After a few minutes of warm embracing and cathartic, much needed crying before the glow and crackle of the fireplace, their moment is bisected by the subtle clatter of a tray being placed down on the coffee table behind them. Reigna and Will both jerk and turn their heads to see Marie trying her best to quietly place their food down, clearly she had failed.

  “Sorry about that, I didn’t want to interrupt and call you to the counter.” She says, a soft sincerity to her words. The pair hastily pull away from each other and return to their seats. “You two remind me of my son and his wife when they were your age.” She laughs.

  “Oh, well we’re Ju-” Reigna starts

  “Just friends, clearly. Very good friends, and lucky you are to have each other.” She cuts Reigna off and nods along as she speaks. She fishes a pair of keys from a pouch on the front of her apron and places them on the table. “For your rooms, if you want to extend your stay you can tell me before you go to rest tonight or tomorrow when you wake up.”

  “Actually, can we add three days?” Will asks, fishing a coinpurse from his coat pocket.

  “Of course, one gold and three silvers.” Marie answers. Will places two gold pieces in her hand with a wide grin. She nods before pocketing the coins. “Anything else I can help you with?”

  “Well,” Reigna says, trailing a few additional Ls to the end of the word in a sing-song tone. “How would one go about seeking an audience with Furnax?”

  “I’m assuming you haven’t sent word formally in advance?” Marie asks, putting her hands on her hips.

  “Sadly, no. I haven’t had the opportunity.” Reigna admits.

  “Well, you have two options. You can find one of his advisors around the city doing their rounds through the boroughs and request an audience form, fill it out and wait for him to get to you that way, which can sometimes take weeks.” She says, sounding vaguely agitated at the thought. “Or, if you can see him working his forge, you can just climb the steps and talk to him, technically The Stoneheart Forge is a public space.”

  “That doesn’t sound too difficult.” Will says, before spooning some of his cottage pie into his mouth and quietly whispering good lord.

  “Everyone thinks that until they try to climb the steps themselves.” Marie chides. “Just be careful on your way up there, it takes a bit longer than you’d think.”

  “Well, it’ll probably be my fastest option.” Reigna says over the rim of her tankard. “We appreciate your help Miss Marie.”

  Marie nods to her, “Well if you need anything else, just let me know or my daytime manager if I’m not here.” She walks back toward the counter with one of the now empty flagons.

  The following morning, Reigna wakes up early and leaves Lyraax to snooze comfortably on the soft bed in her room. I left Will a letter on the desk, hopefully Lyraax will deliver it. She ducks into one of the artifice shops they’d passed the night before on their way to The Lavaspur and drops off the little Nightingale sculpture with instructions on where to deliver it and pays for the repair and delivery with the gold Erin had given her back in Ifrita. The Gnomish man at the counter had inspected the damage and promised repair and delivery within two days.

  Using a series of simple landmarks like the signs marking the districts and the elaborate geometric brickwork of the city streets, She finds herself back at the city center. Compared to the evening before, when all the merchants were corralling themselves into the various inns and taverns looking for room and board and the local barkers were closing up shop, today Caravan Day is in full swing.

  Various stands, seemingly constructed overnight line up end to end and back to back creating small lanes and concentric footpaths to peruse their wares, barkers and smaller vendors walk the lanes and the area outside the pop-up bazaar shouting costs for snacks, beverages, fresh produce, and all manner of simple things. Children run to see if any of the booths offer samples or small games for simple prizes, as is tradition in most places when the merchant caravans arrive.

  Their tables are covered in all manner of objects, gaudy and expensive jewelry, glamored clothing, enchanted weapons, exotic food and drink. The sights and sounds and smells are a bit overwhelming. I need to skip this foot traffic. Reigna thinks, looking for an easy way out of the building crowd. She casts a glance around her and notices a clear line between the aisles that leads straight to the fountain and takes that as her sign.

  Carefully she passes behind and between people, keeping her hands and tail spread out before her, partially so some of the more affluent attendees can see her hands and be made aware that she’s not a thief, partially to shove into any would-be thieves before they can bump into her. Thankfully I only brought few gold with me and left everything else at the tavern with Lyraax. She exhales as a small relief washes over her. Caravan Day, no matter where you are, is a big draw for thieves. Getting pickpocketed in the city center for five gold pieces is better than losing a pouch with 70. Or worse yet, losing her bag with the extradimensional pocket or her Everwater flask. She shakes the thought out of her head.

  Once at the fountain she can see another straight gap in the tables which she follows out to the main thoroughfare where people who aren’t partaking of the festivities are spending their day minding their own business and tending to other matters. She can see the large staircase that leads to what Marie had called The Stoneheart Forge. Stonehear, that sounds familiar. Isn’t that what Will called the First Dwarven council? The Brothers Of Stoneheart? She chews on the thought as she approaches.

  Like much of the rest of Hammerheim, these steps are made of heavy, red bricks neatly arranged and seemingly fused together leaving no discernable space between them. As she stares up the cascading steps, she can make out the glimmer of gold from the tip of one of Furnax’s wings. Yeah, he’s up there all right. She begins her ascent.

  The climb begins easily enough, a dozen or so steps go by as she marches up them with determination. Another two dozen steps, and her determination is waning. The confident gait that dwarfed the first steps has slowed. By the time Reigna has passively counted almost a hundred steps, she’s starting to wonder if she really even needs to know about this whole “curse” thing. Yeah, that’s why he hangs out up here because nobody in their right mind would climb these fucking stairs just to talk to him. She squints up the remaining steps and can see that he is, in fact, getting closer.

  By the time she reaches the top, her legs are sore and shaking. Somewhere around fifty steps ago, her left leg caught a nasty charlie horse. She’s drenched in sweat and filled up to her eyes with regret and frustration.

  “With all due respect, sir.” She says, breathlessly. “You need to make a more efficient way to get up here.” She sits flat on the ground, stretching her legs out before her. For a moment, the platform beneath her trembles as he turns to face her. He’s massive, clad in the metallic shimmer of his golden scales, their sheen so vibrant she can almost make out her own reflection in them as the light dances across them.

  “I could do that,” Furnax says, his voice a pensive rumble like the rush of a waterfall. “But then, I’d be forced to entertain more frequent and less determined visitors.” He chuckles.

  “I can respect the need for solitude.” Reigna pants, leaning forward to stand up. As she approaches him properly, he spreads his wings straight out, his scales begin to spiral around him with a mercurial fluidity as he shrinks down to a more normal human size. By the time she’s standing before him and able to offer her hand, he is no longer draconic in his appearance.

  Before her stands a tall, tan-skinned man in a heavy leather apron. He’s broad shouldered and muscular. Protruding from his head are a pair of long, dagger-like golden horns. His eyes are a clear, crystalline green with a distinct, slit-shaped pupil. His face is spattered with metallic, golden freckles.

  “Ah, so it was you.” He says, narrowing his eyes at her.

  “Me?” Reigna stops in her tracks. “What did I do?” She asks, hoping it doesn’t sound as suspicious of a question to him as it does to her in retrospect.

  “I felt a strange presence enter my city last night, I initially thought it to be another overzealous merchant carrying unwanted contraband.” He closes the distance between them and eyes her closely. “Instead, it would seem it was a songbird. Have you come to spin me a tale?” He asks, his gaze unwavering.

  “Actually, I came to ask for your help if you would be so kind.” Reigna replies, bowing her head, mostly to break his gaze for a moment.

  “Interesting, and what is it you need help with?” he asks, an obvious curiosity in his tone.

  “Well, I think I’ve been cursed.” She replies, finally working up the courage to meet his gaze again.

  Furnax stares at her then walks a slow, deliberate circle around her. She can feel his gaze on her, cold and calculating, analytical. He’s either checking me for a curse, or searching me for a weapon. She thinks, doing her best not to move.

  “I feel no curse on you, child.” He says finally, as his circuit concludes before her again. “You seem, at least to me, to be unburdened by any curse of any arcane origin.”

  “You can’t be serious.” She whispers to herself.

  “However,” He continues, “There is something else there. Give me your hand.” He reaches a hand towards her. She simply complies, placing her hand in his. With a sharp, talon-like nail, he pricks her finger and squeezes some of the blood from it into a vial produced from the pocket of his apron. When she pulls her hand back from his, the little puncture wound is closed.

  He slides the vial back into the pocket of his apron, “How long do you intend to be in Hammerheim?” He asks simply, turning his back to her and examining a nearby workbench.

  “I can be here for as long as need be, I’m currently staying with a friend at The Lavaspur.”

  “Ah, Marie’s little nest. That is a good, quiet place with comforting food and drink.” He rumbles with affectionate familiarity. “Bring her this, and tell her you are awaiting my arrival. I will come to find you once I have finished my analysis of your blood.” He hands her a small but strangely heavy piece of golden material. Its texture under her thumb is smooth, but it has distinct ridges and a subtle roughness that is unnoticeable due to the mercurial nature of its metallic luster. No way.

  Reigna offers him a curtsey and a deep bow of her head. “Thank you, sir. I will await your arrival.” As she turns to leave, Furnax places a hand gently on her shoulder.

  “Little horned one, you needn’t be so polite.” He says, the slits of his eyes contract and expand for a moment as though refocusing on her. “We may not be equal in power, but as for blood.” He pauses for a moment, contemplating. “I’ve met many of your kind, those like you and those from whom you are descended. Your people are proud and do not bow their heads.”

  “I apologize if I offended you, sir. It’s just etiquette I was taught to observe.” She says simply, trying to disguise the wracking of her nerves.

  “That is the etiquette of humans. They require people to bow to show subservience and to acknowledge their positions of influence and insecurity.” He chides, the insult is not aimed at her, it’s a critique of human political structures. “Your horns, like mine, are a crown. You are a guest in my city, not a servant. When next we meet, hold your head high.” There’s something about the way he says it, I’m not sure what it is, but he means something else entirely.

  “Of course.” She nods, maintaining eye contact. “I’m Reigna, Lord Furnax, it’s been a pleasure to meet you.” She reaches out a hand.

  “The pleasure has most assuredly been mine, Lady Reigna.” Furnax grabs her forearm firmly, a warrior’s handshake. “Enjoy your stay in our fair city, Hammerheim welcomes you and yours.”

  Reigna descends the stairs, reaching the bottom significantly faster than she reached the top. They must be enchanted. She ponders for a moment before carrying on past the makeshift bazaar in the city center. Her walk back to The Lavaspur is uneventful. There are children playing in the streets with toys and wooden swords they purchased or had purchased for them and small groups of older children and young adults, free from various work duties wandering the city in droves trying the exotic street foods and imported beverages.

  She passes a group of Orcs along one of the streets. There are four of them standing two by two and chatting amongst themselves in their mother tongue. They each stand easily two to three heads taller than her, their hair similarly styled to each other, shaved sides and long, thick single braids down the center of their heads and trailing to their lower backs. Each of them have what appear to be the tusks of other Orcs tucked into carefully measured spots down the length of the braids.

  I don’t know why they do that, but maybe Will does. I’ll ask when I get back. As she passes them, one of the men in the front catches her staring in their direction and offers her a nod of acknowledgement without interrupting his conversation. His large red eyes are outlined by a strategically painted circle of black face paint. Reigna offers him a friendly smile and a nod in return. One corner of his mouth turns up into what she figures passes as a friendly smirk among his people.

  They continue on their way, Reigna continues on hers, like ships in the night. This district is still quiet as the early morning fades into afternoon, many of the smiths are just now warming their forges for the day’s work or beginning their commute to other districts. The quiet hum of a neighbor waking up has its own magic. Once she arrives back at The Lavaspur, the growing bustle of the streets once again fades back to an almost post-apocalyptic silence.

  The tavern is as quiet now as the night before, save for the crackle of the fireplace and the almost imperceptible scratch of Marie’s quill against the pages of a ledger. Will is sitting at the counter, bleary-eyed, with his hair untied and plastered to the back of his neck, still wet from the bath. He’s nursing a cup of coffee, raising it to his nose and taking a deep inhale causing the swirling tendrils of steam to race up his nose. He closes his eyes, a peaceful smile crawling lazily across his face as he takes a sip.

  I’m surprised he bathed before getting coffee. She muses as she takes a seat beside him at the counter.

  “Sleep well?” She asks, prompting him to turn his head slowly to meet her gaze.

  “Too well, if I’m honest.” He sighs. “I didn’t want to move, it’s been so long since I’ve slept in a bed.”

  “It is a great feeling, isn’t it?” She says, fishing the gold scale out of her pouch and placing it on the counter. “Miss Marie, Furnax asked me to give this to you, do you know what it’s for?” Marie looks up from her paperwork and lifts the scale from the counter, carefully examining it.

  “Let me take this to my office, one moment.” She says, reaching for a cup and a pot of freshly brewed coffee from the short counter behind her and placing both on a wooden tray in front of Reigna and Will. “Help yourself, I’ll be back.”

  Reigna glances up and down the counter for a moment before staring blankly at the glass coffee pot and the plain white porcelain mug before her.

  “Aren’t you gonna pour yourself a cup?” Will asks, taking another sip from his cup.

  “She didn’t give me any cream or sugar.” Reigna says, sounding a little defeated. “I’m not a monster like you, I can’t drink my coffee black.”

  “Rain, you can just say that you prefer lightly caffeinated milk, ya know?” He jests before reaching over the counter and retrieving a small metal cup with a spout and short bowl of sugar cubes.

  “First of all, thank you. Second, go fuck yourself.” She laughs, dropping a few cubes into the coffee. “How long were these back there?” She asks.

  “Oh, I asked Miss Marie to prep this stuff before you got back because I know you prefer your coffee blasphemously sweet and at least mostly milk.”

  “Well, I’m surprised you didn’t forget. You haven’t had to buy my coffee in almost three years now.”

  “Well, it’s hard to forget the first time I fucked that up and had to run back to the cafe and get another one and almost be late to one the class critique sessions.” He remarks, an almost haunted look crossing his face.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  As Reigna takes her first sip of her coffee, Marie descends the staircase hastily and ducks below the counter to fetch a worn wooden sign hanging from a piece of leather cordage. As Marie passes to the other side and makes her way to the door, she catches a glimpse of the sign, it reads closed until further notice. Once the sign is placed outside, Marie re-enters the tavern and locks the door behind her.

  “Is everything alright?” Reigna asks, a knot of concern beginning to coil in her chest.

  “Yes, quite well actually, especially for you lot.” Marie remarks, taking a plate from the order window and placing it in front of Will. “Whatever Furnax is doing for you must be important.”

  “He’s, um, analyzing my blood?” Reigna replies, not entirely sure what to say or, frankly, how to say it. She catches a quizzical eyebrow raise from Will as he spreads butter onto a slice of rye toast and waves her hand at him under the counter. I’ll explain later.

  “Well, while you wait for his findings, you're his honored guests here; anything you eat or drink will be covered by him.” Marie says, sitting down on a stool behind the counter and pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  “Has Furnax done this before?” Will asks, trying to disguise the concern creeping into his voice.

  “Typically he does this when specific political visitors come around or when he needs to speak with the Knight’s or the Merc’s leaders.” Marie replies, tipping her mug in his direction as she continues scratching notes into her ledger. “There is a downside though.”

  “What is it?” Reigna and Willl ask simultaneously.

  “Until he comes to meet you and your business is concluded no one can come or go from The Lavaspur.” She puts her mug down and rises from her seat. “That reminds me I have to go and let my kitchen staff know, and my assistant manager who lives upstairs. Do you want anything to eat by the way?” She asks Reigna.

  “I guess I’ll have a bacon omelette with wheat toast, if that’s alright?” She says, still feeling conflicted about the whole situation. “Uh, make that two actually.”

  Marie nods and passes through the free-swinging doors into the kitchen.

  “So, I suppose that visit was pretty eventful, eh?” Will says, attempting to lighten the mood.

  “More so than I thought, apparently.”

  “What happened?” He asks, turning on the barstool to face her and leaning on one of his knees.

  “One second.” Reigna holds up a hand to him before whistling a little tune. A few moments later, Lyraax emerges on the counter in a plume of purple smoke, blinking lazily.

  “You’ve been to see Lord Furnax, I see.” He remarks as his eyes focus.

  “I have, Will was asking for details and I figured it would save time to tell you both.” The two exchange a look, Will shrugs, Lyraax turns back to face her and nods for her to continue. Reigna spends the next few minutes telling them about her exchange with Hammerheim’s leader.

  “I mean, not being cursed is a good thing, right?” Will asks, carefully wiping his face and fingers with a handkerchief.

  “I suppose it is, technically.” Reigna says as her food arrives from the kitchen along with the second plate she’d ordered for Lyraax. “I just always figured my bad luck was a curse, so if it isn’t, I’m just unlucky I guess.” She idly prods at her omelette, her voice sounding hollow.

  “Dear Lady,” Lyraax begins after swallowing half a slice of wheat toast. “It may not be the answer you had hoped for, but having one less metaphysical obstacle is not something to be sad about.” His words sting her a bit. It’s a hard thing to articulate right now, but it somehow feels worse knowing that there isn’t an external cause. She keeps the thought to herself and instead nods along to his reasoning.

  “I suppose you’re right, hopefully his analysis doesn’t bring up any worse news.” She says with a forced smile. Will scans her face, attempting to find any buried emotion, but she’s retreated into herself and he figures it’d be best to drop the subject in favor of something else.

  “Well, we’ve got the whole place to ourselves in the meantime, may as well make the best of it.” He smiles and shrugs his shoulders at Reigna who nods her concession.

  “I guess you’re right. Although, I’m not sure what else we can do while we’re here besides eat, drink and sleep.” She says, twirling her hair around her finger thoughtfully.

  “Do you really need to do anything else?” Asks Lyraax, licking the remnants of bacon fat from his plate.

  “I know what I’m going to do tonight.” Will says, a determined gleam in his eyes. “I’m gonna strip down, wrap a towel around my waist and do the largest load of laundry that I can.” His eyes practically glow with excitement as he says it.

  “That’s actually a fantastic idea.” Reigna agrees. “I got some laundry done in Infrita at The Rags, but I have a few other sets of clothes I haven’t had the chance to wash so this is a great opportunity.” The two of them enthusiastically high-five and head upstairs to gather their dirty clothes from their bags. Lyraax sits on the counter, squinting at one of the lights above the counter.

  “I’ve never, in my life, met this many young people who were that excited to do laundry.” He says out loud, his voice somewhere between confusion and utter disbelief.

  “Kids get weirder every generation or so.” Marie remarks as she enters from the kitchen.

  “So it would seem.”

  Later that night, Will descends the stairs into the basement of the building. The floor is made of carefully laid natural stone slabs and the walls on one side of the room are lined with small vents that gently pipe thin, white steam into the room making it warm and a little bit humid. Along the far wall from the door is a row of six faucets and a stack of wooden wash tubs each affixed with a collapsible washboard. Beside the door where Will has walked in is another, heavier wooden door with a sign that reads Co-ed baths, please be respectful. Beneath that is another, smaller sign that reads Couples: please clean up after yourselves!

  Reigna is seated against the dividing wall, still in her day clothes, scrubbing away at a green shirt that looks almost identical to the one she’s currently wearing. Will adjusts his robe, tightening the waist sash and approaches the stack of wash tubs.

  “Hey Rain, didn’t realize you were already down here.” He says, as casually as he can manage.

  “Yeah, I wanted to get this done as soon as possible, but I found this really stubborn sweat stain and I’m trying to get it out.” She grits her teeth with frustration and effort as she drags a small fiber brush against a dark spot in the armpit seam of the old shirt.

  “You’ll get it out, although you’d probably do it a little faster if you mixed a little vinegar and soda on that brush first.” He advises, filling his tub with warm water and collecting his clothes from a basket he had left down here last night. “How many of those green shirts do you own anyway?”

  “Oh, just the one.” Reigna replies, grabbing a small cup and filling it with vinegar.

  “But you’re wearing another one right now.” Will says, confused as he shaves a sliver of soap into the wash tub and agitates the water until the suds arise.

  “Wanna know a secret?” Reigna asks, giving Will a devilishly wide grin and narrowing her eyes.

  “Um, sure.” He can feel a wave of sudden anxiety wash over him.

  “It’s an illusion. I’m actually not wearing anything.”

  Will drops half of his clothes into the tub causing the water to splash up over the edges of the tub and send a deluge of soapy water cascading across the floor. Reigna looks up from her stool at him and lets out a full, belly-deep laugh, dropping her shirt and fiber brush into her basin.

  “Great Maker’s mittens, Rain!” He snaps, trying to keep a smile from spreading across his face. “You shouldn’t joke like that. Nearly gave me a heart attack.” He grabs a stool and sits down to start swirling his clothes in the soapy water, adding a bit more in to compensate for what was spilled.

  Reigna stifles her laughter with a deep, relaxed sigh before fishing the brush out of the tub. “I’m not joking.” She states flatly.

  “You won’t get me with that a second time.” Will puffs, staring into his soaking clothes, mentally counting to himself.

  “Will, look at me.”

  “Alright, I’ll humor you.” He turns to face her. She turns on her stool to face him, dressed in her brown pants and green shirt and barefoot. She reaches her arm straight out causing the bell-shaped end of her poet’s shirt to billow and dangle loosely around her wrist, as it should. She reaches with her other hand for the hanging part of her sleeve and Will sees a blue shimmer dance around her fingers as her hand passes into and eventually through the sleeve without it so much as moving.

  He goes pale for a moment, only to eventually turn bright red and turn his back to her. “Alright, you win.” He squeaks.

  “Of course I win.” She says, tilting her head back triumphantly.

  “Who does laundry naked? Why would you do laundry naked?” He asks, a note of panic and confusion in his voice.

  “Well for starters, it means I don’t have to either come back down here to wash the clothes I was wearing before and prematurely dip into my clean clothes.” She says, having finally worked that stain out of her shirt and moved on to another. “It was something a girl I dated back in school taught me.”

  “Who?” He asks, turning to look at her, one eyebrow cocked inquisitively. “I mean, you dated a few girls back in school so that’s just really vague. Also, it just seems like the kind of thing Jas would do.” He laughs, scraping a wire brush against the bottom of one of his pant legs.

  “Do you remember Ellie?” Reigna asks, taking a few of her shirts and underthings out of the tub and bringing them over to hang in front of the steam vents.

  “Ellie Reinbach?” He asks, stopping again to turn and look up at her. “She was the girl who was always really quiet, sat in the front of the classroom during Elmhirsch’s Satire lectures?”

  “Yup. brown hair, blue eyes, human girl.” Reigna nods, adjusting her things and pinning them to a mini clothesline she pulled from an alcove in the wall and clipped to a hook on the other side. “She was a freak.” She says, waggling her eyebrows at him.

  “How much of a freak are we talking?”

  “She taught me the illusory clothing thing because she was a bit of an exhibitionist, and it made it easier to do things in public spaces, like the campus laundry room, without making it obvious if someone walked in.”

  “Huh, it’s always the quiet ones.” Will says with a shrug and small, approving nod. “Why’d you stop seeing her?”

  “She was a little needy. Let’s say.” She says, her voice becoming a bit gravelly at the recollection.

  “Well now I’m curious, do tell.”

  Reigna sits back at her stool, empties the tub and refills it with fresh soap and water. “Sometimes she was needy in the sense that she’d come to mine and Jasper’s room unannounced at ungodly hours and ask to stay for a while.” She recounts. Will just listens, making a small batch of the vinegar and soda mixture to get at the harder stains in his clothes.

  “She’d stop by abruptly to stay the night, she’d sometimes get upset when I went to hang out with you and Jasper and try to make me feel bad about it.” She pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath. “And sometimes she was just physically needy. We’d go out to the local pubs or to walk around the lake, and it would be kind of romantic.” She says, her voice soft with nostalgia and fondness. “But then she’d start looking over her shoulder and she’d pull me behind the boat house or a tree and start stripping.” Suddenly she sounds exasperated.

  “So you’d be out on a date, having a nice time and she’d basically start asking you to undress?” He remarks, shaking his head.

  “That’s the thing, she wouldn’t ask me to strip, she’d just start undressing and asking me to ‘take her like a virgin offering under the moonlight.’ It was uncomfortable.”

  “Sounds like she was reading too much erotica.”

  “Her parents were merchants from Orion.” Reigna continues. “She said they intended to marry her off to some noble’s son when she turned twenty-one so they could move into Regulus proper, so she wanted to ‘try new things.’ I found some like demon-girl lesbian penny dreadfuls in her room when she invited me over. I was just some weird fetish to her.” She sighs heavily.

  Will looks up from his basin, “I’m really sorry Rain, that couldn’t have been an easy break.” He says apologetically.

  “Eh, I was weirded out by it when I found that out and I did feel a little bit used, however she did taste pretty good and I learned some things I certainly wouldn’t have done by myself, so it wasn’t a total loss.” She shrugs. “It was just so weird in retrospect.”

  “I bet, it’s not everyday you get randomly fetishized.”

  “Has that never happened to you?”

  “What, someone using me to fulfill their strange fantasy?” He asks, looking up again to meet Reigna’s gaze. She just gestures vaguely at him and nods.

  “I’m Dwarvish and Elvish, Rain.” He says flatly. “People love tall, elegant, Elven men with sleek hair and aloof attitudes. People love short, strong Dwarven men with thick, well decorated beards and the fantasy of being taken to some subterranean stronghold packed with fine ale and gems.” He says, occasionally waving his hand over the wash basin. “Nobody fantasizes about a halfbreed of those two things. I’m a little too tall and thin by Dwarven standards, and I’m too short and fat by Elvish standards. If not for my ears, alcohol tolerance, and long lifespan, I could pass for a normal human.” He laughs.

  “Do you think those facts have hindered your luck romantically?” Reigna asks, sincerely.

  “Hm, I don’t think so. I think I’m just more of a person you learn to love, not someone that people fall in love with by looking, ya know?”

  “Honestly, you should be thankful for that.”

  “Based on that story you just told, I kinda am.” He smirks.

  “Oh fuck you, Rowan!” She says, flicking water from her fingers at him.

  “No, fuck you Larkspur!” He laughs, cupping his hand in the water and squeezing a small jet in her direction.

  And just like that, the laundry room had turned into a full blown water fight. They were like kids at a riverbank or lakeside, splashing and squirting water at each other, sending water all across the floor. Eventually their rambunctious game settled and they returned to the more adult business they were here to accomplish. As they rose to hang some wet clothes in front of the vents, the previously hung clothes were finally dry and ready to be folded. They pull a collapsing table from a closet under the stairs, and stand idly folding their dry clothes and chatting about nothing.

  By the time the dry clothes have been folded the next batch of soaking clothes is ready for scrubbing and other treatment. A cycle that continues and repeats a few times over until it’s time to fold the last batch. As they climb the stairs and enter the main area of the tavern, they find Marie unbarring the door. In steps Furnax in his human guise, without his horns. He casts a glance over to the counter where Lyraax is sipping at a cup of coffee and then to Reigna and Will.

  “I’ll wait until you’ve concluded your business and are properly decent.” He says, taking a seat at the counter beside Lyraax.

  Reigna and Will rush upstairs and get dressed as quickly as they can before barreling back down to the counter. When they arrive they find, in Lyraax’s a place, a small, lean man of fair complexion with vibrant blue hair sitting cross-legged on the counter. He has the same amethyst eyes as Lyraax and is wrapped in a small robe and mantle that mimic the color of his scales and the pattern of his wings.

  “That was fast.” He remarks.

  “Lyraax?” Reigna asks. Another thing I wasn’t sure he could do.

  “Who else would it be?” He replies, smirking as he takes another sip of coffee. “It would be undignified of me to meet on so revered as Furnax without donning an appropriate guise of my own. We’ll talk about it later, you two have business.”

  Reigna resists the urge to bow her head, “Lord Furnax, I thought your analysis would take longer considering your generous offer to have us as guests.” She says in her most respectful, businesslike tone.

  “The analysis was fast because I am unable to identify the components of what was given to you, however I was able to identify the effect.” He says, casting another glance around them. “Is there anyone here besides Lyraax and yourself that you would like to share the discovery with?”

  “Just my friend Will.” She says, patting him firmly on the shoulder. Will jumps slightly and offers a sheepish nod of agreement to Furnax. A sudden rush of air fills their ears, and they are all sitting in what appears to be an opulent study. Soft, plus rugs cover the floor, a collection of floor to ceiling bookshelves cover every inch of the walls in all directions, interrupted occasionally by a glass showcase containing a sword or suit of armor.

  In the center of this new room is a large, intricately carved, mahogany desk with three chairs situated around it, and a fourth atop its surface, presumably for Lyraax. Furnax saunters to one of the chairs and sits down, placing his hands down on the desk and nodding to the other chairs. “Please, have a seat.” He invites, with the utmost sincerity.

  Will opens his mouth only for Furnax to respond, “My lair, boy. You’re no longer in The Lavaspur, nor in Hammerheim for that matter. Let’s not get hung up on the details.” Will quietly nods and takes a seat. Reigna and Lyraax come and do the same.

  “Well, Miss Larkspur.” Furnax says with a nod, “I am not sure whether to congratulate you or offer my condolences.”

  “Why, what did you find?” She asks, her heart racing.

  He produces the small vial of her blood and gives it a little swirl. “You have been dosed with an elixir. I’ve seen variations of this effect in the past but not this one specifically.” he hands the vial to Lyraax to examine. “It’s an elixir of Immortality.”

  Reigna can feel her body go cold for a moment as the word Immortality lands on her shoulders with an inexplicable weight. Will slumps back in his chair, his eyes wide with disbelief. Neither of them say anything for a long time.

  “Can it be undone?” she finally asks, not knowing what else to say.

  “Unfortunately, as far as I can tell, no.” There’s a cold finality to his words that siphons the warmth from air in the room. “The exact effect is quite odd, however.”

  “How so?” Asks Will, seeing that Reigna is currently in a shocked staring contest with the floor.

  “The Elixir still allows her to die temporarily before resuscitating her and seems to accelerate her body’s natural healing and immune response.” He says, stroking his chin. “It’s odd seeing as how most immortality spells are supposed to prevent death, sickness, or mortal injury, not just allow you to recover from death.”

  “I really wish that it was a dream, now.” Reigna says, mostly to herself.

  “To what are you referring?” Furnax asks.

  Reigna tells Furnax about her encounter with the strange, winged man and the glowing liquid he used for an infusion on her and about her experience with the Hangman’s tree on the to Ifrita and her meeting with the entity who called himself Death. Furnax listens to her story intently, taking mental notes of the information she can recount.

  “The man who did this to you, based on your description, is an angel or some other type of celestial servitor. Although I can’t fathom a reason why he would do such a thing to a random girl who has no qualm nor oath with whomever he serves.” He pauses, pondering. “Meeting something calling itself Death, as opposed to a God of death, is unprecedented.”

  “Perhaps because most of the people who meet him don't come back to talk about it.” Lyraax remarks from the small chair atop the desk, his now humanoid face contorted into a scowl.

  “I can attempt a deeper analysis on your blood when I have a bit more time.” Furnax offers as a consolation. “For now though, is there anything else I can help you with?”

  Reigna brushes her bangs back from her face with her fingers before making eye contact with Furnax, a look of bone-deep exhaustion on her face. “Can you help me find a few people?” She asks, before taking a deep breath, made to steele her nerves. “If I might live forever, there’s some unfinished business I need to address with a few people who won’t.”

  “Who do you need to find?” Furnax asks, opening a drawer in his desk.

  “Amaryllis Faberos, Talion The Fox, and Jasper Nachtstern.”