Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was only a week ago that Halsin was convinced that Zilvira was interested in him.

There hadn’t been a single shadow of doubt in his mind. In fact, it would have been difficult for him to believe she wasn’t interested in him. That knowledge wasn’t just ego or vanity talking: it was years of experience.

Zilvira had never said anything outright, but she was far from subtle.

It was in the way her curious, intelligent eyes watched his lips when he spoke. It was the way she always lingered in his tent for a moment after their late night conversations, as if waiting — hoping — for him to initiate something. There was the way she messed with her hair when she saw him approach, the way her fingers ‘accidentally’ brushed against his when they walked side by side, the way she smiled up at him with her cherry red lips, the way they could talk for hours…

It had been a long time since Halsin had treasured someone’s company as much as he did Zilvira’s.

When he was with her, the weight of his responsibilities sometimes felt light enough that he could forget about them entirely. His failures as Archdruid, everything that happened with Kagha, the Shadow Curse… Zilvira had a way of pushing them all to the back of his mind.

If only for a moment, Halsin could pretend that his only concerns were for himself, for her, and for the nature that enveloped them.

With her, he could just be Halsin.

Not an Archdruid. Not a leader. Just Halsin.

And it wasn’t until he met Zilvira that he realized just how long it had been since he felt like he could be himself. Truly himself — without putting on any sort of mask of stoicism and authority expected of druidic leadership.

So when Zilvira suddenly stopped speaking to him, it felt like a part of himself went silent as well.

Their once long, easy, conversations turned monosyllabic, overly polite, and professional. Like she thought they were simply business partners rather than a friend he had grown to cherish. All the warmth that had once emanated from her had become an impenetrable wall of ice — but one that only formed to keep him out.

And he hadn’t the faintest idea why.

Lanterns illuminated the main street of Wyrm’s Crossing with a warm, orange glow that dulled the silvery light of the moon. The distinct aroma of fried food mixed with the salty sea air. Crowds of people gathered around food carts and outside of taverns, chattering away one another like there weren’t hundreds of refugees waiting to get into the city just a few minutes away.

Like there weren’t metal monstrosities looming around every corner, watching their every move.

Cities had always made Halsin a bit uncomfortable, but he couldn’t remember the last time one made him feel so unsafe. Between the Bhaalists, the Banites, the Absolute, the Steel Watch, and the Guild, his disquiet was hardly unfounded.

People stopped to stare at him as he passed through the crowded thoroughfare. Perhaps it was because of his druidic attire — completely standard in the grove to wear soft leathers adorned with nature, but out of place in the city. Or, more likely, they simply stared because of his stature.

He heard some whispers as he passed by. ‘Is that the bear man?’ and ‘I heard there was a giant elf in the city, but gods damn he’s huge!’

Nothing he was unaccustomed to hearing. There were certainly worse things he could be semi-famous for, that was for certain.

Whatever people thought about him did not matter nearly as much as finding Zilvira. Their comments went in one ear and out the other.

From what Karlach had told him, Zilvira had gone back to Sharess’ Caress; a bar and brothel they had stopped in a few days ago on official business. Apparently, Zilvira was hoping to find Inspector Valeria somewhere in the establishment — probably polishing off a bottle of wine. Last time Zilvira had spoken to Inspector Valeria, the hollyphant had demanded she needed to find more convincing evidence if she wanted to exonerate a tiefling refugee of murdering Father Lorgan.

And Zilvira had done just that.

Halsin had been under the impression that she’d wait until morning to turn in her findings. Or at least until normal working hours. But when it came to protecting the innocent, Zilvira had never been the patient sort.

Although Zilvira would not have expected him to follow, Halsin wasn’t sure when he would get another chance to catch her alone. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince her to walk back to camp with him. Then maybe they could finally have a conversation about…

Well, whatever it was that had gone wrong between them.

Whenever Halsin thought back on the past interactions with her, he couldn’t pinpoint a single thing that would have triggered her change in behavior. At least, nothing that made sense.

One morning, she was fine. He remembered how she smiled up at him as she poured him a cup of tea — a ritual they had shared for weeks. How she asked him about Oliver and Thaniel, saying that she missed them already. How her eyes followed a fuzzy bumblebee as she sipped her tea, oblivious to how he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.

It was that morning that Halsin had decided he wanted something more than friendship with her.

But he never got the chance to say something, because by that afternoon she could hardly even look at him.

And the following morning, she had found an excuse to have her tea alone.

A subtle ache gripped his chest when he recalled the moment of rejection. Of course, he tried to ask what was bothering her, but she just gave him a watery smile and said everything was fine.

That was two days ago.

He needed to figure out what was going on with her. Not just for his own sake, but for the sake of everyone else they traveled with. He had made a promise to help with her tadpole, a promise he intended to fulfill, but… did she even still want his help at all?

The bond he felt between them was undeniable, and it. was something he cherished. Besides Thaniel, Zilvira was one of the few people he could truly count as a friend.

If she was pushing him away after everything they had been through together, there had to be a reason why.

Although several people lingered outside of Sharess’ Caress, there fortunately wasn’t a line to get in. If there had been, he probably would have waited outside since he wasn’t there for any of the services the place offered. Under different circumstances, he might partake in some of the indulgences.

It had been a long, long time since he had done such a thing.

Tobacco smoke mixed with a myriad of sweetly sour aromas of perfumes and ale, barely masking the scent of too many bodies packed into the establishment. Though the outside air had been pleasantly warm — nice enough that he could wear his sleeveless leathers — inside it turned thick, humid, and almost oppressive. The door had barely closed behind him before he felt sweat beginning to coat his skin.

Halsin glanced around the taproom, hoping that he would be lucky enough to spot Zilvira right away. If she was in the room, she would stick out like a white swan among common mallards. It was difficult not to notice her.

At least, it was difficult for him not to notice.

“Well, well,” a sultry, feminine voice came from somewhere to his left. The owner of Sharess’ Caress, in her spot behind the reception counter. Mamzell Amira, if he remembered correctly — the woman who hardly cared at all when Zilvira informed her that one of her employees had been brutally murdered simply because it affected her earnings. “I was hoping to see you again, handsome.”

Halsin did not quite share her sentiment, but he gave her a tight smile in greeting.

It wasn't completely her fault. Cities had a way of turning even the kindest hearts callous — it was often the only way people could survive.

The Mamzell leaned across the counter in a way that put her cleavage on full display. “I’ve loved plenty of elves back in my day, but none of your — ” her eyes roamed up and down his body, pausing at his chest, biceps, and a little lower than what was polite “ — physique.”

Part of him wanted to roll his eyes at her flirtations. It was just an act as part of her business, so he knew not to take the comment too personally. But still, it was tiring to hear variations of the same observations from everyone.

When he thought about it, he realized Zilvira never made any sort of comments regarding his size. She never made him feel odd for being larger than the average elf. At the very worst, she occasionally asked for his help retrieving something that she was too short to reach. But nothing beyond that.

“You look like a man who has seen a great many things,” Mamzell Amira continued as she rested her chin in her hands, “but I’m certain Sharess’ Caress can show you a great many more. I’m sure we have something that would interest someone of your experience.”

“Perhaps another time,” Halsin replied diplomatically. “I’m actually here looking for someone. A young drow woman with white hair, cut about chin-length, and lips red like cherries.”

“‘Lips red like cherries,’” she echoed as the corner of her mouth tugged into a teasing smirk. “You sound smitten, you poor thing.”

Maybe Mamzell Amira had a point, but it was an accurate description. Halsin never once saw Zilvira without her bright red lipstick — she jokingly called it her ‘war paint’. Sometimes, he found himself wondering how often she had to reapply it. Or if it would come off when she kissed—

Halsin pushed the thought aside. Focus. No point in thinking about Zilvira’s lips when she wouldn’t even use them to speak to him.

Mamzell Amira tapped her finger to her cheek as if in thought. “You know, I’m not supposed to answer questions like that. Customer confidentiality and all of that. But since you helped me out before….” She cocked her chin toward the curtained area behind her and gave him a wink. “If anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”

Halsin inclined his head toward her gratefully, tension draining from his muscles with the knowledge that Zilvira was here. He could finally talk with her.

Heart fluttering in his chest, Halsin made his way toward the back room.

***

Wine wasn’t helping.

Resting her elbows on the sticky, wooden table she had been sitting at for the last hour, Zilvira ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled slowly. She had hoped that the alcohol in her system and a topless tiefling gyrating to music on a stage not ten feet away would have been enough of a distraction.

It should have been enough of a distraction, considering she had never been someplace like Sharess’ Caress until a few days ago. But as excited as she was to experience all that the city had to offer, her mind kept drifting back to Halsin.

Zilvira took another sip of her wine. She couldn’t avoid him forever, nor did she want to, it was just that — How the hells was she supposed to pretend everything was normal after what he had said?

Gods, she felt like such an idiot.

She had thought they had a connection. A real connection. She had thought it was mutual. There was always a softness to his eyes that made her want to melt, the gentleness of his words, the comfort of his presence.

He made her feel safe, and she thought at the very least she might provide the same comfort to him.

But she had been mistaken.

Zilvira pushed her wine goblet toward the edge of the table, not wanting to take another drink but needing something to do with her hands other than pull her hair out. It was only her second drink, and she was just starting to feel the effects of the alcohol.

Normally, she didn’t resort to drinking when she had a problem. She liked to face things head on but….

She didn’t know what to do.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Truly, she hadn’t. Hells, she wished she hadn’t, because then she would be having tea with Halsin under a canopy of stars rather than cheap wine in a dingy taproom.

Ignorance was rarely her friend, but Zilvira longed for it at that moment.

It wasn’t like she could just pretend she hadn’t overheard the tail end of Halsin’s conversation with Shadowheart. And it wasn’t like she could bring up what she had heard to him without admitting that she had inadvertently listened in on a private discussion. She shouldn’t hold something Halsin said against him if his words were never meant for her ears.

Though, she wished she had learned that he had some history with drow another way.

A long and unpleasant history.

From the bit of the conversation she had heard, Halsin apparently had been a captive of a drow noble house for a few years. He said that seeing the drow twins at the brothel had reminded him of his ‘misspent youth’ — that drow seemed to be as much of a novelty on the surface as he had been in the Underdark.

Based upon her limited knowledge of the drow in the Underdark, it was all too easy to parse Halsin’s words.

No matter how Halsin tried to play off his years of captivity as if it was nothing but the mistake of a young druid, there was some resentment to his tone.

From the sound of it, whatever wound the drow had inflicted upon him seemed to still be a scab. Not quite a scar.

When that scab healed, there was no way of knowing how bad the scar would be beneath. Raised and angry, a light indentation, or just a faint discoloration one could only spot in the right light.

Zilvira’s first instinct had been to express her sympathies and offer an ear to listen. If the conversation had ended there, she might have done just that.

But then he said a few words, words that sounded so light and easy in that deep timbre of his, that struck her like a sharp blade to the heart.

“I count myself lucky that I made it out of the Underdark alive,” Halsin had said matter-of-factly. “Cruelty comes to Lolth’s followers as easily as breathing. It’s part of a drow’s nature.”

“Surely that statement doesn’t include Zilvira?” Shadowheart had replied with a playful edge to her tone. Like she already knew the answer had to be some variation of ‘Of course not!’

“She’s a drow, is she not?” Halsin had said instead, without a moment of hesitation or a hint of humor.

Zilvira had expected to hear a follow up. Something to indicate that Halsin didn’t think of her as cruel.

But no.

He left it at that.

Zilvira closed her eyes and willed the hurt and confusion of the memory away.

The monks had warned her that the world outside of the monastery would treat her differently — that most people would be wary toward her because of her ancestry. It was part of the reason Zilvira had rarely ventured far from that hidden grove where the Eldathian monks had raised her.

She knew why the surface world was wary of drow, but she thought that if people would just give her a chance they would —

Zilvira startled when the table jostled beneath her. Quickly, she grabbed the edge of the table to try to hold it steady before it toppled over and she could only watch as her goblet of wine teetered off the edge.

A lightning quick hand snatched the goblet before it crashed to the floor. “Whoa!” a man exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to bump into you there.”

With his hand poised over the mouth of the goblet, he set the wine safely in the center of the table. “That could have been bad,” he said with an adorable laugh that immediately drew Zilvira’s attention to his face.

He was a young man. Neatly trimmed blonde hair, clear skin, bright eyes, and dressed in a Flaming Fist uniform. He gave her an easy smile as his eyes met hers.

Zilvira cleared her throat and averted her gaze, hoping the young man didn’t notice the dampness in her eyes. It was one thing to cry over Halsin alone, but she didn’t want to do it in front of a stranger.

“Good catch.” She picked up the goblet of wine and brought it to her lips. There wasn’t much left, and she swallowed the remainder of the dry red along with her impending tears. She set the empty goblet on the table with a little laugh, “Can’t spill it if it’s empty.”

The blond man rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a sheepish smile. “Can I get you another one?”

Zilvira shook her head. “No, thank you,” she replied amicably, though she was flattered by the offer. “I think I’ve had enough for one evening.”

“Are you leaving?” he asked, his brows raised as a small pout grew on his lips. Then he cleared his throat. “I saw you across the room and — well, I was hoping to have a drink with you. You’re really stunning and I would never have forgiven myself if I didn’t at least say ‘hello.’”

Her cheeks heated at the compliment, and Zilvira pushed a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. The blond man wasn’t really her type, but he wasn’t unattractive by any means.

Maybe a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. Talking to a friendly stranger seemed preferable to drinking alone. Besides, maybe the young man could help her keep her mind off of Halsin. Even if it was only for a few moments.

“I’m not leaving just yet,” Zilvira said and nodded to the empty seat across from her. “What’s your name?”

The man beamed at her as he told her his name: Jack. He pulled the chair around the table so he could sit closer to her, crowding her personal space in a way that seemed more over-friendly than overbearing.

Jack, Zilvira quickly learned, was the type of person who was extremely easy to talk to. He had a boyish charm about him — a playful innocence in his eyes and a smile that probably got him out of all sorts of trouble. More than that, he seemed very polite.

Sweet, even.

Conversation came easy to them. Even with all the people crowding the room, Jack only had his eyes on her as he hung on her every word. Like she was the most interesting woman he had ever had the privilege of speaking to.

Yet a few minutes into the conversation, a sense of uneasiness came over her. It almost felt like she had had too much to drink, but… she didn’t have that much to drink. Did she?

She looked at her empty goblet, but found that her eyes were unable to focus on it. It doubled, then her vision went dark for a moment, only for it to come back a second later.

Zilvira sat back in her seat, trying to hold her head high in an attempt to look sober as Jack continued to talk. It was strange. She never had a problem holding her drink before, but something didn’t feel quite right.

Perhaps there had been a drink mix up and her wine was stronger than she had realized.

A warm hand rested gently on her forearm, a featherlight touch that felt oddly comforting. She wanted to lean into it.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jack asked, his brow furrowed with something like concern. Although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, something about his expression seemed off.

Or, perhaps, it was just another side effect of the alcohol.

Shaking her head, Zilvira attempted to stand. The room blurred as she got to her feet, like she had been spinning around in circles, and she quickly sat back down.

“I think I had too much to drink,” she said, her voice echoing in her own ears. “I should probably get some water.”

Yeah, that was probably it. A little bit of water and she would be feeling better in no time.

“Here, let me help you up,” Jack said and wrapped his arm around her, providing her some support as she tried to stand again.

The corners of her vision darkened, but it wasn’t as bad as standing up on her own. She leaned against Jack’s chest, inhaling the sweet and spicy scent of his cologne.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “I don’t normally get like this.”

Jack laughed good-naturedly. “Don’t worry. It happens all the time around here. You’ll get no judgment from me.”

Even with his assistance, it felt like she was walking underwater with every step. Almost as if she could just tap her foot and float away.

Zilvira blinked hard as if it would make the room stop spinning. “I should probably get back to my camp.”

“In this condition?” Jack asked incredulously as he walked her toward the curtain that led to the main tap room. “You should probably lie down and drink some water. I have a room here. I’m happy to let you stay until you sober up a bit.”

Laying down sounded nice.

It sounded really, really, nice.

Amidst the blackness and spinning of her vision and the volume of the music surrounding them, Zilvira almost didn’t notice the alarm bells ringing in her subconscious.

Something was wrong but… she couldn’t quite place what it was.

Each one of Zilvira’s steps felt huge, like she was trying to step over a puddle. She glanced down at her feet, but her steps seemed normal. At least, from what she could tell. She was at least keeping pace with Jack, so hopefully she wasn’t walking like an utter lunatic in public.

Being drunk was embarrassing enough as it was.

Jack stopped suddenly, pulling her to a halt alongside him. “Oh, excuse me, sir,” she heard him say. “Sorry, my girl had a bit too much to drink. If I could just get by you —”

His girl? Wait —

“Your girl?” An all too familiar voice echoed in her thoughts, drawing her attention away from her feet.

Halsin.

Even if her eyes couldn’t focus, she would know that voice anywhere. When the black spots cleared from her vision, she saw Halsin standing before them with a deep furrow to his brow.

Gods, why did it have to be Halsin of all people? What the hells was she supposed to say to him?

“Funny you say that,” Halsin continued, his expression like a brewing storm cloud. “Because I’ve been traveling with Zilvira for weeks and I know this is her first time in the city.”

Jack’s hand tightened around her upper arm, making her wince. “It was just an expression, big guy,” he replied coolly. “We were just getting to know each other and — ”

“ — She is in no state to be in a place like this with a stranger.” Halsin crossed his arms over his chest and took a single step closer, forcing Jack to tilt his head back to look up at him. “I’m her friend. I’ll take care of her from here.”

Jack’s hand was like a manacle on her bicep, but it was probably the only thing keeping her standing upright.

“Listen, you creep,” he said, his voice loud and projecting as he rammed a finger at Halsin’s chest. “We don’t know you, so leave us alone and find someone else to bother.”

Zilvira could barely keep track of the conversation. Her thoughts were like clouds that drifted through her mind, slipping through her fingers every time she tried to catch one.

But Halsin was right — she knew that much.

She weakly tried to extract herself from Jack’s grip, but felt herself losing her balance. She latched onto his Flaming Fist uniform to keep herself from falling face first onto the floor.

“He’s my friend,” she muttered as she leaned heavily on Jack. “I should go back with him.”

For a moment, Zilvira wondered if she said anything at all or just thought of saying something. Gods, what was wrong with her head? She hadn’t been this drunk — well, she had never been this drunk.

Adjusting his grip on her arm, Jack pulled her tight against his side. Then when he spoke again, it was with a firm, authoritative, voice that carried over the music. “She just said she doesn’t know you. Stop trying to harass her.”

Zilvira could feel eyes on her and… she realized she didn’t care. Normally she would have been mortified to be the center of attention in such a way, but at that moment she just wanted to lay down and get away from all the noise.

A gentle warmth brushed against her fingers, and she glanced down to see a large, suntanned hand littered with whittling scars held out toward her.

Halsin’s.

“We should get going,” he said to her, ignoring Jack entirely. “I’ll walk you back to camp.”

“Don’t touch her.” Jack shoved Halsin’s chest with his free hand, jostling her with the movement.

With feline-like reflexes, Halsin grasped Jack’s wrist. “Last warning,” he said, his voice low and his expression thunderous. “Let Zilvira go. Now.”

The next thing she knew, that hand holding her upright had vanished and she heard the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh as she crumpled to the ground.

Then she heard a roar.

Chapter Text

The Flaming Fist scrambled backward, falling flat on his backside as Halsin’s paws crashed against the hardwood floor, caging the vile man beneath him. Before he could attempt to throw another punch, Halsin pinned both arms to the floor and snarled.

Halsin hadn’t anticipated getting into a fight, nor had he anticipated releasing the bear, for that matter. But everything happened so quickly. Wildshaping wasn’t a calculated move, but it was effective — it got the man away from Zilvira.

Sprawled on the ground just a few feet away, Zilvira had managed to get herself to her hands and knees. She swayed as she pushed herself into a sitting position and caught his gaze for just a moment. Her wine-red eyes were glassy and filled with an emotion that Halsin seldom saw on her: fear.

Damn it, he should have stepped in sooner. The conversation appeared amicable when he first spotted the blond man chatting with her from across the room. She had been smiling and laughing, and the man seemed genuinely interested in her. Though Halsin had wanted to speak with her, he hadn’t wanted to interrupt. If she had found someone to spend the night with, who was he to get in the way? She was free to do what she liked.

Yet, his reluctance to interfere dissipated the moment Zilvira stumbled out of her chair.

As a monk, she was one of the most agile and athletic people Halsin had ever met. She fought with the swiftness of the wind and moved with the grace of a feline. Even drunk, she had entertained others around the campfire by walking on her hands, smoothly transitioning to her feet, and pirouetting away to fetch more wine.

Even more concerning was the look on the young man’s face. An air of expectation hung heavily around him, and his once charming, boyish smile turned greasy.

Pleased, even.

There wasn’t an ounce of concern in his expression as he wrapped his arm around her like a constrictor about to squeeze the life from a mouse.

The Fist looked like a man who felt like everything was going exactly how he planned.

Yet, Halsin couldn’t accuse the man of anything outright. He couldn’t just charge in and demand the man to release Zilvira. No matter how his instincts screamed at him, he had to give the man the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps Halsin has just misread the man’s expression, or perhaps it was just a trick of the light.

Then he smelt it.

A distinctive and faintly recognizable scent that grew stronger as Zilvira and the Fist approached. Halsin was well acquainted with the scent due to his years as a healer, but not one that ever belonged in a brothel. With the myriad of odors permeating the air — tobacco, sweat, ale, and sex — it was difficult to determine the origin. But the pit in Halsin’s stomach told him that he knew exactly where the scent was coming from.

It wafted when the man gesticulated as he spoke and sharpened to an unmistakable point when his hand stuck Halsin’s jaw.

The Fist’s reeked of Ilmater’s Mercy.

Ilmater’s Mercy was a concentrated medicinal powder, often used as an anesthetic and sedative, which was derived from a root colloquially known as the Hands of Ilmater. As one of the most potent natural painkillers available in the Realms, anyone well-versed in medicine and healing would be familiar with it.

Just a pinch of it was enough to ease anxiety and promote sleep. A teaspoon was enough to effectively sedate someone before minor surgery or even ease the pain of childbirth. In higher quantities, it could cause complete disorientation and memory loss. Shar’s Oblivion, criminals and miscreants would call it.

A perfect way to subdue a victim.

To most people, it was completely odorless. Undetectable. Tasteless.

But Halsin? Halsin could smell it just fine.

And from what he could tell, the Fist’s entire palm was coated with powder.

Zilvira wasn’t drunk.

She was drugged.

“Get the fuck off of me!” The Flaming Fist writhed beneath the immense weight of the bear to no avail. Terror shined in his pale blue eyes as he scowled up at him — putting on a tough face despite being indisputably outmatched.

Halsin’s lips curled back, showing off teeth the length of a man’s finger and as deadly as an executioner’s ax. The Flaming Fist had asked for a fight, and Halsin wasn’t about to let him go so easily.

Not until he taught him a lesson

All manner of thoughts raced through Halsin’s mind, each one darker and more sinister than the last. What would have happened to Zilvira if he hadn’t shown up when he did? What had the Flaming Fist planned on doing with her?

Had he planned on killing her?

Worse?

Whatever the answer, it couldn’t have been anything good. Though Halsin tried to give people the benefit of the doubt, the man had quickly proven himself unworthy of such a courtesy. Hells, the man was barely worthy of the air he breathed.

It would have been so easy to crush him. To press his front paws down until he heard the snap of bones. To make the man beg for mercy.

Rage boiled in Halsin’s blood, but he held himself back; it wasn’t his place to be judge, jury, and executioner. This wasn’t the Emerald Grove and Halsin’s status as Archdruid meant nothing in the city. No matter how badly he wanted to, he had no right to take punishment into his own hands.

The bear wanted blood, but the man would have to settle for bruises.

As Fist struggled beneath the weight of Halsin’s paws, the hem of a silken black dress and a pair of leather sandals approached with quick, confident steps entered his periphery.

“Hey!” A dainty foot with shiny, pink painted nails nudged Halsin’s paw like he was merely a house cat. “Let him up. I’ll take care of this.”

His eyes flickered to where another drow woman stood, her hands on her hips and a deep furrow to her brow. Nym, if he remembered correctly. Mamzell Amira had attempted to compensate Zilvira for finding her missing employee by offering her a discount on the services Nym and her brother, Sorn, provided.

Although Halsin had been a bit curious, Zilvira was decidedly less so. However, she considered a conversation with the twins to be payment enough since hadn’t gotten many opportunities to talk with more friendly drow like herself. From what he could tell, she seemed fond of them and they seemed to like her in turn.

Nym frowned at Halsin as if he were a misbehaving dog rather than a cave bear. A quiet tendril of self-consciousness slithered through him. The look on her face reminded him of a Menzoberranyr matriarch; she was not going to ask him twice.

Maybe her interruption was for the best. Zilvira needed his help, and Halsin didn’t need the Flaming Fist’s blood on his hands.

With more force than necessary, Halsin pushed himself off of the man and dismissed his wildshape in a shimmer of golden magic. As his back paws returned to booted feet and he shed his fur, Halsin stepped away from the man but didn’t take his eyes off him for a second.

“Consider yourself lucky,” Halsin said through gritted teeth, his anger simmering just beneath the surface of his skin. “Touch her again, and it will be the last thing you do. Understand?”

Indignation and fury colored the Fist’s face as he scrambled to his feet. “You just threatened and assaulted a member of the Flaming Fist,” he retaliated. “I’m placing you under arrest. Keep your hands off your weapons and keep the bear… away.”

Halsin fought the urge to roll his eyes. The man couldn’t be serious, could he?

While what the Fist said was technically true, only someone exceedingly confident or incredibly stupid would attempt to bait a man who could turn into a bear.

Yet, the man stood before him, holding Halsin’s gaze with his hands balled into fists, unwilling to back down and accept his defeat.

By Silvanus, he was completely serious.

Halsin furrowed his brow and blinked at the man once. “Are you dense?”

“Don’t make this difficult for me. I — ”

Nym stepped between the two of them, her spine straight and her expression fierce. “We all saw you throw the first punch, dumbass,” she said as she jabbed a manicured finger at Fist’s armored chest. “The druid had every right to defend himself.”

The Fist sputtered, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping like a fish on land. “The druid was harassing that poor woman,” he said as he gestured roughly toward Zilvira, who had been helped into a sitting position by Sorn. “He tried to grab her, and I protected her. What the Hells was I supposed to do?”

Gods, he was still trying to convince people of that lie?

Halsin clenched his teeth. “That’s not what happened, and you know it.”

“She doesn’t even know you! She — ”

“Halsin?” Zilvira said, shattering the Fist’s lie before he could even finish telling it. Her words were slurred and sleepy. Her normally bright, inquisitive eyes were dull and unfocused, her head propped up by Sorn’s shoulder.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Halsin, I’m scared.”

Those three words were like a knife to his heart and hurt more than the blossoming bruise on his jaw.

Zilvira had survived being kidnapped by mindflayers, taking on a camp full of goblins, navigating the Underdark, traversing the Shadow-Cursed lands, and fighting everything from Githyanki, cultists, undead, Illithids, and even an avatar of a god. In every circumstance, she wore a brave and stoic face. If there was an ounce of fear within her, she did not let it show.

But in all of those instances, she could fight. She could run. She could see and think clearly.

The Fist took all of that away from her. With just a dash of Shar’s Oblivion, he had taken away her every means to defend herself. And for what?

What did the Fist want with Zilvira?

What would have happened if Halsin had shown up just a few minutes later?

The bear rumbled in his chest, clawing at his ribcage in desperation. Wanting to be released once more so it could finish the job and let the Fist face the full fury of nature’s wrath.

Halsin’s nails bit into his palms as he glared contemptuously down his nose. “I don’t know what you were trying to do with her, but I know protecting her was the last thing on your mind,” he said, his words low and deliberate. “Your palm is coated with Shar’s Oblivion — I could smell it on you — and it seems my friend is suffering the effects. If you value your hide, you’ll get out of my sight.”

Color drained from the man’s face. His expression faltered as he took a single step back. “That’s quite the accusation,” he said, unable to hide a slight tremor in his voice. “What the Hells do you mean you could smell — whatever you said it was? There — ”

Nym made a pinching gesture with two fingers as if threatening to pin the man’s mouth herself. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll listen to him and leave at once.”

The Fist sputtered. “You’re not kicking me out, are you? Over the flimsy accusation of some creep? Do you think that will hold up when I call the other Fist?”

“I’m kicking you out for assaulting another patron.”

“I was defending an innocent woman,” he tried again, somehow sounding like he was actually buying into his own story as he encroached on Nym. “If anyone should be kicked out, it should be that ogre there, and if you weren’t such a stupid bitch — ”

A sharp slap rang through the room, and the Fist clutched his cheek.

Nym flicked her wrist a few times as if trying to wave away the sting from her hand. “Call the Flaming Fist, and everyone in this room can tell them how you made a colossal ass of yourself.”

The crowd of people that had gathered around them, most of whom were glaring at Halsin just a moment ago, turned their ire toward the Fist. Not one of them looked at the man with an ounce of sympathy.

Halsin may have caused the bigger disturbance by wildshaping, but the Fist had committed a far greater crime.

From what little Halsin knew of the Flaming Fist as a whole, the corruption within their ranks ran deep. Unfortunate as it was, the man was unlikely to face any real consequences for his actions simply due to the uniform he wore.

Public embarrassment might be the only punishment the Fist suffered, but it was better than nothing at all.

The Fist’s jaw ticked, irritation and humiliation evident on his face. “I’ll have you both arrested,” he sneered. “I know where to find you.”

With that, the Fist clipped Halsin’s shoulder and stormed past him. Nym immediately followed behind the man, likely to be certain the coward actually walked out the doors.

Some of the customers trailed behind Nym, likely hoping for a little more drama to spice up their evening, while most of the others went back to their business. Whatever happened to the Fist was no longer Halsin's concern. Not for now, at least.

Zilivra was far, far more important than anything else at that moment.

He knelt down beside Zilvira and Sorn and took her wrist in his hand without really thinking about it, checking her pulse. Slow, but not slow enough to be dangerous. Thank Silvanus.

“She’s a bit of a deadweight,” Sorn commented as he adjusted his hold on her, making it apparent that he wanted Halsin to take her off his hands. “I’ve been trying to keep her awake, but I don’t know — ”

Halsin placed a hand on Sorn’s bare shoulder in reassurance. “Thank you, truly,” he said, carefully gathering Zilvira in his arms. “I’ll take care of her from here. Is there somewhere more private nearby where I can evaluate her condition?”

Sorn nodded and stood. “Take Ffion’s old room. It was just cleaned this afternoon, and it hasn’t been reassigned. I’ll get you the key.”

Cradling Zilvira against his chest, Halsin rose to his feet with ease. He hoped she couldn’t hear the way his heart hammered against his ribs or the shakiness of his breath. The adrenaline in his veins hadn’t subsided, but it was important that he appeared calm and collected—just for her sake.

The last thing someone in need of medical attention needed to see was the healer panicking.

“You’re going to be alright,” he said and took a few steps after Sorn. “Can you talk to me while we walk?”

She blinked at him, bleary-eyed but with a pinched brow. “Talk?”

“I just want to keep you awake a bit longer.” Just long enough so he could monitor her symptoms. Once he knew any sort of danger had passed, he’d let her sleep it off.

Her face scrunched. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she replied, burying her face into his leathers, having nowhere else to hide from him.

Despite what she had said, her ability to string together a sentence of more than two words filled him with a sense of relief. It wasn’t any sort of definitive proof that she would be okay, but it was reassurance.

Fatalities or any long-term effects due to Ilmater’s Mercy were rare but not unheard of. If Halsin caught any problems early enough, his magic could reverse them without much trouble.

“You’ve made that abundantly clear if the last few days were any indication.” He kept his tone light and matter-of-fact. Curiosity still gnawed at him like a hungry rat, eager for answers as to why she didn’t want to talk to him. But it wasn’t the best time to have that particular discussion.

Not after everything that just happened, and certainly not while she wasn’t completely in her right mind.

People sometimes said odd things, or behaved in ways they never would otherwise, while under the influence of Ilmater’s Mercy. Halsin once had a patient who began sobbing uncontrollably because Drizzt Do’Urdon had not come to her wedding, despite how she had never been married and had just turned twelve.

Anything words that came out of Zilvira’s mouth would have to be taken with a grain of salt.

Sorn returned just a moment later. “The Mamzell says you can use the room as long as you need — no charge,” he said, handing Halsin a key decorated with a silky red ribbon. “Follow me.”

Patrons stared at them as Halsin carried Zilvira through the establishment and up two flights of stairs. Sorn made a flirtatious comment about Halsin’s stamina, seemingly in an attempt to lighten the mood, but Halsin was too focused on the task at hand to say anything witty in response.

Sorn led them to a room modeled after a library — if one ignored the paddles, whips, and handcuffs lovingly hung on the wall. But like Sorn had said, the room had been freshly cleaned. The smell of laundry soap, vinegar, and lemon lingered in the air, mixing with the sea air blowing in from the open window. The wooden floors gleamed as Sorn lit the oil lamps on the walls, casting the room in dim orange light.

Carefully, Halsin lowered Zilvira onto a raised bed in the corner of the room, propping her upright with pillows just to make it harder for her to fall asleep.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Sorn asked as he lingered in the doorway once he had lit the last lantern, concern etched into his handsome face.

Halsin nodded. “She’ll be fine. Maybe a little confused come tomorrow, but I don’t suspect there will be any lasting effects.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Sorn excused himself, saying he would send someone to the room with some food and water. Halsin thanked him — not just for the generous offer but for keeping an eye on Zilvira.

With Sorn gone, Halsin sat at the edge of the bed and ran his hands through his hair, and exhaled slowly through his nose.

It was an extraordinary stroke of luck that he got to Sharess’ Caress when he did — only the gods knew what would have happened if he had only been a few minutes later. Where Zilvira could have been, what that might have done to her…

He pushed the thoughts aside before they started down a dark path again. She was safe now, and that was what really mattered.

Bed sheets rustled beneath him when he shifted to face her, partly kneeling on the bed with one foot still on the floor. “I’m going to use a restoration spell on you,” he said as golden magic shimmered around his fingertips and down to his wrists. “This is going to take a few minutes.”

Without a word or so much as looking him in the eye, Zilvira nodded. It was reassuring, he supposed, that she was still present enough to remember she was angry with him.

Placing one hand on the side of her head and the other on her sternum, he carefully let the healing magic at his fingertips flow into her like a slow, warm, calming summer stream. It only took him a few seconds to confirm, without a shadow of a doubt, what he already knew — she had a hefty dose of Shar’s Oblivion in her system. Not enough to be fatal, thank Silvanus, but enough that she probably couldn’t physically feel much of anything.

Silence fell between them like a thick fog as Halsin worked. The soft even sounds of her breath synced with his own. From the open window, the sounds of the sea and the distant chatter of people barely reached his ears.

After what felt like an eternity, Zilvira finally looked at him. Really looked at him. Not just a cursory glance over his face, but she was staring into his eyes like they held some sort of dark secret.

Moisture gathered in the corners of her eyes the longer she stared. Her lip quivered, and she sucked in a deep breath as two tears rolled down her cheeks. “I wish I could have you.”

The words gripped at his heart just as much as they muddled his mind. “You have me,” he replied carefully, unsure what she meant. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Another tear cascaded down her face. “You won’t have me. You don’t want me. Not the way I want you.”

Halsin swallowed, trying to keep his mind on the healing spell before it ran away with her words. As much as he wanted to have this conversation with her, she couldn’t be held accountable for anything she said at the moment.

“Shh.” The magic faded from his fingertips and he withdrew his hands despite the sudden urge he had to touch her. To caress her cheek and press his forehead to hers and assure her that he wanted her too.

Gods, how could she ever think he didn’t want her?

The Shadow-Curse had preoccupied his mind for a long time. That much was true, but he thought he had made his feelings toward her perfectly clear. Between their long conversations, the innuendos and flirtations, how he let her lean her head against his shoulder almost every night when they sat around the campfire, how he made sure never to miss their morning tea, and all of the times he had called her beautiful…. How could she think anything else?

Still, it was a conversation best left for when she had a clear head. “Get some rest,” he said, adjusting the pillow behind her so she could recline comfortably. “We can talk more when you wake up.”

She sniffled and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. “I already feel stupid enough as it is.”

“Rest, Zilvira,” he replied gently, brushing a lock of hair behind her pointed ear so it didn’t tickle her nose in the way that she always hated.

Just as he moved to stand, her hand flopped onto his forearm, her fingers clenching as if to grab him. “Don’t leave me,” she said, a twinge of fear sneaking into her hushed tone. “Please.”

He took her hand in his and gave her an affectionate squeeze, knowing well that it was unlikely she could feel his touch. “I’ll be right here.”

A sad smile tugged at her red lips as she closed her eyes. “You’re going to make it impossible for me to fall out of love with you.”

The only things Halsin could be glad for in that moment was that she was safe and she couldn’t see the look on his face. Confusion wrinkled his brow, a frown pulled at his lips, as his cheeks heated with the implication of her words.

Zilvira was in love with him?

Every fiber of his being wanted to believe her, but he knew he couldn’t. Not at that moment and not while she was in such a condition.

Even still, his heart soared with the hope that his feelings were reciprocated, that perhaps she cared for him the same way he cared for her. That she wanted him just as badly.

But if that was the case, why had she avoided him? And why did she say it would be hard to fall out of love with him like it was something she was determined to do?

Once he was certain she had fallen asleep — truly asleep rather than a trance — he carefully let go of her hand. She likely wouldn’t respond well to him lingering at her bedside when she woke up. Perhaps a few days ago, Halsin might have stayed right at her side until the drugs wore off. Then again, a few days ago he was confident she would have been happy to see his face when she awoke.

As things were, it was best to give her space. He wouldn’t dare leave her in the room alone, but he didn’t need to crowd her.

Nym stopped by a few minutes later, bringing a pitcher of water and a basket of fresh fruit, bread, and cheese from the kitchen. She also informed him that the Flaming Fist was a bar regular at Sharess’ Caress, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to leave with company for the night, but she didn’t know if the previous company had been given the same treatment as Zilvira had. It was very possible that the Fist had done this exact thing dozens of times, and it was only because Halsin was there that he didn’t get away with yet another victim.

Just the thought that Zilvira wasn’t even the man’s first victim reignited his fury. Gods, perhaps he shouldn’t have held himself back. The Flaming Fist was still out there — and he had said he knew where to find them.

It was most likely an empty threat, but Halsin wasn’t about to let Zilvira out of his sight. And if Zilvira didn’t accept his sentinel, then he would ask one of the others to keep an eye on her.

She could handle herself, but the man had managed to drug her and almost got away with it. Halsin wasn’t about to underestimate him.

Halsin crossed the room, pulled a cushy, burgundy leather chair up to the open window and took a seat. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his smoking pipe and a satchel of tobacco and prepared it as he listened to the soothing sounds of distant waves.

Now that the danger had passed, he needed a moment to breathe.

Smoking always helped him relax. The taste and the smell of his favorite tobacco, the simple exercise of focusing on his breath. It brought back pleasant memories of his father, who had given him his first pipe, much to his mother’s chagrin. Halsin had crafted his current pipe himself, and painstakingly carved little oak leaves into the dark wood over the course of a few nights.

One night, in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, Zilvira had asked to try his pipe and ended up having a coughing fit while Wyll and Shadowheart laughed at her. Her red lipstick had stained the wood, and Halsin didn’t bother to wipe it away, letting it fade on its own.

He kicked his feet up on the windowsill and closed his eyes, keeping his ears trained in Zilvira’s direction as he began to meditate.

She was safe. He had gotten to her in time.

And, gods willing, they could figure out everything tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Consciousness came and went like glimpses of sunlight filtering between the dark clouds of a thunderstorm. Bright flashes of awareness, followed by silky shadows that cradled her back to sleep. It happened so many times — Zilvira swore she had opened her eyes only to open them again a few moments later.

Every time the darkness that clouded her thoughts faded away, déjà vu lingered in its wake.

Unfamiliar aches wracked her entire body, heavy and dull. Different than any sort of muscle soreness — icy discomfort pulsed through her veins and settled deep in her bones.

Her eyes burned behind her eyelids as if she had gone a tenday without rest. Her body craved sleep, but something in the back of her mind told her that she needed to wake up.

She needed to wake up and actually stay awake, rather than allow the shadows looming in her periphery to slink back in.

Despite her muddled state of mind, Zilvira knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t in her tent.

The pillow beneath her head wasn’t quite right. The surface against her aching back was nothing like the softness of her bedroll — cool cotton sheets rather than soft furs and the yarn of the blanket she had knitted herself.

The knitted blanket always smelled a bit like campfire smoke, tobacco, and Halsin’s herbaceous soap from all the nights they had sat with it draped over their shoulders while they warmed themselves by the fire. Though it felt weird to admit it even to herself, she liked that the blanket smelled like him — it reminded her of the night they watched bats flit across a blackened sky and he had wrapped his arm around her for the first time.

Gods, she needed to get him out of her head.

Even though she knew she wasn’t in her tent, she swore she could still smell Halsin’s tobacco. Though it was likely just her own imagination, the scent was still comforting.

Muffled chatter and the sounds of dozens of footsteps below told her that she was still in the brothel. The song the tiefling had been dancing to on stage played, making it difficult for Zilvira to tell how much time had passed.

She didn’t remember laying down, but she also didn’t remember leaving. Or taking the long walk back to camp. Though she had never blacked out from drinking, she assumed that she would have remembered something about leaving Wyrm’s Crossing and returning to Rivington.

Wouldn’t she?

Yet, her head felt fine — no signs of a hangover — so perhaps she hadn’t gotten as drunk as she thought.

She breathed in deeply, turning her focus on how the cool air flowed in through her nose, filled her lungs, and passed through her lips. In and out. Over and over until she felt she was no longer at risk for passing out again.

Blinking, her eyes quickly adjusted to an unfamiliar room bathed in the dim, orange, glow of lamplight. With a groggy groan, she tried to shift herself into a seated position, wincing with the effort.

“Easy, now,” a warm voice said from her left, and her heart nearly lept into her throat.

It took a moment, but her sluggish brain eventually registered the deep, thankfully familiar, voice: Halsin.

Of course it was Halsin. Why wouldn’t it be?

Just her luck. The one man she was trying to avoid, and he just happened to show up.

Halsin placed his hand on her lower back to steady her, helping her sit upright. “You’re safe,” he said gently, like soothing a wounded animal. “I’m still here.”

Still?

When she had gone to Sharess Caress, the only people who knew her whereabouts were Karlach and Wyll. In fact, she very intentionally made sure that Halsin wasn’t even in earshot when she told them where she was going because she had wanted to be alone.

One of them betrayed her, and when she found out who… she was going to drag their sorry ass to sunrise yoga after their next night watch. And she would not go easy on them.

Knowing Halsin the way she did, she knew he was probably itching for the opportunity to speak with her in private after the way she had avoided him. She knew he’d prefer to address problems head on rather than let the stew and ambiguity.

Normally, Zilvira would agree with that approach. She didn’t want things to fester but she still didn’t feel ready to face him.

She wasn’t ready to admit that she had fallen for him. Nor was she ready to deal with the embarrassment of his impending rejection. After she had been so certain the feeling between them was mutual, and only more pressing matters like the Shadow Curse stood in their way, she wanted to pretend just a little bit longer that it was possible he would accept her feelings.

Denial would only delay the inevitable, but it was far more comfortable than facing reality.

Nevertheless, she had no idea why Halsin was even here. The only place he should be is at camp with the others — not at a brothel. And certainly not alone with her with no distractions between them.

Halsin’s hand withdrew from the small of her back, settling atop the edge of the mattress as he crouched at her bedside. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his brow creased in concern over his soft hazel eyes.

When he looked at her like that, she wanted to tell him everything. So many times she had gotten lost in his eyes — how in the Hells was she supposed to get over him when he looked at her like that? Like she was someone that he cherished and adored and worried over?

Bitterly, she reminded herself she was simply reading into something that wasn’t there. She wasn’t special. He probably looked at everyone the way he looked at her, and her rose tinted glasses had blinded her to that crushing fact.

Zilvira rubbed her eyes. “Tired.”

“Just tired?”

She nodded.

A low hum rumbled in his chest as he seemed to consider her response, no doubt detecting that she was lying. “Are you able to recall what happened tonight?”

“Most of it, I think,” she replied, hoping he wouldn’t ask her to go into any details.

What was she supposed to tell him? That she remembered drinking wine and wallowing in self-pity while a topless tiefling danced on stage? Or that a handsome stranger in a Flaming Fist uniform decided that he wanted to try to chat her up?

No, Halsin didn’t need to know any of that.

Gods, she didn’t want to deal with being around Halsin right now. Not when she could barely form a coherent thought. If she wasn’t careful, she’d toss decorum out the window and spill all of her feelings toward him.

Or crying like a brokenhearted teenager.

Neither of them deserved that.

Halsin didn’t like her the way she liked him, and she needed to get over her feelings as quickly as possible.

The sooner she did that, the sooner the two of them could have a normal, professional, relationship.

After all, the only thing Halsin had promised was to help her with the parasite. Nothing more. She just had to change her way of thinking of him. How hard could it be to force herself to think of him as just a druid, or a healer, or a traveling companion instead of…. Halsin, the man she was almost certainly in love with.

She was so screwed.

Halsin’s expectant gaze weighed heavily on her, and Zilvira shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, hoping he would let the topic drop. “When did you get here?”

“About two hours ago. While you were having a conversation with that young man in the Flaming Fist uniform.”

Of course he saw that.

Heat rose to Zilvira’s cheeks. She drew her knees to her chest, as if trying to make herself smaller. “His name was Jack,” she replied simply. “He was telling me a bit about the city, that’s all.”

Sure, he was probably trying to get her into bed, but she didn’t need to mention that to Halsin. She knew before Jack even sat down at her table that nothing would come of their conversation, no matter how charming she found him. Her heart was still raw, and a bit of friendly conversation was all she really wanted.

Yet… she remembered Jack wrapping his arm around her… and offering to take her to his room.

And… had she agreed?

Oh gods, she had agreed to go with him, hadn’t she?

What in the Hells had she been thinking, going off alone with a complete stranger in an unfamiliar city?

Zilvira pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes and tried to dig into her own memory, but she saw nothing but pockets of blackness and flashes of blurry faces.

She remembered hands on her, but she couldn’t remember who they belonged to. Had there been more than one person?

Voices echoed in the recesses of her mind, but that was all they were: echoes. Echoes with no distinction or source she could determine.

Maybe she had hit her head. Or maybe the Emperor or the tadpole had done something to mess with her mind — to erase her memories.

‘I did no such thing,’ the Emperor indignantly supplied the moment the thought crossed her mind.

Zilvira internally groaned.

She must have drank too much and blacked out. That was the only thing that made even a little sense, even if she didn’t feel all that intoxicated at the moment.

Gods, she probably made an ass of herself.

If she ever saw Jack again, she would have to apologize profusely for having been in such an intoxicated state. Perhaps once they got into the city, she could at least thank him for putting up with her.

A floorboard creaked as Halsin shifted his weight, breaking her train of thought. “Did Jack get you a drink?”

She shook her head.

No. She definitely remembered turning down the drink.

Halsin hummed in consideration, watching her face carefully as if he expected her expression to reveal some secret. “Do you remember me wildshaping?”

Zilvira shook her head again and swallowed dryly, unsure of how else to respond. That was something she would have remembered, wasn’t it? So why didn’t she?

What in the Hells happened to her?

With a heavy sigh, Halsin turned his head and cast his gaze downward. She had thought that he would be disappointed in her but instead he looked almost angry. Angry in the quiet way, as if he were trying his best to restrain it.

Her stomach sank when she noticed the discoloration, broken skin, and dried blood on Halsin’s jaw caught her eye. It was dark and swollen — very recent. How had she missed it?

Part of her wanted to reach out and at least brush his hair away from where blood had glued it to his cheek, but she swallowed the instinct. “What happened to your face?” she asked quietly.

A look of mild surprise crossed his face and he gingerly brought his fingers to his lower jaw, almost as if he didn’t know anything was there. Or he had forgotten.

Golden healing magic glowed around his hand as he traced along his jaw, and the swelling began to diminish in an instant. “In short,” Halsin said, “Jack threw a punch when I offered to walk you home.”

“What? Why?” Zilvira sat up straighter and immediately felt a bit dizzy. “But — that doesn’t make sense. Why would he…?”

A deep frown pulled at his lips as the magic around his fingers shimmered away. After the briefest hesitation, he rested his hand on top of hers as his eyes grew as serious as she had ever seen them. “Zilvira, listen to me,” he said. “Jack drugged you with a heavy dose of a sedative known as Shar’s Oblivion. If I hadn’t intervened when I did, there was a very good chance I — we — could have lost you tonight.”

A lump formed in her throat and cold sweat gathered at the base of her skull. A high-pitched ringing from within her ears drowned out all sound as she took in the implications of Halsin’s words.

No. That wasn’t right.

Jack had been so sweet and friendly. He had reminded her of an excited puppy: playful and charming and eager. Not the kind of person who would do such a thing. Certainly not some sort of criminal.

Hells, he was a member of the Flaming Fist too. They were supposed to protect people from criminals, not —

One look at Halsin’s face chased away the denial that had tried to find purchase in her mind.

Her heart sank.

What Halsin had said made sense.

It made a hell of more sense than her getting black-out, clumsy drunk after just two glasses of wine.

He must have done it when he bumped into her table — that was the only opportunity he had that she could think of. Unless, somehow, he had spiked her drink before it ever got to her. Then she remembered how his palm covered the mouth of her goblet when he returned it to the table. It only looked like he was trying to be careful, but now…

Zilvira swallowed down the taste of bile that wasn’t there a few seconds ago. “What happened?” she asked tightly and hugged her legs to her chest. “What don’t I remember?”

Another heavy sigh. “Between me and Nym, we chased him off before Jack could do anything else. Sorn and I brought you here so I could heal you and let you get some rest. We can stay here as long as you need.”

Though she knew deep in her heart she ought to believe him, part of her didn’t want to.

She didn't want to believe any of it.

Everything about the situation felt wrong.

It felt wrong that she couldn’t remember parts of the night. It felt wrong that a handsome, charismatic, and friendly man like Jack would put something in her drink.

And it felt wrong that Halsin just happened to be there to save her.

‘While I understand your reluctance to believe Halsin,’ the Emperor interjected once more, sensing her uncertainty, ‘I can detect no lies. He has always had your best interest.’

Though Zilvira wasn’t sure why the Illithid was being so chatty, that little bit of reassurance helped to calm her tumultuous thoughts. The Emperor was right — as much as she didn’t want to believe what she was hearing, Halsin had no reason to lie.

Though part of her suspected he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“Was there anything else that happened?” she asked, staring at a dim lantern across the room so she didn’t have to look at him.

The dampened sounds of taproom patrons below barely reached her ears as a grandfather clock tucked into the corner of the room counted the seconds. A wave of dizziness passed over her and she closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing once again.

The mattress dipped slightly near her feet as Halsin took a seat at the end of the bed. “Nothing of consequence,” he replied. “You fell asleep shortly after I healed you. Except for Nym stopping in to drop off some food, everything has been quiet. Well, as quiet as it can be for a city like this.”

He said the last part with a bit of a laugh, like he was hoping to cut through the tension that enveloped them like a cloud of thick and suffocating smoke.

Unsaid words hung between them; indecipherable and taunting. He was hesitating too much, and picking his words too carefully.

Halsin was hiding something, but Zilvira forced herself to push her curiosity aside.

What did it matter anyway?

He didn’t owe her any more explanation than he had already given. Maybe a few days ago she would have pushed for more, but she reminded herself of the new boundaries she put between them. She would treat Halsin as a professional, a healer and a druid and an ally. In that regard, he had done his job.

Whatever he didn’t say probably didn’t matter enough for him to waste his breath. It wasn’t like he could provide her with every excruciating detail of the evening.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Zilvira carefully set her feet on the floor. Her toes were a little numb, which was likely a side effect of the drug, but not so numb that it felt unsafe to walk. “We should get back to camp before the others start to worry.”

“Zilvira, wait.” His fingertips brushed over the back of her hand before she could fully stand.

When she looked at him, his eyes were already on hers. Intense and full of something like longing. He opened his mouth, then pursed his lips and turned his focus to where their hands touched.

He withdrew.

“You should eat something and have some water before we go,” he said and nodded towards a small basket on the end table. “I already packed away the cheese since I know you don’t eat it, but everything else should be to your liking. I double checked with Nym about the ingredients.”

Normally, the fact that someone cared at all about her food preferences would have made her smile, but instead it just caused an ache in her chest.

Why did he have to be so sweet and considerate and caring? Why did he have to be so damn nice to her?

Why did she have to be so smitten with someone who would never want her back?

With a sigh, Zilvira retrieved a piece of bread and a handful of grapes from the basket. “Thank you,” she said, feeling a little defeated and struggling not to drown in all of the emotions she didn’t want to think about. “That was very thoughtful.”

“Anything for you,” he said with a gentle smile that brought butterflies to her stomach, but she quickly swatted them away.

Gods, he was going to make it impossible to get over him.

Quickly, she ate the grapes and took a single bite of the bread. She dusted her hands of crumbs as she finished chewing and said, “We should get going.”

Halsin stood when she took a step away from the bed, his palms open as if ready to catch her at any moment. “I know you’re eager to leave, but I don’t think it’s wise to rush out of here. You just woke up. Take a moment.”

“I feel fine,” she lied and took a few unsteady, shuffling steps.

He made a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “At least take my arm,” he said as he offered it like it was the most natural thing to do. “Please. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Goddamn him.

Despite her earlier confidence in her ability to walk, she recognized she was unstable. It wouldn’t take much for her to trip over an uneven floor plank or down a set of stairs.

Reluctantly, she wrapped her hand around his forearm and tried to ignore the way his muscles tensed under her touch and how his skin felt against her palm.

Halsin covered her hand with his as if he were afraid she would slip away. “Thank you.”

As she let him guide her out of the room, she repeated the same thoughts in her mind like a mantra.

Halsin was just being nice. Halsin was taking care of her the same way he would take care of anyone else. Halsin was just helping her because he made a promise.

And Halsin did not care for her the way she cared for him.

—

Thankfully, their departure from Sharess’ Caress was a quiet one. On their way out, Mamzell Amira offered them another discount on a night with the drow twins as an apology for their less-than-ideal experience. When Zilvira tensed at the offer, seemingly at a momentary loss for words, Halsin politely refused on her behalf.

Zilvira was the sort to greet most situations with a bright smile and a friendly demeanor, no matter how awkward or uncomfortable. Given her nature, lack of response was uncharacteristic. But considering what she had just gone through, it wasn’t a surprise she was a bit out of sorts. Her mind was likely still all over the place, and the Mamzell’s offer was ill-considered, to say the least.

The main stretch of Wyrm’s Crossing was far less crowded than it was a few hours ago. Halsin counted three food carts that were still open, each one with a respectable number of customers waiting in line or chatting over their supper. One of the carts had a small lantern illuminating a menu board that advertised fried pastries with a savory vegetable filling that Halsin thought Zilvira might enjoy. After all, she had mentioned to him several times that she was excited to try any new foods that Baldur’s Gate had to offer.

With the remnants of alcohol and Ilmater’s Mercy still in her system, Halsin wanted her to have a little more to eat to ward off any future discomfort. Although it wasn’t much, he also hoped that perhaps it might help her feel a bit better mentally speaking.

But when he pointed out the sign to her, Zilvira simply shook her head. Instead, she stared down the street like she wanted to be anywhere but next to him.

Halsin’s heart sank like she had added another tiny pebble to weigh it down after the dozens she had already added over the last few days.

The Zilvira that Halsin knew would have dragged him over to the vendor, excited to try something new and to share it with him. He could picture her tearing one of those pastries in two and handing him the bigger piece. If they both liked them, she would have gone back to the vendor to get some for the rest of the camp.

Even though she liked to share such things with all of their companions, Halsin did not fail to notice that she always had preferred to share with him first — whether it was a bite of food, a cup of tea, a lovely view, a beautiful bird, or just a conversation.

He missed those moments.

He missed her.

As they walked past the cart, Halsin leaned down and quietly said,“I still think you should eat something. Something more than three grapes and a bite of bread.”

Zilvira quickly looked away from the steaming pastries. “I’m fine,” she said and readjusted her grip on his arm.

She had tried a few times on their way out of Sharess’ Caress to walk unaided, keeping her hand hovering above his arm for a few steps, testing her limits a few seconds at a time. Each time she stumbled or swerved, she would sigh and take his arm again.

“The line’s long, and I don’t want to bother you any longer than necessary,” she mumbled.

Halsin was tempted to point out that there were only two people in line, but he decided it wasn’t worth pressing the issue. She was just trying to make excuses to spend as little time around him as possible, and they both knew it.

Withholding a beleaguered sigh, he briefly covered her hand with his and said, “You’ve never been a bother. Not to me, in any case.”

Zilvira only gave a low ‘hmm’ in response, saying exactly what she thought without a single word: she didn’t believe him.

She didn’t believe him, and it felt like she added yet another pebble to the weight on his heart.

In all of their time together, Halsin didn’t think he had given her any reason not to trust him. He had always been straightforward with her from the moment she had rescued him from that wretched cell in the goblin camp. He had thought she knew that, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Her sleepy, slurred, words from earlier echoed in the back of his mind.

“I wish I could have you.”

“You won’t have me. You don’t want me. Not the way I want you.”

Even if she said those words under the influence of Ilmater’s Mercy, even if Halsin knew better than to take those words at face value, he couldn’t help but wonder if she truly believed that.

If she did… her strange behavior made a lot more sense.

But what in the Hells could have made her so convinced that the feeling wasn’t mutual? If the feeling wasn’t mutual, he never would have led her on by flirting with her the way he had. He wouldn’t have spent the time and energy if he had no intention of pursuing her. He would have maintained a healthy professionalism with her, nothing more.

Yet, with the way she was acting, he couldn’t help but wonder if someone had planted a seed of doubt in her ear and watered it with false words. Whether well-intentioned or malicious, the end result was the same — it seemed like she felt betrayed.

If he were to put himself in her shoes, if Zilvira had flirted with him just for the fun of it and didn’t mean a single word, he would have felt the same way.

Zilvira’s hand lifted from his arm, once again experimenting with whether or not she could walk without his support, like she was desperate to put some space between them, although she still needed help. Less than a tenday ago, she would loop her arm around his for no reason at all. She would smile up at him and strike up a conversation about anything at all. Or sometimes she would gently tug him down to her level so she could whisper harmless gossip in his ear.

At the present, she just gave a defeated huff of air through her nose and stared resolutely ahead like he was walking her to her execution.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

Halsin clasped his hand gently over hers so she wouldn’t slip away. “Come here for a moment,” he said, and didn’t wait for an answer as he guided toward an empty alcove between two buildings.

Zilvira’s spine stiffened even as she let him lead her. “Where are we going?” she asked, a small spark of surprise in her voice that he much preferred over her prior docility. “I thought we were going back to camp.”

“We are,” he said as he spotted a stack of crates that might afford them a modicum of privacy and a place for Zilvira to sit. “But first, I need to speak with you.”

“And we can’t do that while we’re walking?”

Quickly dusting off one of the wooden crates, Halsin carefully helped her take a seat. He kneeled before her, his face level with hers. “I need to be able to look you in the eyes while we talk,” he said and placed his hands on either side of the crate, loosely caging her in. “You’ve been acting strange and I need to know what’s wrong.”

She blinked at him. “I got drugged by a stranger and I can’t remember some of the past few hours of my life,” she replied flatly as if he had said something incredibly stupid. “Of course I’m not acting like myself.”

If Halsin had any indication that that was all there was to it, he wouldn’t press the issue. After all, it wasn’t the ideal moment to have such a conversation, but Halsin didn’t want to let things fester between them a moment longer. If there was a chance at all to clear the air sooner rather than later, he wanted to take it.

If she refused to speak with him now, which was well within her right considering the events of the evening. Then, he supposed, both of them would just have a long, awkward walk back to camp.

Maybe it was a little selfish of him, but he needed to at least try. For his own sanity.

“I think you know that wasn’t what I was referring to,” he said, keeping his tone level as he tried to look into her eyes despite how she stubbornly looked away. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been treating me differently these past few days. I can’t help but feel like I did something wrong, or I did something to hurt you. I don’t know what that something is, and I won’t know until you tell me. Whatever it is, I want to make things right.”

It wasn’t so much as a want as it was a need, if he was completely honest. It had been centuries since he had cared for someone the way he cared for Zilvira. Since he had such an ally and confidant.

A friend.

A true friend that he felt like he could be himself with — no mask required.

Zilvira pursed her lips. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I just needed some time away to… sort out how I felt about things.”

“And one of those things is me, I take it?”

Her mouth drew into a thin line as her eyes followed a small spider making its web between two crates that were stacked beside her.

She watched as the spider pulled silk in a full loop around its web, and said nothing.

Very well. Perhaps if he wanted to get anywhere with her, then he would have to open up first.

He only hoped he would not somehow make things worse.

His heartbeat quickened in his chest and he swallowed dryly. “A few days ago, I would have thought you were fond of me — more than fond of me. Just as I am quite fond of you.”

Her chest rose with a small, sharp intake of air and her red eyes, almost a deep amaranthine beneath the light of the moon, finally flickered toward him.

“Now… I don’t know what to think,” he admitted. “Before you seemed to want nothing more than to be by my side, to share tea and conversation and the warmth of the fire together. Now, it seems you want nothing to do with me at all. I don’t know what went wrong, but I would like to try to make it right, if I can.”

Wrapping her arms around herself, as she averted her eyes once again. “I realized my behavior toward you may have been inappropriate or unwanted,” she replied with a small crack in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“If your behavior was either of those things, I would have told you so.”

“Then why didn’t you?” she asked as a tear rolled down her cheek. “This whole time, I thought you would have said something but then you didn’t and — now I feel like an idiot.”

A frown pulled at Halsin’s lips as his brow drew together. “With all due respect, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I overheard your conversation with Shadowheart about your time in the Underdark. And I heard what you said about me and — you called me cruel.”

The wrinkle between his brow deepened along with his confusion.

Called her cruel? The only creatures that might have thought she had an ounce of cruelty in her were the foes they had faced. Even then, she was quick and efficient in combat, and only killed when she had no other choice.

She didn’t enjoy it, nor did she seek it out. In fact, she actively avoided any sort of violent confrontation whenever possible. She showed sympathy, grace and mercy when most people wouldn’t have.

Sometimes, even when he wouldn’t have.

Halsin shook his head. “I have never called you cruel, Zilvira.”

“You implied it,” she sniffed. “You said cruelty was in a drow’s nature, and when Shadowheart asked if I was included in that statement, you said ‘she’s a drow, is she not?’”

The moment she said those words, his throat tightened. His stomach sank.

Hells. He knew exactly what she was referring to.

“Please tell me I misheard you and I was being a bitch for no reason,” she said with a half-hearted laugh, as if she felt the tension creeping out from every fiber of his being and was trying to ease it.

That time, Halsin was the one to look away. “No,” he said with a heavy sigh, “you didn’t mishear me.”

Chapter Text

Shame burned across Halsin’s face, blazing over his cheek bones to the tips of his ears, intense enough to nearly mask the icy stillness in his chest.

When those words had come out of his mouth, he had thanked Silvanus that Zilvira hadn’t been around to hear them.

He hadn’t meant them.

It hadn’t even taken a second for regret to seep in, sliding into a simmering stew of confusion, melancholy, and quiet, long-forgotten, rage. He should have taken the words back right then and there, but he didn’t. Not even after Shadowheart gave him a look so scathing it would have made Shar smile.

“Why?” Zilvira’s choked question might as well have been a dagger piercing his heart.

Actually, Halsin might have preferred a dagger; at least he knew how to deal with those. But this? He wasn’t sure where to begin.

While Halsin had already reflected on what he had said in his nightly meditations, he never thought he would need to articulate it. He never thought he would be confronted with his mistake, nor have to apologize for it. At worst, he thought he might have to have an awkward conversation with Shadowheart.

Gods, Zilvira didn’t deserve to hear his moment of weakness. Some part of him was angry at her for eavesdropping on what he thought was a private conversation. Angry at the entire situation. And maybe that anger was justified.

But what he had said wasn’t.

“What did I do?” she asked, her voice so small and unlike anything he had heard from her before.

“You didn’t do anything,” he assured. “I never should have said that.”

Slowly, as to give her plenty of time to refuse his touch, Halsin gathered her delicate hands in his, needing that physical connection to ground him.

Damp, wine-red eyes reflected the moonlight as they met his. “Then why did you?”

That was the question he didn’t want to answer. But she deserved the truth — even if it was something that he was ashamed of. Something that he would have rather discussed when they were both in a sound state of mind.

But if he didn’t answer her now, he had a sinking feeling that she wouldn’t hear his answer later.

That he would lose her.

Clasping her hands tight, Halsin sat back on his heels and gazed up at her like a worshiper before the idol of a goddess. He swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly feeling dry as nervousness twisted in his gut.

“A long time ago,” he began, trying to keep his voice steady as not to betray his nerves. ”I found myself… a guest, one could call it, of a noble drow house during one of my expeditions to the Underdark. While I began my stay as a willing guest, it quickly became clear that I was anything but. The matron wanted me as a consort, a prisoner, and chained me to her bedchamber for three years.”

Before he could continue, Zilvira wriggled one hand from his grip. “Halsin, I’m so sorry,” she said as she clasped his hand in hers. “I had no idea.”

Halsin shook his head. “It was a long time ago, and it just isn’t something that normally crosses my mind,” he replied. ”But when we first got to Sharess’ Caress, Sorn and Nym somehow recognized me from back then. Though they didn’t say anything to my face, Sorn mentioned one of my captors by name.”

He remembered how Sorn’s eyes darted over him, as if noting his height and the tattoos on his face. How he had leaned toward his sister and whispered, “Doesn’t he remind you of Aunshalee’s old plaything?”

Aunshalee.

The name was like stone thrown into once calm waters, disturbing it for the first time in centuries. The last he heard that name, it was bellowed from the throat of a drow warrior, predatory and taunting as the woman called for Aunshalle’s head. Halsin didn’t stick around to find out if the warrior ever claimed her prize.

Hearing the name again, knowing that there were people who knew of his association with her even after so much time had passed, triggered something in his psyche. Something that made it feel like no time had passed at all. Like he was still a prisoner at the mercy of Aunshalee’s whims.

Part of him wanted to tell Zilvira everything about his time in the Underdark, about his relationship with Aunshalee, but she had already been through so much tonight. He didn’t want to turn the conversation to his past when Zilvira was hurting in the present.

“Aunshalee was a scholar who specialized in medicinal plants native to the Underdark, and she found me while I was doing research of my own,” Halsin continued. “When she learned that my research aligned with hers, she offered her aid. To teach me what she knew in exchange for a ‘surface-dweller’s’ insight on her work. Of course, the fool that I was, I accepted.

“I will spare you all of the details, but after weeks of working together, I got sick. Despite being a somewhat accomplished healer at the time, I couldn’t do anything to cure myself. When things got dire, Aunshalee brought me to her home and nursed me back to health. By the time I realized she had been the cause of my illness in the first place, she and the other drow wouldn’t let me leave. I was her prisoner from then until the day I escaped.

“Hearing her name again, and knowing that the twins recognized me from that chapter of my life, reopened some old wounds that I had long thought healed.” Halsin gave a shaky breath and shook his head, feeling a sense of nausea that he knew was all in his head.

Zilvira squeezed his hands. ”I’m sorry,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“You are the one who deserves an apology, not me,” he replied and held her hands just as tight as she held his. “I thought I hid how it had affected me, but Shadowheart seemed to notice my change in mood. As we spoke, more memories resurfaced. Resentment. Fear that my captors were lurking just around the corner. My mind went down a dark path and my past mixed with my present. For a moment, I had my guard up again.”

“And you were afraid I was like the drow who hurt you? Like Aunshalee?”

“As much as I hate to admit it, the thought crossed my mind,” he confessed. “But I don’t truly believe that. Unfortunately, that acknowledgement came after I made an ass of myself. I am sorry.”

What he had said was wrong, and he couldn’t unsay it no matter how he regretted it. He could only hope that she would give him a chance to prove to her that he didn’t mean it.

And he could only hope that she would truly believe him.

Zilvira swallowed and her eyes drifted from his. “Do you think all drow are like the ones who kidnapped you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t,” he said. “But I will admit that, my time in the Underdark aside, my only other experiences with drow have been… less than ideal. You’re the first one I’ve met that hasn’t tried to harm me in some way. Unless you count the time you elbowed me in the stomach because you thought I was an undead.”

A small upward twitch at the corner of her lips might as well have been a full blown smile. In her defense, she replied, “You snuck up on me.”

Halsin chuckled. “Not on purpose.”

Strangely enough, despite how she had knocked the wind out of him, that moment was one of his fondest memories with her. He remembered the utter mortification on her face and the way her hands clasped over her mouth as she muttered dozens of apologies while he laid supine in the dirt. Her seemingly endless apologies only ceased the moment Halsin had started laughing. Once she was absolutely certain he had nothing more than a bruised diaphragm, she had joined him.

It wasn’t the way any of the drow women he had ever known would have responded to the situation, and that moment had given him some reassurance about her that he didn’t know he needed.

Zilvira lifted her hand from his to swipe away another tear from her cheek. “Gods,” Zilvira said, her tone lighter than before. “Here I was, thinking you secretly hated me or I did something wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

As if absorbing his words, she nodded slowly. Her eyes flickered back to where the spider had been building its web — a perfect masterpiece of nature sequestered in a dismal city alleyway — but the spider was nowhere to be seen.

“Are we okay?” Halsin asked after a few moments of listening to the waves below and the distant chatter of people. Though he felt the conversation went as well as it could have, uncertainty lingered in the forefront of his mind.

Part of him feared that his explanation and apology wasn’t enough. That he had ruined things between them all because of some careless words and she would never forgive him. Maybe he didn’t deserve her forgiveness. Or her friendship. If he lost her over this… well, he had a feeling a few bottles of wine would go missing from their camp supplies.

Zilvira sniffled. “We’re okay,” she said. “I’m still a little mad at you, but I’ll get over it.”

A rush of relief washed through him like a broken dam, relaxing the muscles he didn’t realize he was tensing and easing the tension coiled in his chest. “If it would help, you’re welcome to elbow me in the stomach again. I’ll give you one free shot.”

She playfully pushed his shoulder. “Given my coordination right now, I’d probably miss,” she said with a tired laugh. “I’d rather just go to bed.”

Halsin couldn’t help the grateful smile that tugged at his lips. “Come on, then,” he said, and carefully helped her to her feet. “Let’s get you back to camp.”

—

After days of dealing with feelings of hurt, betrayal, and heartache, after failing to hold back her tears, part of Zilvira’s mind didn’t want to forgive him. He hurt her, so he couldn’t be forgiven until he felt the same hurt too, right? Yet, the reasonable part of her mind chided her, telling her that she was being petty and immature.

That she still loved him. And because she loved him, and he went out of his way to explain himself, even if it didn’t paint him in the most flattering light, she forgave him.

She was still a little miffed about the entire situation, but she forgave him.

If that made her weak, then so be it. She could at least look him in the eye again and know that he didn’t secretly hate her.

Zilvira adjusted her hold on Halsin’s arm as they slowly made their way toward the entrance to Wyrm’s crossing. With the Shar’s Oblivion lingering in her system, she still couldn’t completely trust her feet. If it wasn’t for Halsin keeping her steady, she would have stumbled over the cobblestone or drifted into a civilian passing by a half a dozen times by now.

The Emperor had been right before: Halsin has always had her best interest at heart. Even when she was trying her damndest to avoid him, it didn’t stop him from caring when she needed help.

Prior to overhearing Halsin’s unfortunate comment, she had never once doubted the sincerity of his friendship. That he cared for her the way she cared for him. While his explanation for his comment wasn’t what she expected, she believed him when he said he didn’t mean it.

From what little he told her, and judging by his reaction, she had a feeling that his experience with the drow was far worse than she imagined. Then for him to notice two strangers casually recognizing him from a horrendous chapter of his life, one he thought he had left behind, out of nowhere? If she had been in his shoes, she might’ve responded poorly as well.

She would never be able to fully comprehend what he had been feeling at the time — any bad experience she had couldn’t begin to compare to what he went through — but she could accept it. Sometimes, that had to be enough. Even if she couldn’t completely understand or relate.

Later, perhaps sometimes tomorrow, they could discuss it more if he was willing. But for now, all she needed to know was that he said those words in a moment of foggy antipathy, that he didn’t mean them, and he was sorry.

That was enough.

“We may have a problem up ahead,” Halsin said, stopping the two of them in the shadow of a closed market stall. One that sold fish, from the smell of it, and Zilvira wrinkled her nose in distaste.

Halsin cocked his chin toward four Flaming Fist soldiers and a Steel Watcher guarding the gate that would lead them into Rivington. “If Jack kept his word,” he whispered, “they’re going to be looking for us. It’ll probably be safest if we go around.”

Go around?

Oh no. Nope. She did not like that idea one bit.

There was an outdoor storage area, just under the gate’s guardhouse, that was only a few feet away from the steep hillside that anchored Wyrm’s Crossing to Rivington. On a normal day, the jump was easy enough for her and her companions to clear, but the consequences for missing that jump were falling dozens of meters into the bay. Or, with her luck, breaking every bone in her body on the rocks on the beach. In her current condition, she couldn’t trust her feet to play hopscotch.

“You want me to make that jump?” she asked Halsin, slowly and incredulously.

He made a humming sound as his lips flattened into a thin line, as though he were trying to think of alternatives. “If we don’t want to be here all night, I don’t think we have much of a choice,” he said with a sigh. “I should be able to get you across without issue with some vines.”

Though the idea didn’t exactly instill the confidence Zilvira would have liked, she was far too tired to argue with him. She just wanted to get back to camp, and be surrounded by people who made her feel safe. If Halsin said he was able to get her across the gap, then she would have to trust him.

She let him guide her toward the far side of the guard tower, then carefully down the stairs that wrapped around the wooden exterior to the storage room beneath. Dim yellow light from the room above them seeped through the floorboards, telling her that there was likely someone in the room above. Probably more Flaming Fist. As long as she and Halsin didn’t draw any attention to themselves, she wouldn’t need to find out.

They slipped between stacks of crates and, fortunately for them, no one had bothered to fix the broken railing that opened up the storeroom to the hillside.

“I’ll jump across,” Halsin said in a hushed tone, turning to her in the darkness, “and then—”

A door slammed and Zilvira’s heart leapt into her throat.

“There you are, asshole,” boomed a male voice above them as the sound of footsteps and shadows grew closer. “You could’ve told us you weren’t going to show. We ended up having to pay tonight.”

“I got thrown out,” a nonplussed voice answered, but one she immediately recognized.

Her stomach sank as she looked to Halsin, hoping that perhaps the long night was making her hear things. But when he stared back at her, with his brows drawn and his jaw tense, there was no mistaking that he recognized the voice too.

Jack.

“Yeah, Byan and I heard you picked a fight with someone twice your size,” the first voice said. “Fucking idiot.”

“Rhenn, I’ve fought Goliaths,” Jack replied as if Rhenn was the one who was a massive idiot.

Zilvira knew the answer: they were both morons.

The faint smell of cigar smoke wafted through the floorboards as Jack continued, “I know how to deal with the big guys,” he said as if holding something in his mouth. “The guy seemed like a pussy. Didn’t expect him to turn into a fucking bear.”

“Oh, so you can handle a Goliath but not a bear?” another voice, presumably Byan, quipped. He sounded much younger than the other two — definitely not a child but certainly no older than his early twenties.

“Caught me off guard,” Jack said defensively. Ash from his cigar drifted through the floorboards and directly onto Halsin’s leathers, and Zilvira brushed it away. “Not used to dealing with druids, especially not ones who can change shape faster than I can throw a punch. Fortunately, he’s easy to keep an eye out for. Now, pull up a seat, play cards with me. We can try again tomorrow.”

Wood scraped against wood, and shadows crossed over her and Halsin as the men dragged chairs to the spot directly above them. Halsin wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled them into a crouch, putting a bit of distance between them. Though there was little chance that Jack and his friends could spot them through the floor, getting low and ducking into the shadows made her feel a little bit safer.

But not by much.

“I should make you pay me back for the whore I had to buy so we didn’t blow our cover,” the one called Rhenn said, talking as if he were just business over a cup of coffee. “I was looking forward to fucking the drow chick. Did you see her lips? They would’ve looked so good around my cock.”

There was a snort of laughter.

“What? It’s true.”

Jack circled back to the original point. “If you didn’t want to blow your cover, why didn’t you two—”

“No way,” Rhenn said with a chuckle. “I’ll share a girl with a guy or two, but that’s as far as I‘ll go. I wouldn’t touch Byan even if you paid me to.”

Byan gave a sigh that said he was used to this sort of talk. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Beneath her hand, Halsin’s muscles tensed. Zilvira caught a glimpse of golden light cutting across his eyes as he clenched his jaw. Then, he breathed deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth. In and out. Holding himself back.

If Halsin wildshaped now, she doubted the men just above them wouldn’t notice the transformation. Even if they couldn’t see it, Halsin’s bear form wasn’t known for its subtlety.

“Halsin,” she whispered close to his ear, having no idea where she was going with that sentence. What could she say? Please don’t get mad on her behalf? Calm down? Because telling someone to calm down when they were agitated always went over well.

Hells, she had no business trying to calm Halsin with the way a high-pitched ringing sound built in her ears and her stomach contorted itself. Her cheeks chilled from the blood draining from her face, the implications of what could’ve happened to her that night rushing into her head all at once.

She felt like she was going to be sick.

But being sick would have to wait, because she had an angry druid threatening to turn into a bear next to her.

Zilvira placed her hand over Halsin’s chest, his warmth seeping into her palm, and leaned her cheek against his bicep. “Halsin, please,” she said, hoping that her presence and her touch might rein in the beast.

Fortunately for both of them, it seemed to work. The aureate glow emanating from his eyes dimmed as he shook his head, as if the small motion could alleviate his remaining tension. When he looked at her, her pulse quickened at the intensity of his gaze — one that was protective and underlying with barely restrained rage.

Possessive.

Then he closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers. “We should go before I kill them,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for her to hear him, and she wasn’t sure how literally he meant those words.

At that moment, she hoped he meant them very literally. In the morning she knew she would regret thinking that way, but after everything she had just been through… she could have some vengeful ideations.

With his arm still firmly wrapped around her, Halsin turned his attention to the hillside across from the storeroom. Slowly, with just a simple gesture of his hand, thick vines sprouted from the earth and grew toward Halsin as if they were chasing sunlight. As more and more grew, building a makeshift bridge, Halsin directed them to weave around the floorboards at their feet.

“Shame that powder ended up wasted,” came Rhenn’s voice again as Halsin tested the sturdiness of the vines. “How much do you have left?”

“At least a dozen doses,” Jack replied as Halsin gathered Zilvira into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “Now let’s play. I don’t want to think about this shit any more tonight.”

That was a sentiment she could agree with. She just wanted the night to be over. To cuddle into her blankets and meditate on happier times.

She looped her arms around Halsin’s neck as he cautiously, but confidently, crossed the vines and the voices of those awful men faded behind them. Once they were safely across, he withered the vines with another gesture of his hand, letting the dried and dead plant matter collapse into the water below.

“Do you think you’ll be able to walk back with me, or do you want me to carry you the rest of the way?” Halsin asked as they reached some flatter ground.

“I can make it as long as you’re still willing to help me,” she replied.

Gently, he set her down on her feet, keeping his hands on her waist until he was certain she had found some semblance of balance. “Of course,” he said. “Whatever you need.”

Zilvira felt her face warm at the way he said those words, his striking hazel eyes locking onto her own. That warmth faded as she caught a bit of movement over his shoulder from the window of the guard tower and she swallowed.

Jack had spotted them. For a moment, she watched him watching her, fighting the urge to run.

And by the time Halsin turned around, Jack had disappeared.