The woman warrior looked like she had something to add, but decided against it. Crossing her arms, she decided to instead glare at the older woman. What was the source of her anger? Was it simply unfounded racism, or was it something more? Some of her comments… had been troubling. However, I decided that it had no real bearing in the current moment.

“Thank you, Cordelia,” I said politely, earning a small nod from the warrior woman.

The older woman remained calm. “Since you are a guest under my roof, I seek to warn you. Do not underestimate these people. Please take this without insult, for I know that you are still oh so very young, but you should not use arrogance in confidence’s stead. As for my worries, I have many but I worry most for Zari.”

“I see now the gist of your words. Forgive me for being dull. You worry that she would suffer from some sort of reprisal, for being associated with me,” I conceded, rubbing my chin and noting the lack of stubble. My avatar had not changed one whit since being summoned to this land.

“Yes, and if you would allow me, I would like to buy her contract from you. The inn has done well, and I have put aside some money. The amount may be insulting, but… she is my daughter. I may also have a solution for your current predicament.”

“A most wonderful solution,” muttered Cordelia. Sulking as she was, I realized then that it did little to detract from her cold, marble, almost divine beauty. Attractive people were thus blessed.

I glanced up away from the conversation to see the object of our current discussion making her way towards me, eyes filled with silent reproach. As worrisome as an approaching storm. In the manner of men all over the world, stupidly and inappropriately timed as it was, I found myself comparing the three women before me.

A stark contrast to Cordelia’s bleak marble perfection, Zariyah had a dark beauty. And, if I was completely honest, it was the sort of beauty that felt much more attainable. Naira was an attractive woman in her own right, but Zariyah, bluntly speaking, was a younger, more attractive version of her mother. For some reason or other, I noticed that she had taken off the kohl and whatever cosmetics she used to enhance her natural beauty. It suited her. Without her painted face, she looked younger still, and I judged her to be younger than even myself.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I could feel my heart quickening, my eyes lingering upon the mute woman. For a moment I entertained thoughts as to the possible sounds she would make in the bedroom. Giving in to the throes of passion, would her affliction force her to remain silent?

As she drew closer, I felt an urge to score a few points and impress.

“Then you have misjudged me, and poorly at that. I have always intended to release your daughter. I simply required a guide for the city. Yet at every turn, events conspire to vex me. And I will not accept your money. Where I come from we do not deal in slaves like barbarians.”

“There is no slavery in Al-Lazar,” came Naira’s automatic response, as her daughter sat quietly next to her.

“You may paint over rot, but the rot remains. It is my firm belief that slavery, in all of its forms, is a great evil that needs to be expunged, wherever it is found,” I responded as smoothly as possible. I noticed that Cordelia looked at me as if I was explaining some sort of cosmic truth, her lips moving to silently repeat my words.

Surely those were inspirational words? Perhaps I needed to add some more conviction.

I noticed that Zariyah looked as if she wished to say something, the strain of holding something back drawing her features tight.

“Is there something you would like to add?” I inquired politely.

She looked at me then, not quite meeting my eyes. She shook her head and looked away. I was given to the study of her profile, the delicate arch of her nose, and the tilt of her eyes. I felt an urge to trace the line of her cheek, but I quashed it. Buried it beneath layers of decorum and doubt.

Was it disappointment that had flickered across her face? Had my words fallen short? In the court of a woman’s feelings, had I, unwittingly, played the fool?

Had I failed an unseen roll of the dice?

And for all that, not even a gain of Charisma. Did this world not reward doing good?