After Necun had retreated from her enraged father Nickolas was delighted to find the man shockingly reasonable. In less than a bell the Mage was dressed in a spare robe. The craftsman was bulkier than Nickolas which resulted in the robe being baggier than he was used to, but that was nothing a few strips of cloth couldn't solve. There was certainly enough cloth laying around to do the job.
Access to the guest room proved possible but pointless. The bed was buried. The only real sleeping surface that remained uncluttered was his father in law's own small bed. The man had offered to let Nickolas take it, but the Mage swiftly refused his host. He could make do. He would just have to get creative.
He had to borrow the carving knife, and getting near the ceiling was a challenge. Balancing on a pile of crates wasn't the steadiest of footing, but it was enough to carve the necessary runes into the wide beam.
“You're turning my house into a charm?” Necun's father, who had introduced himself as Melat, asked skeptically. “That seems ill advised.”
“Only this section of wood.” Nickolas reassured, tapping the beam with his knife. “The runes are mostly self contained. I would just do it with metal, but I'll only need the spell for two nights at most so it's a bit of a waste.”
“And it won't destroy my roof?” Melat asked slowly.
“I'm no amateur.” Nickolas replied. “All that will be left is a few marks. The magic itself is harmless.”
The Mage finished up the last of the strokes with a deft swipe of the blade. He leaned back to admire his work, only to feel a jolt up his spine as his body tried to balance on the suddenly shifting crates. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Nickolas reached forward to touch the newly carved circle of runes.
Magic welled in his body as he pressed the tip of his finger to the feeding rune. From his flesh the magic flowed to fill the carved symbol, and through it the rest of the configuration. It was a familiar sensation. A feeling he had felt thousands of times. Yet deep down he remained delighted by the flow of power through his arm. A reminder of the endless possibilities provided by spellcraft.
He watched the process closely, each rune lighting as the magic infused the groves in the wood. The beam drank deep, deeper than Nickolas expected, likely due to the wood taken from a root of the great trees. The whole circle took thirty heartbeats to fill, leaving the Mage's hand shaking with effort by the end.
Nickolas brushed his fingers over each rune to check their integrity for a final time before glancing down at Melat.
“Looks good to go.” he said. “I'll have to do the other beam to be sure, but this alone should hold my weight the whole night.”
“Still not sure I like you hovering by the ceiling all night.” Melat grumbled. “But I won't stop you.”
“Only a night or two.” Nickolas repeated as he slowly climbed down the unstable tower of crates. “Don't misunderstand, I prefer a real bed, especially after sleeping on stone for days. Even so, I would be lying if I said I wasn't excited about trying this.”
“I'll set out some padding just in case.” the older man said, already riffling through the stacks for something plush.
“I meant to ask earlier.” Nickolas said, stacking crates to reach the opposite ceiling beam. “What is it precisely that you craft here? They seem like costumes, but I'm unclear on the purpose.”
“Performance attire for the finest entertainers in the city.” Melat said with flowing pride. “Monsters, Hunters of legend. Even minor historical figures are represented by a headdress or colourful vest. Each player in a performance needs a proper costume to set them apart for the audience. The flashier the better. Makes them easy to spot even for those poor fools who showed up late and have to sit in the back. The actors may make the performance memorable, but I make it watchable!”
Nickolas paused while he digested the craftsman's words.
“Why does that necessitate your home smelling like a tannery?” the Mage finally asked, barely maintaining his composure.
Melat's face fell.
“Ah. Some of the materials are difficult to work with.” he admitted. “They needs special herbal water to soak in. Along with plenty of heat. The results for the leather are astonishing! Unfortunately so is the smell. Luckily we have the spring stones. The higher functions can get any smell right out of your clothes before we go out. And you do get used to it after a bit. It's not that bad.”
“That's good kit by the way.” the man continued, his smile returning. “The spring stones I mean. Excellent work by your Mages. Any house with the means has at least one. I think the clan leaders have two dozen each!”
“They're pretty common back home.” Nickolas replied as he started to climb the newly stacked crates. “Even the remote villages have enough if they share. Assuming they don't have a Mage capable of making their own. Though most of them aren't as nice as the one's we trade.”
The Mage reached the top, and positioned himself on the stack before running his hands across the wood looking for a good carving spot.
“Make no mistake, every single spring stone we trade represents ten days of hard labor for a Mage.” Nickolas said as he lined up his knife. “All those tiny little cuts made with perfect precision. A single one out of place? A single crossed line? The whole stone is scrapped and the Mage has to start over. My father made me carve twenty of them as a punishment. I was ready to throw myself out a window after the third.”
“I can hear your pride.” the craftsman laughed. “Not in your work, but your peers. Nice to hear my fellow crafters are appreciated by a Lord's son.”
“My mother isn't a Lord.” Nickolas corrected, taking a moment to blow the dust off the beam before he started to carve. “Well. Not a real one any way. She's not a Queen either. Nor am I a Prince. She's just the Warden of Blightstone. Impressive sure, but not nobility.”
“And what does the difference make?” Melat snorted. “She still rules. Still trades her son for politics.”
“What mother doesn't?” Nickolas responded with a raised eyebrow.
“My apologies.” Melat allowed. “She trades her son to foreign leaders in the hopes of trade concessions. Her daughter will inherit the position. So what precisely makes a Warden separate from a noble?”
“One, I don't have a sister.” Nickolas said, brushing off the wood scraps as his knife hand flicked. “Two even if I did she would only be the heir presumptive. The Knights select the Warden. There's a formal process and everything. Even the residents of the fortress get a vote, though that's mostly window dressing. They've never rejected the Knight's choice.”
He paused his work to look down at his father in law.
“That's the real difference.” he explained. “No noble would allow that. A few might have their armies welcome the heir with a ceremony, but a real vote? With all the politics and deals? The backroom promises, and long debates? Nah. Any noble would lock all that down before her daughter was out of the cradle. A Warden's daughter though? She won't see one scrap of help from her mother. Not with the Knights. She has to earn the new generations respect, and if everyone sees her mother holding her hand the whole way her chances of succeeding her die on the spot. It's happened before.”
Melat tilted his head in surprise. Nickolas returned to carving.
“My family is descended from the founder of Blightstone.” the Warden's son continued. “Hardly a surprise, so is every other family in the fortress. Most of the villages even have families that could make the same claim. There's no special bloodline. Well, not quite true. Plenty of my kin claim to be superior to the heartland people for one reason or another. A foolish bit of prideful bravado. But I digress. Plenty of people could claim the Warden's seat if we did it by bloodline alone. Many of them might be closer to the throne than I am if we just judged the family tree by firstborn daughters alone. Which is why we don't bother.”
The first third of the circle was complete. Nickolas checked the angle to make sure it was properly curved. He could manage the feat by sight after so many cycles of practice.
“A Warden will give her daughter a minor leg up.” he said. “When a Warden's daughter becomes a Knight the other women look up to her. She'll end up a squad leader easily enough. It won't help her if she's incompetent. Daughters have even been refused candidacy for being unlikable. Usually there's a sister who gets the position instead, but not always.”
“My family wasn't in the running until my great grandmother.” Nickolas added. “The previous candidate ran away from a beast. Knocked another Knight off a wall too. It wasn't even a close decision. No violence either. No civil war. The moment it came out that the girl ran the current Warden's family was finished politically speaking. My great grandmother took the opportunity, and we've held the position ever since. We'll lose it eventually. My mother might not even have a daughter to give it to.”
Melat had pulled out a pack of some fibrous substance. He took a large pinch and popped it in his mouth to chew as he considered Nickolas's words.
“Not too different to the Chiefs then.” he admitted. “Are the nobles still as bad as the stories?”
“Oh they're as bad as you can imagine.” Nickolas confirmed. “Siblings knifing each other over seemingly minor gain. When I was traveling in the trade Queendoms I heard a story of a woman caught poisoning her sister so she could steal the title of Keeper of the Queen's slippers.”
Melat covered his mouth as he broke into a fit of coughing laughter.
“Why would you even need a position for that?” the orc asked incredulously. “The Queen can't put on her own slippers?”
“Oh no, her noble court insisted on the title existing.” Nickolas replied with a mocking tone. “It was improper for the Queen to do anything so uncouth as bending over to pick up her own slippers. And what if they were dirty? She might have to brush them off herself! Or directly ask a servant! Unacceptable. Clearly a member of her noble court must be in charge of this important duty.”
“They realized there was power in it you see.” the Mage explained without the tone. “When a servant expressed that the Queen's policy of buying up all the excess grain at the end of the market day was making it hard for the poorer households to afford bread. The servant was talking to her Queen shortly before she retired, setting out clean sheets or some such. The Queen would have had a dozen hangers on chattering about how important and wise the policy was if the comment was brought up during court. Instead the Queen mulled over the issue in that moment of perfect stillness before sleep. The next morning the Queen had decided to cut back on the policy, filling her grain reserves in other ways.”
Nickolas had finished each rune's basic shape, and proceeded to add the finishing touches. He could feel the circles slight pull as it reached out for magic.
“Once the nobles put together what had happened the Slipper Keeper was the logical solution.” he continued. “One of their own would always have the final word. The last chance to whisper in the Queen's ear before bed. And so you see the value for the woman. Why she would poison her own sister to take her place, and damn the risks. The bribes alone would send her up the ranks of nobility for as long as she could hold the Queen's attention. Fragile but valuable. Because of course the Queen had seen through her court as soon as the fools pushed for the title's creation.”
“In the end no one truly judged the noble for the poisoning.” the Mage said. “Many of them had participated in similar schemes. Often for much less reward. But there is this....veneer that hangs over noble society like a cloud. That any act is permissible so long as you do it quietly. Without making a fuss. The poisoning was public. The scheme was sloppy. And so the nobles all gathered to click their tongues and make a scene about how horrified they all were by the betrayal.”
“Politics is nine parts performance to one part leadership.” Melat agreed, nodding his head. “That's true in every part of the Green. From the city center to the scavenger trails.”
“So in the end dozens of young sword masters declared that the dead sister was their sworn friend for life and challenge our would be slipper holder to a parade of duels.” Nickolas continued. “She died on the second, after getting lucky with the first. Her family was duly shamed until the next scandal hit and they could quietly slip back into the great game.”
“There are many lessons of the tale.” the Mage opined as he finished the last touches on the circle of runes. “But the one I learned first is that nobles will kill each other given the slightest incentive. Family, strangers, whoever. They delight in ending each others lives. Stepping into their courts was no different from stepping into the den of a blood crazed beast. Well, perhaps a little different. The beast wouldn't try to convince you it's in your best interest to jump into it's mouth first.”
“There are a few.” Melat corrected with a sagely tone. “But I take your meaning. Honestly these heartlands sound quite horrid. Why did you bother going?”
“Needed a wife. Preferably one that was politically useful.” Nickolas said casually as he started pushing magic into the feeder rune. “Blightstone is...not fully self sufficient. We have decent mines, we're hardly poor, but we're reliant on trade for so much else. Upkeep on the fortresses isn't cheap. A noble in the heartlands, preferably a trade kingdom could go a long way to improving our ledger.”
“My mother and father agreed for once.” he said, shaking his hand as the last of the circle filled. “She saw the wonderful trade possibilities, he saw something safer than the fortress. A place no beast had touched in generations. He always took the flowery stories the nobility cloak themselves in as, well, true.”
Nickolas took a deep breath, then pushed himself back. The shift caused the crate under his legs to topple to the floor, yet he remained suspended in the air. Slowly, carefully, he stretched himself out until he was resting a stride below the ceiling with his hands behind his head.
“I decided that spending the rest of my life dodging the plots of insane morons was beneath a man of my skills.” the Mage said with a grin as his body wobbled in the air. “So I chose to throw myself to your Hunters instead. I'm hoping to find a place of....respect I suppose. Or at least somewhere I can eat without worrying the server was poisoning me for a deranged plot.”
“So instead you chose our humble city hm?” the older man chuckled. “I suppose I can't blame you, if these nobles really are that bad. A good orc woman is. Well, at least they aren't devious schemers. They tend to leave that for us.”
Nickolas glanced down, his body jerking slightly as it tried to adjust to being held by pure magical force.
“I...had not heard of any serious scheming in the city.” the Mage admitted. “But I've only been here less than a day. I assume that's why I'm here instead of the main house?”
“No. No.” Melat scoffed. “Nothing that serious. My daughter just wanted a place to stash you while she deals with the aftermath of bonding without her mother's permission. That, and I suspect she believed this would be a quiet place for bedroom activities between you two.”
“It's not?” Nickolas asked with raised eyebrows.
The craftsman sighed deeply.
“If you wish.” he said with a hint of amusement. “So long as it doesn't interrupt my work. I...I don't want you to get the wrong impression. Knowing you understood what you were getting into with my daughter is a relief. I was going to offer to help you break the bond, and I still will if you don't think she'll give you what you need. Regardless of that barbaric ritual you can find a home in the city I expect. You wouldn't be the first man to avoid bonding for freedom. Not even the first human.”
Nickolas narrowed his eyes, finally getting comfortable on the magical hammock.
“How many unbonded are in the city?” he asked cautiously.
“Twenty by last count.” Melat said, pulling up a chair. “That's humans of course. The lodges and circles have scores of Mages and Wise Men who refused a bond. Each clan has a few circles primarily run by unbonded.”
Stolen novel; please report.
And so we arrive at the group most likely to be suppressing human magic in the city. Nikcolas thought. I heard of their circles before but I assumed it was less formal. I'll need to talk to them. Assuming they don't find me first.
He stretched out, trying to relax as he stared at the dusty ceiling.
At least my father in law is willing the share information. he considered. I can use him to fill in the blanks from what I learned from Necun. And with her at my back I shouldn't have too much trouble poking around the other parts of the city. Well. After the murders stop anyway. But that shouldn't take too long with Necun on the hunt.
---------------------------------------------
Necun had no idea how to conduct an investigation.
The bodies had already been taken away, returned to the Giants. That left her to examine the sites of the attacks along with the best sketch of the original scene the first responders could manage. Apparently one of them was bonded to a decent artist who had captured the whole scene in charcoal from several angles.
The latest killing was discovered that morning. The small room still stank of blood. It was a space built to house tools. Farming implements mostly. Rented by a merchant who rented them to local farmers who needed spares while their own were damaged or lost. Everything still remained, though many of the implements had fallen to the ground in whatever scuffle occurred.
Put in plain charcoal the scene looked almost poetic. Necun noted not much attention was paid to the body, likely due to the artist avoiding looking too close. The silhouette way laying on its side. Tools scattered around, but one, a shovel, was clutched in the farmer's hand.
It wasn't difficult to place where the body had fallen, the blood soaked earth had a lighter patch in the center.
The shovel also remained behind, the tip crusted with dark blood. Not the victim's, or so the Chief's enforcers hoped.
On her arm the knife's sheath itched.
Her first hope was the blood belonged to some beast. Something capable of slipping into the city and smart enough to keep itself hidden. That hope was dashed once she learned the wounds resembled knife strikes. Combined with the confirmation that the body had no bite wounds, no sign of feeding, meant that this was a murder. The trouble was there was no obvious motive. The victim was a simple farmer of clan RazorRiver, no enemies, no serious debts. The previous victims were similar, barring a few exceptions. One had substantial debts to a gambling house, the other had a feud with another household. No connection between the two. Not even a sign that the victims knew each other, despite living in the same section of housing.
By all appearances these were murders of convenience. The thought chilled Necun's blood.
One of the other investigators milling about approached Necun.
“See anything new?” the woman asked.
Necun glanced around the cramped space once again.
“Nothing.” she admitted. “They came in through the only door. Killed her fast. Quick enough she couldn't have used her aura for much, but slow enough she swung the shovel. Our...killer will have wound so we might be able to identify them by that. Can't be many women who have a shovel shaped slash mark.”
“More than you'd think.” the investigator corrected. “But few enough recent ones it should be damning if we can catch them. We already sent word to the healing circles in case they were foolish enough to seek them out for treatment.”
The woman took a moment to adjust her hood.
“At least this rules out most Hunters.” she said. “The competent ones at least. No Hunter I know would be wounded by a surprised farmer.”
Necun grunted her agreement as she stooped to search the ground again. Whatever the motives and penchant for violence the attacker seemed untrained. The description of the body portrayed a wild ambush filled with passion, not a carefully planned assassination.
The targets had been women. All of whom were young workers, the majority unbound. None had significant combat experience. So far the violence had been contained within RazorRiver's clan housing, but this latest murder was closer to the edge of clan RedHand's part of the city then before. Any closer and they would have to bring their counterparts in RedHand into the investigation, something RazorRiver's leadership wanted to avoid.
It would be embarrassing to reveal RazorRiver was having trouble protecting their own people.
“Why am I even here?” Necun lamented to the older woman. “I'm just treading old ground here. I'm tired, hungry, and my bond is waiting for me. You've all been working hard on this for days.”
“The Chief wanted you involved.” the investigator admitted with a shrug. “We got word the same time you did I expect.”
The woman glanced at her peers, who were leaving to search the outside of the shed once more.
“In truth, I have possible reason. More of a rumor about why the Chief wanted you here.” she added with a whisper.
After a moments hesitation Necun leaned in.
“I suspect someone is cleaning up certain scenes.” the investigator continued, eyes set on the doorway. “Nothing obvious, but some...irregularities have occurred. Footprints swept away. Trinkets moved. Might be carelessness or even an accident. Still, it makes an old woman wonder.”
“You think the killer might be one of us.” Necun whispered back, eyes narrowing. “An investigator, or someone else with access.”
“I think the thought may have crossed the Chief's mind.” the woman responded conspiratorially. “Hence, throwing you into the mix. She knows you're not involved. A fresh knife in her belt.”
The woman slapped Necun on the shoulder.
“So don't worry too much about the investigation.” she concluded. “Keep your eye on the investigators.”
With her peace spoken the woman strode off to join her peers, leaving the Hunter alone in the stinking shed.
A touch hard when the people I'm meant to watch already know that's why I'm here. Necun thought, chewing her lip.
The young Hunter was under no illusion that her deductive skills were far behind any investigator in the clan's ranks. The others will have come to similar conclusions to the woman who laid out the Chief's intentions. Even the dimmer ones would catch on when their fellows started to gossip. That made even her nominal use as an outsider limited.
Which the Chief would know before she sent me. Necun concluded. So once again, why am I here? To keep any possible traitor honest while they close in on the killer? No, there are plenty of other women she could call on who aren't involved. The only advantage I have is that.....
Necun switched to a new line of thinking.
I'm trustworthy. Not because I was away for the murders, but because the Chief knows no one but her and mother is whispering in my ear. the Hunter realized. Add in that I'm guaranteed to be clean...I'm not here to find the killer, I'm here as a future witness.
A witness for what? Necun had little idea, only that her house-mother would be relying on the fact she couldn't have been involved with the initial string of murders. It couldn't be the council, which was fast approaching as the sun set. She had been in the city for far too short of time to be useful for that.
Letting out a low hissing breath she rested her hand against the wall. The skin still tingled slightly where it had rubbed raw fleeing the swarm Matriarch with Nickolas. The feeling came and went ever since she healed the wound with a burst of aura. The Hunter began to suspect it was an after effect of her aura settling soon after.
A shadow moved to cut off the remaining light in the small room. Just as Necun opened her eyes a voice crashed against her ears.
“There you are.” her mother said with a voice like scraping iron on stone. “I thought Insi must have been mistaken. You're meant to be guarding the caravan.”
Necun straightened up, dropping her hand to her side as the exhaustion flowed out of her body, replaced by growing dread. The temptation to pulse her aura was barely pushed down as her mother stalked up to her.
Her whole life Necun had to crane her neck to speak to her mother. That hadn't changed in the time she had been gone.
Necun had never seen the woman leave the house without her armor, regardless of the destination. This evening was no exception. The black scales shimmered in the half shadows of the dim room, masking her large form. She eshewed the normal axe's for a pair of long blades at each hip, similar to human made swords. Her long red hair, almost the vibrant colour of Necun's own braid, was pinned back in a conservative style with several iron pins holding it in place.
Stopping just short of Necun she absentmindedly fingered the pommel of her blade. Her lightly coloured eyes bore into her daughter, searching for a hint that would answer her questions or betray some secret.
Staring up into her mother's eyes Necun felt an icy calm wash over her, the moment of childish fear passing as she collected herself for what was coming.
“So what are you doing here daughter?” the old Hunter asked. “I assume your presence among the Chief's agents means you have not dishonored yourself. But any trial that took you so far should see you resting at home. Not here.”
“The Chief wanted me to take part in this.” Necun replied, rolling her shoulder absentmindedly. “My return is a long story, better told at tonight's council. The Chief wants you there anyway.”
“Hah!” her mother snorted. “And why is that? So I can report there's nothing to report? Settle the nerves of some elders quaking in their chairs? We're working on the problem. I've got every reliable woman we have, and a few layabouts, searching for any hint of this rotspawn. We'll find them, provided we have the freedom to hunt properly, and the clan's support.”
“And I'm sure that's why the Chief needed me to tell you to come.” Necun replied, already cursing herself for using a sarcastic tone. “Because you're working so well with clan leadership.”
Necun's mother blinked down, taken slightly aback.
“That's a bit more bite than I remember.” she growled, seeming amused.
Stepping back, the old Hunter sized her daughter up again. Her aura flashed, a brilliant green in the dim space, and Necun's own aura pulsed back red in response.
“You've settled!” her mother exclaimed. “I had no idea you were so far along! Well that calls for celebration at least. I'll take time off to- well no we have the council meeting tonight. Tomorrow then.”
A powerful hand patted Necun's shoulder.
“Once this business is finished I'll take you out for a good hunt.” she continued. “I know a great spot I've been saving. A nook just past that new river. You'll love it. And if we find something good who knows? Maybe you'll finally get the attention of a boy worth your time?”
Necun cringed at the last words, despite trying reign in her reaction to the questions she knew were coming.
“Oh don't give me that.” the old Hunter growled softly. “You're a grown woman. You shouldn't be this afraid of bonding. At least try. You can't stay in our household forever, you need to start forming your own. Why don't we-”
“Is this really the time for that mother?” Necun interrupted. “We both have duties to perform, and a council meeting tonight. We can discuss this later, with father, if you really feel the need.”
Deep down she felt the shame of not mentioning Nickolas. Not sticking the love she found in her mother's face. She knew it was pointless, her mother would learn of him when news spread, at the council meeting at the latest. In her chest her heart began to hammer.
Whatever her mother's response was, it ended up drowned out by the overwhelming toll of the city bells. The women stood in silence as the walls around them shook slightly from the titanic noise the crashing bells made as they signaled the end of the working day. After twelve long rings the bells fell silent.
“Fine.” her mother relented. “We'll discuss this in the morning with your father. I'll free up some time. But I'm not letting this go Necun, and your father won't be on your side when he realizes all the other Hunter's are taking all the sweet boys he approves of.”
Without waiting for a reply her mother turned and stalked away, her mother always stalked whenever she knew someone was looking.
When she was out of sight Necun slumped back against a rack of tools and let out a shaking breath.
All thoughts of the murder, or the reason behind her placement amongst the investigation were dashed as her mind reeled about how to explain the full situation with Nickolas to her mother later. The answers she came to were bleak. The only relief was the other investigators went home instead of checking on her as her breath grew labored.
At the edge of her vision, darkness crept in.
By the time she made it back to her father's workshop the night bell was tolling.
---------------------------------------
When the bell rang to welcome the night, and the lanterns outside were lit along the major through-ways Nickolas was organizing bolts of cloth. Though the house of his father in law looked like a disaster at first glance the majority of the mess was comprised of stackable materials. In addition the various crates, stretched leather, and cloth could be shoved in a corner under the weight of it's fellows for a hundred days without serious damage.
This made the situation salvageable, and although he would be using his magical hammock for a few nights the Mage was confident that he could forge a usable set of spaces in the workshop without discarding anything important. He would just have to stack everything literally floor to ceiling to do it.
The activity would be exceedingly dangerous if he wasn't shamelessly using magic to accomplish the feat. This also prevented a rather heavy bolt of cloth from smashing his skull open when the front door was suddenly and loudly kicked in by his wife.
Nickolas shared a look with Melat, who was busy feathering a headdress. The Mage nodded towards the doorway as Necun entered, looking exhausted. With a deep sigh the orc costumer nodded back, rising to greet his daughter with an embarrassed look on his face.
“Necun.” he said softly, approaching his daughter. “We should talk about earlier.”
The Hunter glanced down at her father, then at Nickolas. The Mage bit his tongue, glancing back to shelve the clothe atop it's brethren so he could drop the lifting spell. As soon as it was safe he rushed over to his wife, awkwardly squeezing past his father in law in the corridor they had blazed to the guest room.
Necun's eyes were puffy, and bore a haunted look.
“Can we talk later dad?” Necun said with a voice like brittle ice. “I need to talk to Nickolas for a bit before the council tonight.”
“I-” Melat began, but paused as he caught Nickolas's look. “Yes. I suppose it can wait.”
There was a short pause as his father in law stared at the beam behind his daughter while chewing his lower lip.
“I will just mention that after a long talk with your bond I'm not going to scold you about the tithe.” he eventually stated, returning his eyes to his daughter. “Whatever my views on the tithe itself what you and Nickolas have is...nothing to be ashamed of. You're my daughter. You've done nothing to change that, and I should have gotten the full story before I lambasted you. I'm sorry.”
Both father and daughter let out short breaths, Necun's more shuddering. The sound made Nickolas's chest ache.
“Also we cleared the guest room slightly so you'll have somewhere to sleep.” Melat cheerfully tacked on to the end. “Only room for one but your clever bond already came up with a solution for that. You should be proud. I know I'm impressed.”
With that the costumer gave a slight nod and smile to Nickolas before hastily retreating past the Mage to his workshop and closing the door.
Necun sagged, and after a brief hesitation Nickolas was at her side, propping her up.
“How soon is the council?” Nickolas asked softly. “Is there enough time for you to rest?”
His wife grunted which he took as confirmation as he maneuvered her towards the guest bed. The mattress was half covered with leather samples, but there was just enough space for the Hunter to lie down if she curled up a bit.
“You kept your armor?” Nickolas asked once Necun was settled.
“No time to fix it.” Necun murmured, eyes shut. “Need it for tonight anyway.”
“Do you? Can't you pick up a robe and let someone work on it for a few days?” Nickolas pressed.
He couldn't quite catch the murmured response.
Running a few fingers over her brow, pushing back a few stray hairs, he studied his wife's face. She had been crying, which combined with days of exhaustion from their violence fraught journey to the city left her face strained with puffy eyes. The last traces of wetness from unwiped tears stained her neck.
As his fingers traced her brow she visibly relaxed. Nickolas smiled at the sight, and bent over to kiss her gently on the crown of her head.
“I'll wake you up when it's time to leave.” he whispered at his wife's ear. “You can tell me everything you need to then.”
Nickolas took a moment to disarm the Hunter, removing the various weapons and placing them within arms reach on the old floorboards. Satisfied Necun wouldn't stab herself in her sleep, Nickolas pulled a knitted blanket over her body, and pushed the faded feather stuffed pillow under her head.
As he left the guest room Nickolas spotted Melat peaking out of his workshop. Nickolas approached, pushing the door open gently to prevent noise. His father in law backed up to create room in the cramped space as the Mage entered, closing the door just as carefully.
“It would seem we need to talk about family matters.” Nickolas said, his voice going cold.