Melat stared down at the mask he was carving. To the side a tarnished steel bowl smoldered with glowing embers. The costumer dipped a rod into the coals, letting it grow hot before pressing it into the freshly carved groove. Long years of terrible smells had blunted any reaction to the scent of boiling sap. The smell merely joined the hundreds of others that clouded Melat's workspace.

Everything was quiet again, which normally would help his concentration. Yet the reason for the lack of noise in the workshop always seemed to drag his mind away.

His little girl was off living with a man. A human at that.

Such things were tolerable when they were staying under his roof. If anything his daughter's presence for so many days in a row was a wonderful opportunity. Melat may wish that he could spend time with his child without her being grievously injured first, but he would make do what time he could get.

Costume orders had fallen to the wayside as he cracked open his best teas. He had even taken Nickolas to the side to teach him a few of Necun's favorite meals.

Learning that the golden haired man had never cooked before had been a shock.

What was that boy doing all day? he wondered. Magic is hard, but not that time consuming. Was it all parties? Is he that used to being served that he never bothered to learn how to care for a household?

Melat knew that it was no longer his business. Necun and her bond were out of his workshop, off to their own house. As far as the clan was concerned she was a separate household now.

It didn't stop the anxiety from eating it's way through his chest.

The costumer hefted the mask in front of him, examining it in the dim light. It was a fierce looking maw, designed to elicit the terrible fear of an ambush predator. Something for the heroic lead to fight, proving her bravery against the dark, whether or not she succeeded in actually killing the beast.

Facing your fears on the stage always looked so easy.

There was a knock at the door, four rapping blows, far too hard.

Senta.

Melat spent a moment to put away the more volatile elements of his craft. He didn't want to be responsible for another fire, even if the last one had been more embarrassing than harmful.

For all her usual impatience his bond waited for him to arrive. The way to the door needed to be cleared, but when he finally swung it open he found her looming.

She had done much the same in their youth. The sight still caused a hitch in his breath all this time later.

“I'll get the tea on.” he said, returning to the main room.

It was the best place to receive people now that Nickolas had cleaned it up a bit.

Senta followed without a word, and when he returned with the tea she was already sitting cross legged on the floor. After passing her cup over he settled next to her. An arm went around his shoulders to bring him closer.

They waited there for a while, stewing in the warm silence. Melat touched his own steaming cup to his lips, it tasted fruitier than he liked, but he knew Senta couldn't drink the sweeter teas around the Chief.

“She formed her house.” the elder Hunter growled. “Took the boy to the fourth level. Had one of my women swing by. Sixth floor.”

“Not third?” he asked, surprised.

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“Maybe the prince wanted something taller?” she shrugged. “Doesn't matter. It's a silly thing to be worried over. I'm more concerned about her wounds.”

“The healers said she'll be fine after a long rest.” Melat assured. “It will give them both some time alone too. She's earned that.”

“Should have stayed with you until she rested. Assuming she needed it at all.” Senta said. “Now it looks like our daughter is ignoring her duties to play with her exotic bond. The rumors will go wild.”

“You're pushing her too hard.” he shot back. “She needs rest. Time to enjoy herself. She's still too young for leadership anyway. Let her build up her own reputation if that's what she wants.”

His bond pulled his shoulder, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“They already have eyes on her.” she hissed. “If she was just another house-daughter of the Chief she could relax. Now she's brought the Warden's son back in her arms. That brings attention, and not the kind that will look kindly on half measures.”

“I don't care about rumors.” Senta told him seriously. “I care about Hunters seeing weakness. RazorRiver already look like it's limping, those rot brained traitors made sure of that. Necun bonding to a soft human Prince will be just another stone on a creaking cart.”

“The boy isn't soft.” he said, mildly surprised by the fierceness of his feelings about the human. “For all of his strangeness he isn't that. He even came here by his own choice. Can you imagine some pampered Prince choosing the Green? Choosing an honorable woman?”

“He threw himself into the tithe because he wanted some excitement, or maybe realized any Hunter would be four times the woman any human warrior could manage to be.” Senta scoffed. “Then our daughter snatched him without thinking of the consequences, as usual. Fine. That can be handled. But only if things are calm, normal. Not when we're in crisis.”

Melat's mind reeled.

“You didn't catch the traitors?” he asked, horrified.

The assumption that the fools had all been disposed of had been firm. Both in his own mind and what he heard in every conversation at market. The trust in the Hunters was absolute, even if the traitors were more numerous than anyone expected.

“Most of them.” Senta said, eyes narrowing. “Nearly every auraless coward who mattered. That's not the problem, we could deal with the stragglers even if the rot stained fools started recruiting under our noses.”

The tall Hunter slumped at his side.

“They spread something in the lower levels.” she seethed. “Dangerous ideas. Convincing women who have no business in the Green that we're holding them back somehow. Women who weren't even traitors are talking. Some of my women are getting pushback over the smallest things. It's madness.”

“Some clanless are talking about splitting off?” Melat asked.

It wouldn't be the first time. Melat had seen a dozen different branches of Questors running off in pursuit of something or other. Two different clans as well, or at least attempts. Neither clan had been in contact for cycles, assumed dead.

“No. They don't know what they want, only that they're not happy now.” Senta stood as she continued to rant. “The traitors didn't want to just be in charge, they wanted to burn down everything, take us back to the old ways with no plan other than ruling over the smoldering heap. No smiths or laborers, every house for itself.”

“Why would anyone fight for that?” the costumer asked with dawning horror. “Throw away their lives so readily?”

I can think of a few. Melat thought, grimly answering his own question. More than one woman believed they were robbed during the trials, or that their daughter should become a Hunter based on parentage instead of skill. Is she really surprised the traitors found fertile ground amongst women who toil in waste for a living?

“This city has enough ungrateful or delusional woman to burn us down a hundred times over.” Senta growled. “And now they've seen how to do it, if not the groundwork, the metheods. The next Questor with a glint of madness will gather a band of murderers in half the time.”

Melat had his qualms with RazorRiver's enforcers, but he still shuddered at the thought.

“The Chief doesn't see it.” the Hunter said, dropping back to her bond's side. “She assumes it will quiet down once rot season has passed and we have a wave of new recruits. It won't. This is going to get worse before it gets better. She's just too consumed by her plans to see it.”

Without any more words of comfort Melat settled for laying his head on his wife's shoulder.

“And that.” Senta said, voice smoothing. “Is why I need perfection from our daughter right now, more than ever. Running around with her human makes us look weak. She's the darling of the Chief's house, there will be more eyes on her than ever.”

“She's spending more time with her beloved.” Melat responded. “Any woman can understand that. You're overthinking this. She'll be there when you need her.”

Once Nickolas has time to build a foundation for her. he hoped.

“Then she should have known better than to form her house.” Senta said. “She chose to be an adult, accepting adult responsibilities to her clan. And only then did she run off with her Prince.”

And you don't understand, because you spent our first cycle together leading a pod. Melat thought, surprised at how fresh the bitterness felt after so much time. You only came back to spend real time with me when you decided you were ready for Necun to be born, and if I didn't know better I would think you regretted that too.

It was an old fight. Too many words said and unsaid. The costumer kept the words from escaping once more.

“Regardless. It would be a worse image to be seen dragging her back now.” he said instead. “If the Chief really needs her she will call. When the caravan returns she'll be more involved. She'll need to be if her bond wishes to distribute his gifts.”

“One of the few reasons I'm holding my tongue outside of these walls.” Senta admitted. “The Prince best make all this worthwhile for the clan.”

Melat knew in his heart that his bond's hint of a threat was just an empty barb. It still hurt to hear it used against the boy he was starting to think of as a son.

“He's not a man of fruitless words.” he said. “But we will see in time.”

Senta's back heaved as she released a gout of breath. Her aura, just barely perceptible, settled along with the worst of her vented emotions. Melat's heart quieted with it.

“Finish your tea.” the costumer said gently. “Can you stay for long? Long enough for a massage?”

“I can make time.” his bond replied with a far mellower grumble. “If it's for you.”