A spill of dwellings dotted the landscape, firelit windows and smoke curling from chimneys foretold the beginning of civilization.
I took my time scoping out the building and watching those who moved about behind the dimly lit windows. A man and a woman—appearing middle aged in the way that humans often did, with creases about their eyes and a softness in their middle—prepared to sit for their evening meal. They had a weary look about them as they dipped their spoons into deep clay bowls, faces limned in the flickering firelight.
My eyes searched for a third figure but found none.
I contemplated their tired countenance and the droop of their shoulders. Perhaps Seren Corso no longer called this place home. Perhaps the deep lines of sadness about the humans’ mouths were from missing her.
I needed to speak with this couple and considered which mask I should don in order to best gain their trust. A suitor for their beloved daughter might do quite nicely. A courtier from the palace with a message could prove fruitful.
No, I thought.
These humans, drained of happiness, would respond only to bitterness in the likeness of their own, and so my plan began to unfold in my mind.
I rapped heavily upon the door. Even this cottage stood dreary and depleted, darkened with the approach of the lengthening shadows. The door sagged inward, a gaping mouth with missing teeth, but warmth spilled over the threshold. The man stood waiting before me.
“Good evening, sir. Might I employ a brief moment of your time? I’m afraid I must ask you a few questions about Seren Corso.” I kept my shoulders back and my hands clasped solemnly, cloak drawn back so the metal of my sword’s pommel glinted in the firelight.
The man grunted, half amused and half distrustful. Greasy strands of graying blond hair touched his brow, and his blue eyes were hard. The man surveyed me and my calm demeanor for a moment longer before finally nodding.
The door yawned even wider, and I stepped over the threshold.
“Your name, sir?” I inquired as I sidled closer to the fire.
His name was Stephanus Corso, husband to Anna Corso and adopted father of my mark. Safiya’s spycraft had gathered at least that much, but I could not deviate from the role this couple required me to inhabit.
To them, I would be the well meaning but unflinching meter of justice come to collect Seren for questioning under suspicion of sympathizing with Rázuri. An easy bet, as humans notoriously hated our kind, a fact that had been underscored by the centuries long war.
Stephanus confirmed his identity, unaware of the trap he had fallen into. “What’s this about?”
Anna had not moved from her place at the table. Her green-eyed gaze remained locked on her bowl of supper, though she had not taken a single bite. She worried at the mousy brown hair which had slipped her braid.
My eyes flicked back toward her husband. “Mr. Corso, is your daughter home? It’s quite urgent that I speak with her.”
“This has not been her home for the better part of five years.” Stephanus angled his body between mine and Anna’s, catching my gaze upon her. “Tell me what this is about.”
“I have reason to suspect Seren might have connections to a very concerning group of Rázuri sympathizers. I have been sent to question your daughter to either clear her name or deliver her to justice. Can you please tell me where I might find her?” I kept my stance open, casual yet straight backed. I was growing almost uncomfortably warm from the fire behind me, but I made no movements as I awaited Stephanus’s response.
He scoffed, a sound of unsurprised amusement. “I suppose it was inevitable that she would turn her back on us sooner or later.”
His anger mounted, and he paced the floor, maintaining his position between Anna and me as he did so. His fist ground into one open palm. “Taking that girl in was a mistake. It’s her fault that Luca is dead.”
“Stephanus!” Anna exhaled sharply. It was the first she had spoken since I had arrived. She rose from her seat, a glare heavy on her brow. “She is our daughter.”
“No.” Stephanus Corso’s voice was hard, final. He turned on Anna, not seeming to realize the danger he placed himself in, having turned his back on me. “Shewasour daughter until she took our only son. I will never forgive her for that.”
“It was not her fault!” Anna insisted.
“Luca would still be here if the heathens had not come for her,” Stephanus growled. He glared down at his wife, willing her to stand down.
Sorrow echoed from Anna, burrowing into my chest, a bone-deep cold, but it was overpowered by the heat of Stephanus’s rising anger.
“And what of the good memories?” Anna cried. “What of every lovely moment we shared with Seren? Did it truly mean so little to you?”
“This conversation is done,” Stephanus said with finality. “It isdone.”
Stephanus and Anna stared each other down, eyes as sharp as knives, showing the first true emotion that I had seen between them. This was clearly a tired fight. Battled across days, months, years. Likely fought for the better part of five years—as Stephanus had claimed, since their son had lost his life.
I watched them with renewed interest. I saw the clear route they laid out for me. With a narrowing of my eyes and the slightest tilt of my chin, I took their tension and twisted it into something stronger, wrapping the invisible tendrils of my mágik around them like a vise. I needed them to be angry. I needed them to provide me answers, and nothing loosed lips quite like heightened emotions.
