Page 36 of Ties of Frost

“Spend more time and effort on me than I deserve, like useless tea?”

“No.” I shook my head, frantically searching for the right words to fix this. “You’re not tea, it’s just that similar to tea, you have unique value. Maybe that was a bad metaphor, but my point is your value doesn’t change if you can’t fight or shift because that isn’t what makes you worthy.”

“Then what does?” More emotion bled into Zidra’s harsh query than I imagined she’d intended. “Of what useam I if I’m—I’m broken?”

“A broken plate may be discarded,” a quiet voice said from the entrance to the room. I jerked my head around to see Sylathria stopped in the doorway, a tray of desserts across her lap. “A person is not a plate. A person doesn’t have one function that they must fulfill in a specific way or be tossed out. A difference does not make you useless, even if perhaps your role might change.”

I glanced toward Zidra, but she was staring down at her teacup.

Sylathria wheeled over and slid the tray onto the table. “I was gored by an armored hog and then trapped in a ravine when I was a child. By the time I saw a fleshmage, it was too late to fully repair the damage. As I grew, it worsened. There are many things I cannot do. I realized long ago I’d rather focus on what I can do, yet there are days I am in too much pain to even leave my bed. Does my value change on those days? How can a person’s value vary from day to day? To assign value based on pragmatic measures of usefulness is illogical and hurts more than just yourself. The holy texts tell us Iskyr has formed us all and loves each of his people with a love that cannot be broken or removed by any known force of people or nature. Will you dare to assign less value to yourself than the god you swore to serve does? Or if you fear what other rengiri or the citizens of the empire will think, do you mean then to elevate the opinion of created beings over the opinion of their creator?”

Zidra lifted her teacup with shaking hands. Tea sloshed onto her fingers, and she set the cup back down. Her gazedidn’t lift from the table. “I am a warrior and a wyveri. Without that, I have nothing.”

“There is always something new,” I said quickly. “And you have me. Besides, it is too early to give up hope.”

“And you have Iskyr,” Sylathria added. “Even if you leave the Order, Iskyr keeps you in his hand. Or do you believe Iskyr’s care is only for those in holy orders, and not for those they serve?”

Zidra’s shoulders hunched. Ignoring how much it felt like a violation of her privacy, I reached for the heartbond. A torrent of aching emotion rushed through like a scream—shame, conviction, fear, anger, confusion. Guiltily, I closed the connection. She wasn’t in any frame of mind for a rational conversation about her feelings, her identity, how much I wanted her to lean on and trust me, nor for me to ask more about her false belief that I was using her to feel better about myself.

I adjusted my position on my cushion to face Sylathria and cleared my throat. “Since we have you here, Syl, we actually had another purpose besides tea.”

Zidra looked up, and though her face was unnaturally pale, the tension in her jawline eased.

Sylathria narrowed her eyes but then accepted the change of subject. “Gossip hunting again?”

My forced chuckle sounded more like a cough. “Yes. Have you heard of Gautindar Rouven? He was the head physician at Merael’s until about six months ago.”

“Rouven…” Sylathria rubbed her ruby drop earring. “Recently retired… Ah, yes. Elderly ice elf? A bit grouchy?”

“That sounds like him,” I said.

Across the table, Zidra perked up. “He came through here?”

“Yes, I suppose right after he retired.” Sylathria frowned. “I remember, because he complained about the ‘noise’ from the musicians who were performing and was annoyed that all the private tea rooms were taken. One of my poor serving staff came to get me because he didn’t know how to appease the man. Not terribly uncommon, unfortunately. I often calm down cantankerous customers by stroking their egos—that is, I get them to talk about themselves. I learn interesting things, and they feel important.”

“I don’t suppose one of the interesting things you learned from Rouven was where he is living now?”

She gave me an apologetic frown. “Not exactly. He mentioned he was looking forward to getting away from people. I did overhear him asking another ice elf if any new roads had been built through the Ithemorca Mountains or if taking a ship remained the best way to access the inlets along the Glacorian coast. Let me think.”

While Sylathria considered, I snuck a glance at Zidra. She looked calmer, but she was good at hiding her emotions. I wished I knew what to say that would make her stop undervaluing herself—without overstepping and offending her.

“This might help,” Sylathria said. “Rouven had expensive tastes. He ordered the best of everything and asked if we had any Nyksian mead, and he was incensed that wedidn’t. If you can find anyone delivering Nyksian mead to a Glacorian inlet, you might find Rouven.”

I nodded. The night elves made a mead from the honey of nocturnal bees that collected nectar only from a flower that blooms at night in the Kingdom of Nyksia, and petals from the sweet flower were also used to flavor the mead. It was a uniquely delicious concoction, and incredibly rare outside the night elves’ homeland.

“I’m sorry I don’t know anything more,” she said.

“At least we have a starting place.” Barely, but I donned a smile anyway. “Any information is helpful, so thank you!”

Zidra changed positions to access her hip bag and pulled out a drawstring pouch. “How much for the food and drink?”

“For the recipients of the Emperor’s Merit? Discounted price of four half-crowns.” Sylathria grinned at me. “Only because I know you’ll fight me if I try to make it complimentary.”

Zidra counted out four silver coins and passed them to Sylathria with murmured gratitude.

“Thank you.” Sylathria focused on Zidra. “May Iskyr show you the way, be your fortress, and grant you peace.”

“May it be so,” I said at the same time as Zidra, and I wondered how much of her reply was a faithful agreement and how much was a rote response to a benediction.

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