Tempered by the Will

5 - Price

The Ravenwood Tavern wasn’t half as mystical as the name had suggested. Vica looked around with a keen sense of disappointment curdling her appetite despite the fact that she’d had nothing to eat since early that morning. But at least the view was nice, she thought as she stared out the window by their table. Early evening on an open field with a river flowing nearby…

In the middle of the Capital? This was not what it looked like when she had come in -

“Enchanted windows.”

She looked over to her opposite side to see Bren giving her an indulgent smile. “Enchanted windows? You mean charms?”

“Illusive ones.”

She shook her head. “The Capital really likes its illusions,” she muttered. “Maybe they should work on fixing what’s actually there instead of just trying to cover everything up.”

“One of its charms,” the half-elf told her. “A gilded city. But once we reach the Sanctum Proper, you won’t have to tolerate these conditions.”

He wasn’t quite getting it, but she let it go for the sake of peace. This wasn’t the time to get into a debate concerning his opinion that hierarchies existed for a reason and that inequality was vital to the survival of the superior.

Later, though, they really needed to have a talk about that.

Vica continued to stare out the window between spoonfuls of her soup (that had looked unimpressive but was surprisingly good, was that a sensory illusion too?). But eventually, she found her attention drifting over to Constantine two tables over with another man. This one was wearing a dark blue cloak, baggy hood draped over the head in such a way that she couldn’t get a single good glimpse at the face underneath.

And why did they have to converse among themselves? Wasn’t she the person of interest here? She craned her neck and tried to decipher the impassive expression Constantine wore - also under his hood.

She glanced around the dim tavern and noticed for the first time how concealed everyone was. She had felt uncomfortable and stuffy walking in this way instead of politely removing her outerwear upon entry, but this seemed to be the general manners among all the patrons.

“You should eat. You’ll need your strength.”

Her eyes darted back to Bren. “Did you live in the Capital?” she asked. “Or have you only ever visited? You know so much about it.”

“A few times, none of them pleasant. Most of what I know came from hearsay and secondhand stories.”

...Oh. Vica felt her faith in the man’s seeming all-knowing quality slip and recede the tiniest bit. Well, even so: he was still more knowledgeable about the place than she was, and it wasn’t like Constantine was going to give her whatever information she wanted.

“You wouldn’t happen to know he is, would you?”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

How he could sound so blithe and cheery about it, she didn’t know. But his unconcerned attitude did put her a little more at ease despite her knowing that there was no good reason for it. Well, if he wasn’t going to fret about it, then neither was she. Worrying needlessly wouldn’t fix anything. They were here to stay, anyway.

And then Constantine turned to look at her. Their gazes locked with such sudden intensity that she almost dropped her spoon mid-lift to her mouth, and with a flick of his wrist, he beckoned her over to his table.

What? Now? She was still eating. When he made a second gesture and this time with an impatient gleam in his yellow eyes, she sent him a glare before picking up her bowl and standing up. Fine, but she was still going to finish her meal. He had given her more than his fair share of various griefs for the past week; she wasn’t going to miss what might be her last comfortable meal too.

Bren stood up with her when he realized what she was doing and came with her. Vica noted the flash of irritation that hardened Constantine’s face when he saw that, but she answered only with a stubborn glower before sitting down in the vacant chair by him while Bren (fearlessly) took the one by the unknown guest on the other side of the table.

From straight on, though, she could ascertain his appearance now: a young man, perhaps in his early thirties, with short,soft brown hair that hung about his elegant, aristocratic face in soft waves. The dark green hue of his almond-shaped eyes looked familiar for some reason, but that couldn’t be right. She’d never met this man in her life.

“A pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, and his low but sonorous voice caught her by surprise. She hadn’t thought that such a deep voice could come from such a slender frame.

“...Were you the one who hired him to drag me here?” she asked stiffly, jerking her head in Constantine’s direction with a meaningful glare. She’d wanted to meet this person, sure, but she remembered well his part in all of this. Contracts and assassins sent to kidnap and bring her back by force. The indignities she had suffered, some of which she had yet to forgive and one in particular that she grew angrier about every day now that Constantine’s attitude had soured her attraction to him.

“I’m deeply sorry for such rough tactics. It was a matter of desperation.”

“I was desperate, too.”

“You were a hard woman to find. I had to resort to someone I’ve been warned countless times to avoid.”

“I liked it that way.”

“...And I heard that you came willingly for the latter leg of the journey.”

“Doesn’t change a thing about the first bit of it, though.”

At her sharp retort, the man paused and let a short silence fall over the table. The loud murmur and bustle of the tavern patrons around them seeped in in short order to fill the vacuum, and Vica took advantage of the opportunity to glance at everyone’s faces and gauge their reactions thus far.

Bren didn’t seem bothered one way or another. There was a disconcerting, soft blissfulness in his angular features that had not yet disappeared since entering the Capital. For someone who had only had bad experiences in this city, he was at confusing ease despite the tension that surrounded them now. Didn’t he realize what was happening? The man she was sitting next to - he had put a bounty on her head back when this had all begun. An enemy, and a dangerous one.

And there was Constantine, who was leaning on his elbow and twisted in his seat so as to look her up and down with a lingering stare. She couldn’t read it - hadn’t been able to in days - but if she had to guess, he was probably amused at what he perceived as her false bravado. He wasn’t laughing, but his eyebrows were raised just so, and there was a glimmer in his eyes that was too unfamiliar to be anything good.

And the stranger - well. He looked properly chastised with that subdued frown and knitted eyebrows. Good. He ought to be. Whoever he thought he was, she had no interest in paying even the basest respect to someone who had brought so much fear into her life - even if in the end, it had put her on her destined path.

He was still a bad guy. No mistake about it.

“Who are you?” she asked, breaking the silence now that she’d had her fill of dissecting his morality. She also wanted to distract herself from Constantine’s probing gaze, not that she would ever admit it. She was glad that she was sitting next to him so that she didn’t have to dodge his stare.

“Maybe if we take this to a safer place to speak -”

“No.”

The man paused. “It’s for your safety, madam. Discretion”

“Didn’t worry much about discretion while you two were chatting away just a moment ago.”

At her pointed remark, his green gaze flickered over to look at Constantine. She couldn’t help but follow it as well, but she found the assassin still staring at her instead of meeting the other man’s eyes. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“...We were discussing the…”

“Price for Bren’s head,” Constantine interrupted when the man trailed off. “I brought two mages instead of one, both valuable. I don’t work for free.”

Vica bristled. The spoon that she had been grasping in her fist clattered against the rim of her bowl when she dropped it into the soup, but she ignored it in favor of throwing him a fierce glare.

“Bren’s here to help me,” she said, her voice coming out in crackling syllables. “He’s not for sale. And I’m not the prisoner either of you must have thought I’d be.”

“You can’t do much about it. Not while I’m here.”

Her fury reared up inside her like a sudden brushfire when she felt the familiar pressure against her magic swell with a strange strength. He hadn’t done that in ages - in fact, she didn’t think he’d been able to manipulate it with such adeptness before. Not this cleanly, at least. But she was stronger too, and if he thought that he could hurl her around like he’d done when they first met, he was tragically mistaken -

“Please. It’s unsafe to attract attention here.”

Her lips were still pulled back in a slight snarl as she contemplated grabbing her spoon and stabbing Constantine in the throat with it for what he had just done, but she let the man’s soothing plea tug at her attention. She looked over at the stranger and gave him a baleful look instead to make up for it.

“I don’t care what your plans are for me. Don’t touch Bren.”

She didn’t know exactly how she was going to make good on her unspoken threats if Constantine stuck around, or if she and Bren were separated or sealed or - anything. But she wouldn’t take it lying down. She had rolled over in her life already too many times, including to the smug assassin next to her too. No more. She was done being weak.

“I assure you he’s in no danger so long as we don’t expose him to it. We should finish our meal and leave before someone takes too much of an interest in our conversation...or our faces.”

Our? Vica’s glower softened a marginal amount, but only so that she could peer at him with a begrudging degree of curiosity too. ‘Our.’ So he really was hiding his identity, not just keeping to the general fashion trend here of being casually anonymous. She didn’t know whether that raised or lowered her trust in him.

“...Bren’s not for sale,” she said again, and her voice was just as hard as before. “I don’t know how much you offered for him, but as far as everyone here is concerned, he doesn’t belong to anyone but himself.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Constantine cut in smoothly. “They’re attached at the hip. She’ll never need a bootboy; she’s got one already.”

“You -”

“A two for one package. Or I’m happy to take him with me when I leave if that’s what you prefer, darling.”

She stiffened at his languid threat and held his yellow-eyed stare until she thought she would burst. How dare he. She had known that things had gotten bad between them, but she had still been holding out hope that Constantine was salvageable as a person, if not as a lover or friend. But this? Using the half-elf against her like he was nothing but a playing chip, a weapon, a bargaining edge -

“Vica.”

Her head swiveled around at the sound of the quiet voice, and she found Bren smiling at her even still after the entire conversation he couldn’t have possibly missed. She wondered at his patience. Nothing ever fazed him. Maybe she ought to learn that from him when they next had the chance.

“It’ll be alright,” he said. “Eat first. You must be hungry.”

...She clenched her teeth and swallowed back all the insults and accusations against Constantine that she had parked momentarily on her tongue. Later, she promised. If he stuck around, she would make sure he understood that she was no longer the doormat that he clearly expected her to be.

With a fierce clink of her spoon against the bowl, Vica wolfed down her soup.