More than that. Ilondrel was asking them to be good. Truly good, all the time. To be noble, and forthright, to wear their heart on their sleeve. To do the right thing, the right way.
Could they?
Would it be as hard as leaving Kell behind in Baldur’s Gate? Would it be as hard as giving up the power of a fey realm even though it meant having no power of their own?
Maybe. But they would never be ashamed of what they’d done with the power of an oath the way they had been with the power of a pact.
They lifted their head. “I’ll do it.”
Ilondrel nodded. “Kneel, then, and swear your oath.”
Saeldian knelt and smiled at their mentor as they made the Oath of the Ancients.
Saeldian never reallyunpacked their bags at all, so they were free to wander around the Village That Chooses Its Own while Jubilee and Verandil said goodbye. In Jubilee’s room. With the door spelled shut.
Kell wasn’t up on the platform with the others, and he wasn’t in the cookhouse, or anywhere they had looked before they found Lorzok, kneeling in the leaf litter and curling ferns about twenty feet away from the Brewmistress’s hut, and the Brewmistress herself, taking a moment’s rest on her swinging bench, which creaked softly as she nudged against the floor with one red-slippered foot.
She lifted one green finger to her lips and swiped across her mouth before beckoning to Saeldian, who used every trick they knew to keep from making noise on their way over. The Brewmistress planted both feet on the floorboards and studied Saeldian for a long moment.
“Unraveled that scarf of bargains, haven’t you?”
Saeldian tried not to shift their weight. “Yes, ma’am—Mistress.”
“I see the oath on you too. A good choice.” The Brewmistress examined Saeldian a bit longer, before musing, “But that’s the face you were born with, isn’t it?”
Saeldian nodded. “Here I am.”
“You don’t like it,” the Brewmistress said. “It doesn’t look like you.”
Saeldian couldn’t deny it. “It doesn’t feel like me either.”
The Brewmistress grunted agreeably and picked up a jug. She poured ale the color of a chunk of clear, deep amber into a hand-turned cup. When she patted the place next to her, Saeldian had to sit down before their knees gave way to the shock.
Sitting here, they had a clear view of Lorzok, who hadn’t moved in all this time. He had his face turned up in the dappled light that managed to fall between all the trunks and limbs of the forest to shine on his peaceful, serene expression.
Maybe Saeldian shouldn’t stare like this.
“He’s been like that so long he might grow roots,” the Brewmistress said. “But what do you see?”
“He looks happy.”
“He has reason to. He found what he sought. But you didn’t have a quest, did you? You weren’t looking for a way to get happiness of your own.”
“I’m happy.”
The Brewmistress laughed. “Lie to me one more time and you’ll fart like sour eggs for a month. You believe that anyone would be happy in your shoes, so you should be too.”
Saeldian glanced at the Brewmistress. “I’m grateful.”
“That’s better,” the Brewmistress said. “I don’t like it. Everyone got what they wanted. You didn’t ask for anything, but you paid the price.”
“Isn’t there always a price?”
“Child,” the Brewmistress said with that gentle tone that made Saeldian sit up straight. “I can give you the power to change to your true form. Freely. No bargain.”
Saeldian twisted to face her so quickly their knee knocked into hers. “You can?”
“Yes.”
