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Episode 3 Sneak Peek #6
🕑 Added 2022-07-06 17:01:02 +0000 UTCA bit from an Aeran branch. Spoilers ahead!
“…how you managed to get them back is beyond me.”
“I am not stopping you from using your head. That lack of imagination is your problem, not mine.”
“Fine. Here I thought there were no weapons allowed in Oriath District, but I guess there’s always a loophole. I wonder—is that because you’re Zenaida’s retainer or because you’re an Erebian operative?”
You enter the room to find Malsara and Aeran staring daggers at each other. The assassin stands impatiently on the edge of the foyer, her arms crossed, one foot resting on the lower step. Aeran leans against the back of a nearby couch, dressed and prepared, Alassar steel glinting in his hands as he sorts his arrows.
It is part of his regimen to sort his arrows, a habit he learned from Varyn / Brissa Varyn all those years ago. Archers have always been rare among Wayfarers. It is not the bow itself that cuts through magic, but the arrowheads. As Alassar steel can no longer be forged, there are very few Alassar arrows left in existence and caring for them is tedious and time consuming. You’ve seen Aeran scout the battlefield after a fight, retrieving used arrows from his fallen targets only to set them aside to remake later. He often separates his arrows before heading out on a mission, organizing them so he knows by touch which are Alassar and which are ordinary steel.
In some ways, you’re grateful you inherited an easier Alassar weapon to care for. While $master taught you the basics of archery, there’s a simplicity about your sword that you appreciate. After all these years, $blade is as much an extension of yourself as the hand that wields it.
“Not all in this house place their loyalty to the archon first,” Malsara says, eyeing the arrows with clear discomfort. “There are those who answer to Her Grace first and foremost.”
Several realizations click into place. “Rasmira and Venka,” you say, crossing the room to join them. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot the remnants of your meal. It won’t keep, but perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take some of it with you…
You divert your route and squeeze by the divans. Malsara’s eyes bore into your back as you kneel next to the table and pick over the leftover food. “If Rasmira was just going to hand them back, why bother disarming us yesterday?” you ask.
“Appearances, Wayfarer $lastname,” Malsara replies irritably. “You were a pair of Wayfarers arriving on palace grounds the day of an important gala. Even though you masqueraded as Her Grace’s bodyguards, to give you preferential treatment would have further raised the archon’s suspicions.”
She pauses, a slight frown on her lips as she watches you fold the food into a cloth and stuff it into your pack. “Trust is important within any Imperial house,” she continues. “Rasmira could very well have barred you from the palace, but they love Her Grace like a daughter. They may not approve, but they trust her implicitly.”
