” 

“My sons both looked that way parted from the hoards they had gathered to themselves, angry and envious.”

“She is my golden treasure, Divinity. I fear for her safety and I fear that the pull of the mine will take her from me. The dwarves once had a firm hold on her.”

“The Golden Rook bound herself in my service. There was little I could give my sons, but your treasure will not be taken.”

He bowed low again, “I will go to her and open the way for those you have given permission to pass.”

Once there had been finery, clothes, gems, golden trinkets, all left as offerings and grave goods, there was precious little now being left anywhere. But Syreilla had made it a point to steal a few things from the lich they’d gone to collect and she’d found a fine silken robe, fit for a King, for him to wear in their chambers. It was too fine to wear for their tasks. This task, however, perhaps for this one he could wear it. 

Donning the rich dark blue robe with the golden embroidery he felt more presentable, more like a creature that Syreilla should want to be close to. Vezar made his way to the doorstep feeling confident and ready, and opened the way with his focus on Syreilla, steeling himself for a fight in case the Hands had drawn the door to themselves once more.

He stepped through into a ring of wagons and a heated argument that stopped suddenly as he appeared. 

“Vezar!” Syreilla sounded delighted and the sensation of desire on the threads that bound them was heady. 

He turned to see her smiling face. “My golden treasure, I-”

“We should be quick about this.” Odos interrupted him beckoning to an elf.

“I told you,” a human woman was gripping two half-elf children by the hands, “We are not-”

“I told the elf, there were two choices.” Syreilla stepped forward to stand next to him, “If you don’t go with Vezar your children will be taken from you, either by me and put with those who have good sense and loving hearts or by those who have already tried to steal them who will not be so kind.”

The woman had a mad glint in her eye but a little girl with a bruised face stepped forward as much as her mother would allow, “Who? Who would you send us to?”

“If your parents go with you? To my grandmother, the goddess of mercy and the bringer of peace to the desolate until it’s safe for you to return. If I have to take you from them? You’ll go to Delver’s Deep. Clan Hammersworn would take you in and you’ll spend the rest of your lives in a dwarf mine.

“They’re good people. Syreilla Hammersworn was a half-elf. She was loved and you wouldn’t find it a harsh place to live.” Syr smiled mischievously, “Dwarves sing, tell stories, and dance. Better than elves.”

“The men who grabbed me wanted to take me to a temple in Withia.”

“My uncle’s temple.”

“Master Odos said it was his fault they came, is he…” the elf turned to address Odos, “Are you the god, Odos? The god of poets and-”

“He can’t be!” One of the other men gestured dismissively. “He’s just an old man with a funny name.”

“I can be, and I am.” Odos sighed, brushing his ragged clothing off and it became a fine, stylish grey tunic. “Your children are special, Cellindir, and I promise you, Phiphla, I wouldn’t be letting the Rook bully you if there was another way. My brother has decided that the ones I claim are bright and he thinks he can make something useful out of them.”

“I love my uncle, but he’s joyless and he’d break the spirit of a poet or a thief if he got hold of them too young.” Syreilla rubbed her face and then gestured at the girl. “His are strict and lack the patience for mischief. She’s just a little girl. I was once bought off the headsman’s block in Pale and the dwarves never treated me like that.”

“I bit him.” The girl tilted her head up proudly.

“I once yanked a dwarf’s beard and kicked him in his hammer and pockets.” Syreilla grinned at the girl. “I got my legs swept out from under me when I tried to run and sat on for my trouble, but they didn’t black my eye for it.”

Odos covered his face, “His hammer and pockets?”

“It was less offensive than the beard yank, Master Odos. My ears were ringing with curses for that one.” She gave the now grinning little girl a slow blink, “They’re very proud of their beards.”

“Cellindir,” one of the older men came to put a hand on the elf’s shoulder, “You’ve been with us since before I was born but if Odos, the god we look to as much as Mabor, says you should go with this Rook for a time…” 

The elf nodded and glanced to the woman, “Phiphla-”

“Our wagon! Our things!”

“Will be looked after.” The older man reassured her firmly.

“Pack a few things, Phiphla.”

“If you wanted to pack a bag you should have done it instead of arguing.” Syreilla turned back to Vezar and ran her hand down his arm as Odos shooed the woman and followed behind. “I want you to get back to safety as soon as possible too, Vezar.”

He could feel her worry and her need for him to be safe. It brought a relieved smile to his face, “My treasure, I am far from helpless. I would prefer to be by your side to face any danger with you.”

“You make me want to come home when you say that, you know.” Sweet Syreilla leaned in for a kiss and he claimed it hungrily, taking hold of her and letting her feel his claws through her layers of clothing. The soft sound she made into his mouth nearly prompted him to tear the fabric from her.

“I would do anything to have you back with me.” Vezar rubbed his face against hers opening his eyes to the horrified human faces around them.

“It’s going to put me in a sour mood, wanting my dragon on top of me and not being able to have him.” She purred into his ear and he felt the threads of desire being stroked as if she were running her fingers over the ridges of his c**k beneath his robe.

Capturing her lips again, he lifted a hand to caress her ear, knowing how it sent ripples of desire, trust, and tenderness through her. It had the desired effect, her leg hooked over his hip and she clung to him needfully.

“Enough of that!” Odos snapped. “You can play with each other’s threads another time. I need you both focused on your tasks.”

It took all of his will not to snarl at the god as Syreilla broke the kiss and pressed her face to his shoulder. The sensation as she pulled away, of her pushing her desire down and out of mind,  was painful and infuriating.

“Are they ready, Master Odos?” 

“They are and so is your uncle. He’s sending his hopefuls, this has taken too long already.”

“I will take them, Divinity.”

“I’ll help you with the door, Vezar, so you get to the doorstep without trouble.”