The Wide Sky Tavern and Inn was my first home in Qeth. It has a giant outdoor sitting area in the front that at night is illuminated by magical fairy lights strung between plant-laden trellises. There’s a large bar just inside, long communal tables made of live wood in the center of the indoor space, and comfortable booths along the far wall across from the bar. The front wall consists of tall windows that look out on the garden-like outdoor space and that get pushed open when the weather is nice, and an impressive stone fireplace sits within the back wall that hides the stairs up to the inn space on the two levels above.

It is, apparently, a highlight of Oosal’s nightlife, and the place to stay for the discerning traveler. As a result, it is almost always packed, at least in the evenings. As I enter, though, it is a little bit before the lunchtime rush, and the staff seem to be making use of a lull in the traffic to move away some of the outside tables and set up the stage and dance floor. Something is happening tonight, likely some notable bard coming through town.

I find Athene, the fae head bar tender—and Nyssa’s assistant manager for lack of a better term—in his typical position behind said bar. He’s watching the setting up through the open windows while he dries glasses. He vaguely nods my way as I settle on a stool toward the end of the mostly empty polished-wood counter, and I slip my bag’s strap over the hook under it. The others gently mock me for the fact I rarely leave home without it, but I like that it’s a less conspicuous way to carry my bow. I don’t care how safe they say the city usually is, when you’re nearly killed by dragon cultists your first day here, you can’t be faulted for wanting to have options.

I nod out the window. “Big plans for tonight?”

Anthene scoffs, which makes the slightly up-turned tips of his mustache jump. He channels the mid-aughties Colorado Hipster, with his impressive facial hair, full sleeve black-ink tattoos, and slouchy, comfortable-looking clothes. I’ve even seen him wear a beanie over his sandy brown hair and slightly pointed ears. If Qeth had flannels and artfully distressed denim, I guarantee Anthene would live in them.

“When don’t we, these days? Weather’s nice, must make use of it, yeah?” He looks my way as he stacks a set of glasses. “I haven’t seen you actually at the bar for a while, Keira—thought I might’ve said something.”

“Nah, just been focused on other things.”

“I’ll try not to take it personally. Can I get you anything? Or is this more of an information gathering session?”

I smirk. “Information gathering? Me? Never.”

“Always, you mean.”

“Hey. I’m curious. I’m trying to learn. How better to do that than by annoying everyone around me?”

He sighs, and it’s honestly hard to tell if it’s feigned or not. I’ve been spending much of my downtime deeply entrenched in the history and culture of Qeth, to the point where my party has stopped wanting to talk with me about any of it (even Flynt, who I never thought would get tired of professor mode). This has forced me to seek out other outlets, and Athene, often being a bit of a captive audience who just happens to be nearly two centuries old, has had to deal with more than a few extended question-and-answer (and theorizing and critiquing) sessions. I don’t think he really minds, especially when things are slow, but I can also see how it might occasionally be irritating.

“Keira, what do I have to do to get you to believe me when I say I’m not political?”

I scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone who’s bought into the implied social contract of organized society is political.”

He looks at me, blinks, and exhales. “Well, some of us prefer to be happy, so we’d rather ignore all that.”

“John Locke would say that’s very naïve—but I understand your sentiment.”

“Who is John Locke and why would I care what he thinks?”

“You know, good point. No politics today, I promise. Not intentionally, anyway.”

“In that case, one morning cider, coming up.” He takes a glass and twirls it before slipping it under the correct tap and grins as he begins to fill it. I think about protesting—it’s only just past eleventh bell—but it’s basically apple juice, right? And that’s perfectly acceptable for brunch. “You can tell me all about that magical troll you apparently encountered yesterday.”

“How did you—ah, Meg.”

“She was in here last night, chatting up the place. You know how she is.”

I furrow my brow. “Yeah, of course—super social, our Meg.”

“She does know how to have fun.”

A small pang strikes through my chest at that, and I lift the cider from where he placed it on the bar, taking a long sip to distract myself from the flurry of thoughts.

I’m not entirely oblivious, alright, and I’m not an idiot (even if I sometimes feel like one). I have a pretty good idea what she does when she goes out at night, but it feels weird to have that confirmed by someone else. I’m also a little hurt that she’s never invited me along, and maybe even a little jealous—if only because my glimpses of that side of her are all pretty rare. Though, admittedly, that’s probably not the only reason (not that think I have anyone to blame but myself if it isn’t).

But that is all Future Keira’s problem.

That is always Future Keira’s problem.

“That’s actually why I’m here, to follow-up on some of that.”

“Some of what?”

“Your conversation with Meg.”

He chuckles, though that dissipates as his gaze drifts back out to the stage preparation out front, his brow furrowing a little. “This about the Nyssa thing?”

I nod. “Just wanted to make sure that nothing got lost in the translation. She said something about Nyssa having gone out of town?”

“Yeah. Out to Gerai.” He’s about to say something more but holds up a finger, moving away from me. “Tamir’s about to break something out there—she’ll answer things.”

I frown, but then feel the presence slip onto the stool behind me, bringing with it slight pricks of goosebumps on the back of my neck even before I turn to look.

Since I arrived in Qeth, I’ve operated under the belief that Nyssa is in possession of great, other-worldly type qualities. And she is, sure. But when compared to the woman now sitting next to me, Nyssa is down-right girl-next-door normal.

Selene is Nyssa’s it’s complicated, and it’s not that she’s stunning—though I suppose she is?—it’s more that she’s… odd. She’s elven, with pointed ears about half the length of mine and an ageless quality that matches most other elves I’ve come to know. But with her angular features, shimmering straight silver hair, and pale gray eyes that seem like they could draw out all your secrets with nothing more than a well-timed look, Selene is a bit unto herself. Hers is an almost alien grace and poise that somehow manages to combine with the absolute certainty that she will laugh to tears at the filthiest Aristocrats joke you could throw at her.

In short: this woman has a passive charisma, if that were such a thing, of no less than thirty. Everyone currently in the Wide Sky knows she’s there, and everyone is trying very, very hard to pretend like they don’t. Only Nyssa, Athene, and (supposedly) Lin Stoutbrooke seem at all immune to it. Every member of my party is awkward around her, and some of us—like Flynt—actively try to avoid her presence.

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My mouth immediately goes dry, and I take a sip of my cider, willing my hands to stay steady. Selene only grins at this as she leans forward on the bar and focuses in on me.

“Keira, it’s been a while.” Her voice is bright and breathy, her smile carrying musically through every syllable—not quite like a purr, but somewhere in the neighborhood. “How are you? Adjusting well? You seem to be getting your feet nicely under you.”

“I’ve, uh, yeah. Been working on it.”

“Oh good. I’m glad to hear. It’s always difficult, finding your way in a new place. You fell in with good people, though, it’s always nice to see things come together like that. Nyssie’s been telling me some of what you’ve all been getting yourselves up to, and it all sounds exciting. Those sewer goblins? Seems it went quite well.”

“Yeah, that one was… something.”

She smirks, studying me in silence for a long moment. My cheeks warm under the pressure of her attention and I try to focus on my cider, which doesn’t really taste like anything anymore.

“Sorry, I know I can tend to pry. Just know that it comes from a place of good intentions and absolute mind-numbing boredom.”

I can’t help but chuckle a little at that. “Boredom, huh?”

“I’ve been around for a while, dear. It’s difficult to find too many surprises these days. I imagine you’ll discover the same, eventually. You were asking about Nyssie?”

“Yeah, um, Anthene told Meg that she’s essentially out-of-office for a while.”

“Yes, she had some sudden family business in Gerai. I’m not too sure of the details. Her family always seems to have some crisis brewing behind their doors—though I didn’t tell you that.”

“I always thought she was estranged from her family. That’s what Flynt said.”

“Oh, darling, elves are never truly free from those ties, no matter what they claim. Responsibilities and expectations abound. It’s an unbreakable bond written in the blood.” Her eyes widen at that and her pert mouth draws into a small crooked smile. “I wouldn’t worry too much, though. Nyssa has been walking the lines between it all for a very long time. She’s quite good at it. Blood ties don’t mean unkept secrets.”

I frown at her, and chance meeting her eyes. They gleam at me, dancing with some sort of humor that I don’t understand. Before this, I’ve had two other relatively brief conversations with Selene, and she always talks like there’s a double meaning to everything she says, which is what I think annoys Meg about her. It’s a very elvish habit, I’ve realized, particularly among older elves, but it’s not one I’ve figured out how to decode yet, and it’s frustrating.

“What are you trying to tell me?”

I’m honestly surprised at my own directness and she seems to be too, cocking her head slightly to the side like a curious bird, a slight wrinkle raising on her otherwise crease-free forehead—her soft, warm, light-brown skin is so flawless that it’s almost difficult to conceptualize.

“Hm. Very good question. What do you want me to tell you?”

I hesitate a moment. It seems as if Selene is at least broadly aware of what’s going on. If Nyssa has talked to her about us with enough detail to mention the sewer goblins, then there has to be a fair amount of knowledge share between them. Do I risk it? What’s the worst that could happen? I keep it vague enough, there shouldn’t be any harm, right?

“Honestly? I want to know Nyssa’s plans for us. We’re confused, we don’t know what we’re working toward, and she’s not particularly communicative. We saw her just before she apparently left, but she said nothing about her plans, and hasn’t left any instructions for us in her absence. It’s just strange, given our whole… you know. Relationship.”

“Ah.” If there’s any surprise at all, Selene masks it entirely. “She must have her reasons. Trust and patience, Keira. They’re vital in any secretive endeavor.”

I scoff. “Sure. Most people who embark on such things tend to have at least some vague idea where it’s off to, though, and all we get is told to be patient. It’s getting annoying.”

“I’m sure Nyssie has her reasons.”

“We would feel a lot more comfortable if she shared even just a portion of them. It’s hard to trust someone who has shown pretty clearly that she doesn’t trust you.”

I shift a little awkwardly on my bar stool. I don’t really know why I’m telling her this—maybe there’s some vague hope that Selene will pass it on in some way, that it will get back to Nyssa without us having to start the uncomfortable conversation ourselves. I must hit my bag, though, because it takes that moment to fall off its hook and thud onto the ground.

“Right.” Selene nods sagely as she sweeps down and lifts it before I can move. She takes a brief moment to consider it before handing it back for me to tuck in my lap. “If it’s any consolation, she’s attempting to do great things by stopping great wrongs. I know she’s made some mentions to you.”

I shake my head. I’ve heard this before. It sounds great except for the currently open question as to what those wrongs are and the means she’s employing to stop them. If Nyssa is involved with the Terravin necromancer in some way, that’s going to be a problem.

“So are we, Selene. Or we would be, if we were given a real chance. Which Nyssa seems reluctant to actually give us.”

She chuckles. “Of course. Eager adventurers, ready for the next task.” Her words could be mocking, but her tone isn’t. “Well. Don’t tell Nyssie I said this, she’ll be a little perturbed by the whole thing—but, if she’s not left any instructions, it certainly seems like your party may have some free agency, don’t you think?”

“That’s what we were saying.”

“Just be careful venturing out, alright? And beware the things you keep.”

“Wait—what?”

“Hm?” She raises an eyebrow. “I only mean that there are lots of dangers on the road, especially in the center valley—if things lead you that way.”

Selene smiles slightly and gracefully stands. She sets a hand on mine resting on the bar. Her fingers feel light and smooth as glass. There’s a gentle coolness as she leans in close. She whispers something in my ear, maybe in old elvish? It’s hard to tell, the words feel oddly slippery, and I don’t really catch the meaning. She pats my shoulder gently, and I’m about to ask her to repeat herself when I realize that’s she’s already to the door, bidding a chirpy good-bye to Athene who’s back behind the bar.

I frown down into my cider, which is only half-gone.

“You alright?”

“What?” I blink up at Athene who raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

“You just looked confused.”

“Oh. No, I don’t think so. But, you know how talking to elves can be.”

“Don’t I just. That one in particular. She offer any insights?”

I shrug. “Who can really tell, you know?” I take another sip of my cider but I’m not really feeling it, so I leave the rest along with a half silver worth of copper pieces. I settle my bag on my shoulder as I slide off the stool to my feet. “Well. If Nyssa comes back early, tell her we took a little trip but have the book. We’ll be back.”

“I don’t fully know what that means, but I’ll relay the message,” he promises. “Safe travels.”

As I leave the tavern, I pull up my [Journal]. Whenever we encounter what I’d consider to be “plot relevant” conversations—like when Nyssa gives us the details on our next mission—the entries tend to become a lot more robust, often recording verbatims from the conversation if not whole lines of dialogue. Even some of our party meetings get that kind of treatment, so I’m curious to sit down and think about the details of my Selene conversation a little more in-depth, free from the confusing weight of that woman’s aura.

But… there’s nothing.

Well, not nothing, but certainly no real extra substance.

> [Spent the late morning at the Wide Sky Tavern and Inn where it was confirmed that Nyssa was in Gerai and would be for an undisclosed amount of time.]

That’s it. Selene isn’t even mentioned. Nor is Anthene, for that matter.

“Oh, come on,” I grumble, shaking my head. “That’s not fair. Stupid [System].”

“What was that now, Sister?”

The voice is low, directly behind me, and speaks an elvish dialect I’ve only heard once before. A sharp, cold sense of dread strikes through me as I turn sharply on my heel to face the person following me, and the breath catches in my throat.

It’s not that he’s large. The man is my height and lean, though broad in the shoulders, like a swimmer. His black hair is cut like a late-70s sci-fi movie star’s, and it falls to frame a delicately featured face that is more self-assured and enigmatic than it is classically handsome. His light olive brown skin is similar to my own complexion, and like me, he is elven, with my same long, hunter elf ears. I’ve only met one other person in Qeth who shares that feature—the man on the road toward Dragon’s Peak, before my first brush with the undead.

Phaelen.

My point in [Skullduggery] aside, I’ve never had much of a poker face, and I clearly give myself away. He grins at me, his deep, dark eyes seeming to flash from behind the lenses of the thin, wire-framed spectacles he wears. He takes them off and tucks them into his jacket.

“Ah, Keira,” he says with a confidence that sends a shiver down my spine—especially as I remember that Flynt never gave out our real names. “You recognize me. That’s good. That should make this all a little easier.”

My heart rate jumps. It’s the middle of the day, but I’d taken advantage of that to snake off the main road, following a quieter short cut that’s not as congested by middle-of-the-week crowds. I’ve walked it several dozen times. The street is tree-lined, pretty, and quiet, largely residential. There’s the sense of people, but I don’t actually see anyone immediately, and I’m not sure what would happen if I called for help.

I know better. What was I doing getting distracted like that?

I try to shrug it off, get my bearings back. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true at all.” His expression twists into a smirk and he grabs hold of the strap to my bag before I can pull away. He moves fast—Tyrus fast—and pulls me up short. “You see, I’m looking for something. And I think you know how I can find it.”