Page 30 of The Sundered Blade

“That,” Kyrion replied, “is a story I would prefer to relay in private, if we may. There is much to tell. Even had the wyverns not attacked, I had planned to break our journey here to warn you of what the future may hold.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound at all disquieting.” Yvane sighed and cast a glance up at the tall, grim-looking man beside her. “Breven, tell the scouts I’ll hear their reports tonight, and then join us back at the house.”

He glowered for a moment before nodding and striding away, limping heavily on the wooden peg that had replaced his left leg below the knee.

“Poor Breven won’t like me being alone in the house with a villain such as yourself, Prince Vaniell, so I suggest you remain on your best behavior.” Yvane’s eyes seemed to go soft as she gazed after the man. “Five gods know I can take care of myself, but he’s determined to stand between me and danger.”

Five gods…

Yvane suddenly seemed to shake herself and turned back—all softness vanished from her expression. But the damage was already done, and from the look on her face when she met Vaniell’s eyes, she knew it.

“I’ll ask you to say nothing aloud until we reach my home,” she warned him sternly. “For reasons I’m sure even you can understand.”

“Even me?” he echoed quietly. “The wastrel prince of Garimore? The second most hated man in all of Abreia? Are you begging me not to judge you or assuming I would not hesitate to harm you, because either way, I fear the warning does neither of us any credit.”

Yvane’s sudden smile was cool and assessing. “How interesting to discover that you are more than just a sharp wit in a fancy suit of clothes.”

“I suppose we are both learning a great deal today, aren’t we?” Vaniell kept his tone even and polite, while resolutely ignoring Kyrion. He could feel the night elf’s glare boring into the side of his head, suggesting that this was not at all what he’d meant by Vaniell’s “best behavior.”

Fortunately, there was no chance for him to elaborate on the topic. Yvane turned and led them at a brisk walk through the heart of the tiny village, greeting her neighbors with cheerful words until they reached their destination—a small but cozy house that exuded a welcoming warmth the moment they stepped through the door.

She seated them at the small table before turning to build up the fire and fill up the kettle.

“We’ve only just had a scout return from Waterdeep, so I’ve a bit of tea to share, along with some fresh milk.” Yvane set three heavy mugs on the table, then a plate with a chunk of coarse brown bread, which she sliced before taking her own seat. Afterwards, she seemed to take an unusually long time adjusting her shawl before folding her arms and gazing at Vaniell with a crease between her brows.

“How much do you know?” she asked abruptly.

“Only what you told me,” he answered, careful to keep his tone level as he accepted a slice of bread. “That you are not Abreian.”

One of her eyebrows raised slightly.

“You are Zulleri.”

“And is this likely to prove problematic?” She seemed almost nervous, and shifted her posture as if that question were aimed as much at Kyrion as at Vaniell.

He did not yet feel certain enough of Yvane’s loyalties to tell her the truth of what he knew, but a part of him insisted that he test her. If only to see whether her stern facade would crumble, or whether she might reveal something more than her place of origin.

“Only if you remain loyal to the throne of Myrn Draguri,” he said coolly, and watched as the blood drained from her face.

“I am not,” she said tightly. “And I will do everything in my power to prevent the Empress from ever finding me or using me again. But I think that you had best start your story from the beginning, Prince Vaniell, and explain how you know a name that few Abreians have ever heard spoken.”

Vaniell matched her posture, folding his own arms across his chest as he regarded the diminutive woman across the table. “As for my story, you have not yet earned that privilege. But I have recently met someone who hails from the Zulleri Empire, and who has served the Empress in the past as a part of a secretive group called the Enclave.”

She’d appeared nervous before, but at that final word, Yvane froze.

“The Enclave?” she whispered. “The Enclave is here?” Then her eyes darted to Vaniell’s, their depths turbulent with pain and memory and confusion. “How did you discover this? The Enclave does not make free with its secrets, and its members do not announce themselves—they simply kill and then disappear.”

And Karreya could easily have done so, if death had been her ambition. But fortunately for him…

Vaniell’s lips curved a little wistfully as he recalled their first meeting, and all the verbal sparring that came afterwards. It seemed he could not even think of Karreya without a pang of longing. Without wondering whether she was well.

But of course she was well. He should be wondering whether she’d stabbed anyone yet or whether they’d found trouble on the road. Though trouble had best hope they didn’t. Karreya was likely to come out the victor in any such encounter.

Perhaps he paused for too long, or perhaps the slight smile on his lips betrayed him, because when he opened his mouth to speak, he found Yvane staring at him in shock.

“There was no killing,” he said hastily. “We are… friends.”

“The Enclave does not permit friendship,” she countered.

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