Page 42 of In Darkness Forged

And that, he supposed, was his cue to ask polite questions, but he’d never been much good at that. Lani had chattered enough for the both of them. In this situation, she probably would have said something like…

“How did he die?” Tal almost winced as those words escaped. Lani would definitely not have said any such thing. But once the human mentioned her father, he’d wondered. Surely if the man were still alive, he would have come here himself instead of sending his daughter.

“He’snot dead,” she said, with a fierce denial that told him she’d fought long and hard to cling to that belief. “He’s… Oh, it’s complicated.”

Tal bristled for no reason he could quite fathom. “You’ve said those words before, human. Do you consider all night elves to be uneducated barbarians, lacking the capacity to understand anything more complicated than bloodlust?” What was he doing, encouraging her to keep talking? It wasn’t as if he wanted to know anything more about her. The less he knew, the less likely he would be to experience pain or compassion when the inevitable moment of her death came.

“That’s not why!” The human’s fingers stilled for a moment. “It’s just… a long story.”

Tal breathed a sigh of relief at his narrow escape, but then she seemed to decide it wasn’t so long after all.

“My mother was a seer.” Her grim tone gave those words a weight that seemed out of proportion to their simplicity. “I don’t know if there are those among night elves who can see the future, but that gift ran in our family for five generations, handed down from mother to daughter. Over the years, our liege lord came to rely on my grandmother’s and then my mother’s predictions in order to ensure his prosperity. When I was born, as is usual among seers, my mother lost her ability, and everyone waited for me to develop the gift.”

He couldn’t even see her face, but he could feel her fingers tremble, hear the pain in her soft voice.

“Except I never did.” She paused for a moment and completed another stitch before continuing. “And then my mother fell ill, my grandmother was unable to care for herself, and with no more money from my mother’s foretellings, my father took up the sword and hired himself out as a mercenary.”

“It was not his original profession?” Tal asked, despite his intention to remain aloof.

“No, he was a traveling musician. He came to our village to play for Lord Dreichel, fell in love with my mother, and decided to stay. But Lord Dreichel was so angry to have lost his seer, he would neither hire nor pay him, and ensured that no one else within a day’s ride would do so either.”

Her liege lord had ruined an entire family over a twist of fate—despicable even by human standards.

“My father is no warrior,” she went on, “but he still managed to find work, and for a few years, everything was good. He came home every few months, and I learned to take care of things in his absence. But I could tell it was weighing on him. He had always been so full of love and laughter, and he never wanted to kill. But he did it for us, because there was no other way.”

And then he’d stopped coming home. She didn’t need to say the words for Tal to know what was coming, and he found he had enough compassion to spare her the pain.

“How long?”

“It’s been a little over two years.”

Too long, Tal thought. There were too many misfortunes that could befall one who lived by the blade.

“My mother and grandmother believe he’s never coming back, but I can’t accept that. Iwon’t.” Her tone was uncompromising, but Tal could hear the tears she was trying to hide. “He might have been hurt. Unable to travel. Gotten a job that took him too far away. But I would know if he’d died, and he would never abandon us.”

Three women alone, with no way to support themselves. Surely, even among humans, that would be cause for leniency. “And there is no one in your village willing to aid you?”

The human was quiet for a few moments. “I have friends, yes,” she said finally, but that pause told its own story. “And a few did offer to help. But they all have their own struggles, and I cannot hold their fears against them. We’re all at the mercy of our lord’s caprice, and life is difficult enough without wondering whether you might bring hardship upon yourself through a simple act of charity.”

Rage surged through him then, clear and cold. Because he understood all too well what she implied—understood it with the deep, visceral pain of one who’d lived with rejection and isolation since he was old enough to understand what those words meant.

Neither of the night nor the day. Unwelcome amongst both. Feared because of the unknown power he’d inherited—a power that, in the end, had proven useless. What good was power when it could not even protect the ones he loved?

The human had been isolated by herlackof magic, but the end result was the same. They feared the consequences of being close to her, and she’d paid the price for their cowardice.

Tal knew he could not permit this revelation to change how he saw her. Could not allow himself a moment’s weakness in which to…

“Finished,” she said, in a curt tone that suggested she might regret the story she’d shared.

Tal stood and swung his arm. He felt the pull of the stitches but no new pain.

“If you’re going to do that, you can forget healing without a scar,” the human warned. “Stop trying to undo everything all at once. You don’t have enough thread for me to fix all of the stupid things you’re likely to do to yourself.”

He turned and glowered down at her. The light was growing brighter, and he was tired, but not too tired to see her hesitation. Not too distracted to notice the way she bit her lip and looked down, hoping for something he could not, would not give her.

But he was not entirely a monster.

“Thank you,” he said gruffly, dipping his chin in a nearly imperceptible nod.

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