He cleared his throat and summoned a smile. “I know we will. I have you on my side, don’t I?”
“A friend is someone who knows your faults and still loves you.” She squeezed his hand. “I will always be your friend, Vaskel, and I will always be on your side.”
Sixteen
Bright light filteredthrough the skylight, falling across Vaskel's face and rousing him from an uncomfortable sleep. His neck protested violently as he straightened in the overstuffed armchair, every vertebra seeming to crack in sequence. Books lay scattered around him, and a bookwyrm slept coiled on the arm of the chair, tiny iridescent wings draped across his scaled green snout.
Iris was nowhere to be seen, probably catching a few hours of proper sleep in her rooms above the shop. They'd reviewed every ritual or spell that seemed even remotely workable, but finally their heavy eyelids and unstifled yawns had been enough of a distraction that he’d slumped into the chair to rest his eyes while Iris had made drowsy sounds about brewing more tea.
Vaskel stretched, careful not to disturb the bookwyrm on the chair or the others snoozing on top of open books or in the wells of saucers. It was officially morning now, which meant he needed to head to the tavern even if he was still short a decent night’s sleep.
With a glance toward the back of the building and the staircase that wound upstairs to Iris’s quarters, he decided not to bother Iris. She deserved to sleep after staying up all night searching for a way to save him. He only wished they’d found anything to give him hope.
Vaskel made his way through the curtain and the shop, careful to hold the bell overhead and dampen any telltale jingling. Once he was outside, the hellkin blinked in the morning light bouncing off the snow. He glanced around quickly, checking if anyone had seen him emerge from the apothecary, but all the business of the village seemed to happen at the town square. Besides, there was nothing unusual about him popping into the apothecary. Considering the number of powders and elixirs he’d bought since he’d been in Wayside, some might argue it would be more unusual if he wasn’t there.
Still, he walked carefully away, his tail snapping in alarm when the door to the haberdashery next door flew open.
"Vaskel! Is that you?" Tinpin's head popped out, his pointed hat slightly askew. "I'm delighted to see you. Just delighted!"
"Morning, Tin," Vaskel managed, trying to edge away. "I was just?—"
"Perfect timing! Perfect!" The gnome hurried outside and grabbed his arm with surprising strength and pulled him toward the shop. "You need to be fitted for the wedding. Lira and Korl were very specific about the wedding party's attire. Very specific! Or was it Erindil who was specific?” He flapped a hand in the air. “No matter, no matter.”
"I really should—" Vaskel tried to protest, acutely aware that his marks would be hard to hide during a fitting.
"It won't take a minute!" the gnome insisted, already dragging him through the door. "Not a minute!"
The haberdashery smelled of wool and lavender, with bolts of colorful fabric propped along the walls. Buttons gleamed from glass jars like jewels, and ribbons cascaded from hooks.
“Back here, back here!" Tinpin gestured to a small platform at the back of the shop. "Arms out, that's it!"
The gnome produced a measuring tape from his brown tweed vest, chattering continuously as he measured. "You're going to look absolutely splendid in the claret-colored velvet that Lira and Korl selected. Splendid! Some might say not to put red on red, but I think they’re wrong. Dead wrong. Besides, these are two distinct shades and your skin has more purple undertones.”
Vaskel stood still, letting the gnome's patter wash over him. He desperately hoped he would be there for the wedding.
“I’m thinking," Tinpin tapped his chin with one finger, studying Vaskel with an artist's eye, "an ivory ascot might be just the thing. Yes, indeed. Yes, indeed. It would provide such lovely contrast. Don’t you agree?”
"Sounds perfect," Vaskel agreed automatically, his mind bouncing between Marina’s cold threats and Iris’s warm smile as she’d assured him they would find a solution.
"And the waistcoat will be a work of art. An absolute work of art.” Tinpin continued measuring, jotting notes on a small pad that materialized from another pocket. "Though I do hope I have enough fabric for Klaff and Vorto. Those orcs are substantially larger than I expected. Substantially!"
The gnome's cheerful fretting continued as he finished his measurements, but Vaskel barely heard him. Would he be here for the wedding? Would he stand with Korl as Lira walked down the aisle? Would he raise a toast to the happy couple, dance at their reception, help Sass clean up the tavern afterward while complaining good-naturedly about drunken guests?
Or would he be with Marina's crew, bound forever to a life he no longer wanted?
"All done! All done!" Tinpin announced, stepping back with satisfaction. "You can step down now. The suit will be ready in plenty of time for the ceremony. Plenty of time!"
Vaskel thanked the gnome and extracted himself from the shop, grateful that Tin hadn’t requested he disrobe. The fewer who knew about his predicament, the better, even if he felt wretched keeping such a secret from his friends.
There was no way to avoid deception, he told himself as he drew in a breath of cold air. The less the villagers knew, the safer they would be.
As Vaskel turned to continue his trek toward the tavern, the sound of marketplace chatter drew his attention. It wasn’t the typical clatter of vendors setting up their stalls for the day's trade that snatched his attention. It was one voice among the merry din that made every hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
That laugh. He stiffened as he turned, instinct telling him he knew the throaty sound designed to charm and entice. He moved closer, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Wooden stalls with faded fabric awnings huddled together, their canvas tops dusted with a fine layer of snow. The air was thick with woodsmoke from the braziers vendors used to keep warmand the earthy richness of root vegetables piled high in woven baskets.
There, at a vegetable stall, stood Marina. But not as he'd last seen her, all leather and danger. Now she wore a simple wool dress in muted brown, her hair braided modestly, looking for all the world like any other village woman doing her morning shopping.
