Treni, still standing, jutted her chin defiantly. "That's right! Such refined tastes you gentlemen have! But if you think we're leaving, think again. We couldn't even if we wanted to. Sir Devalosfang has paid good coin for our company tonight. We're yours until dawn!" She dropped to the ground with theatrical stubbornness. "Unless you plan to beat me, I'm not budging."

  Tyler had never struck a woman, let alone a half-elf. He shot a desperate look at his companion. "Rest easy," Carl said smoothly to Teresa. "The squad leader won't mind. We'll sort out the payment." But Teresa's face darkened. "We've been punished before," she murmured. "Another night, another squad leader's orders to entertain some officer. He finished too quick—couldn't manage more than two thrusts before wilting. The squad leader decided we'd failed our duty, had us strung up and flogged. Said next time, he'd let the whole camp have us until we died." She turned halfway, lifting her shirt to let firelight paint the dark welts across her skin. "We're half-elves, yes, and we charge more than your common camp follower. But our clients are nobles, high-ranking officers. A flicker of displeasure, a misplaced word, and we're punished. Sometimes it's just a few welts, a split lip. Other times... it's ending up face-down in a ditch. So please, sirs, don't turn us out."

  Carl gaped at the marks, like cracks spreading across a tea-stained shell. Wordlessly, Treni raised her own shirt, revealing a stomach latticed with scars. "That officer might have seemed honorable, but we can't risk such torture again..."

  "Then stay and talk with us, share some wine?" Carl's voice gentled, as if coaxing spooked deer. "That's companionship too, isn't it?"

  "Talk? We can do that." Treni's smile held relief. "Just talking, truly? When the officer paid so handsomely?"

  "This is no simple task, ladies." Carl made space for them, pouring deep red wine. "If you'd care for some," he offered the glass to the half-elf.

  Teresa squealed in delight, catching it reverently in both hands. "Ah, Kante Cards you're playing!" Treni surveyed the scattered cards. "Oh my, things look grim for you, Tyler."

  "Because my opponent fights dirty." Tyler sulked beside Treni, jabbing the fire with a stick. "And what sense does it make for dwarves to beat Titan Giants? Who dreamed up these rules?"

  "Don't you know, sir? Elves invented Kante Cards." Teresa savored a long drink of Crimson Sunset, sighing contentedly. "Two famous scholars created it, so they must have made the rules. What were their names... Sam and Tom?"

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  "What?" Treni frowned. "Wasn't it Fetelios and Fetelfis? Mother told me so."

  "You're mistaken, Treni. Those two just painted the cards. It was Sam and Tom, definitely."

  "No, you're wrong, Teresa. I remember clearly—Mother told me with a smile..."

  The sisters launched into spirited debate, leaving the men without a word in edgewise. Carl sipped wine, amused, while Tyler cut in, "Ladies, ladies, whoever made it was clearly addled. Probably thought dwarves could hack off giants' legs."

  Treni burst out laughing. "Hack off their legs? You've clearly never seen a giant! Even the shortest were 180 feet tall. Those dwarves would be better off offering pedicures."

  Carl and Tyler roared with laughter. "Pedicures! You've got wit, miss. But don't act like you've seen giants yourself. They're long extinct—if they ever existed," Carl chuckled. "Though we don't even know your names yet."

  "I'm Treni, sir. This is Teresa," she stroked Teresa's hair, earning an irritated swat. "We're twins."

  "No wonder you're so alike." Tyler studied Treni's profile, noticing her ears—pointed, but lacking the extreme length of pure elves. The half-elf mark. He remembered another half-elf woman, her ears similarly distinct. He reached tentatively, watching Treni's reaction. When she didn't object, he gently traced the elegant curve.

  "So Treni's the elder?" Carl asked.

  "Wrong again, Sir Carl!" Treni leaned into Tyler's touch, cheeks flushing. She reached for Teresa's hair again. "She's older, but I'm half a head taller! Poor tiny Teresa."

  "Sure, sure, but my breasts are bigger," Teresa preened, thrusting out her chest proudly.

  Carl frowned, wondering if his daughter would one day have such conversations. He remembered little Amy's innocent questions: "Why are Mommy's boobs bigger than mine?" He'd gently stroke her sun-kissed hair, murmuring, "Because you're still growing, little one." "Will mine be bigger than Mommy's when I'm big?" "Oh yes, darling, much bigger." "How much bigger?"... A child's curiosity was a bottomless pit. More often than not, Daisy had to step in and change the subject.

  The thought of his daughter brought fresh grief. He might never see her grow up. "How old are you?" he blurted, then winced at his rudeness.

  "Just turned eighteen. Sister's two years younger." Teresa glanced at Treni for confirmation. "Want to know a secret? When my parents married, Mother was six times my age."

  Both men leaned forward. "So your mother was an elf?"

  "Yes, and beautiful—more than either of us," Treni said proudly. "A hundred years is barely grown for an elf. I found her diary once. They were so happy then."

  "And...?"

  "It didn't last. They're gone now."