Should I bring a gift?

It occurs to me that despite having no violent intentions toward these estrazi, a human, their age-old enemy, intruding on a secret rendezvous and demanding they surrender might not be taken well. I refuse to bring Lancecain, both to avoid the odd chance they have a plan for such and because I’m not entirely convinced something doesn’t have its fingers in his head. It’s not hard to imagine that Little Water is tense at the moment, easily provoked into something stupid. It is up to me save her from herself and while I’m normally confident in my charms towards the fairer sex, I have doubts as to how effective they’ll be wielded against a woman whom the word reptilian is not an insult, but a wholly accurate descriptor.

Hence, thoughts of a gift. Would a lizard that grew up in the freezing north appreciate something colorfully mundane like a bouquet of flowers? A bottle of Herbanacle? Or maybe something like a nice, juicy rat. That’s what lizards eat, right? Or is that just snakes?

“I really think it’s best that I come with you.”

“And I think it’s best that you wait here quietly,” I tell Lancecain as I scour through the dresser, looking for a suitable outfit. If I’m trying to make an impression, a simple shirt and pants won’t do. Though nothing too formal either. Aside from not wanting our first meeting to be constrained by the expectations of social graces, I have my doubts on whether the estrazi would appreciate the gesture. I want to look good, maybe imposing, but not intimidating. Hmm.

“Little Water is a cautious woman—"

“Not that cautious.” She dared to sneak into an enemy kingdom after all.

“I’m afraid she won’t take kindly to being ambushed. Things will go much easier with me there to explain.”

“I think things will go just fine without you.” My frustration escapes me as a soft sigh as I close the drawers and look at him over my shoulder. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t want this meeting to happen at all.”

The saintly knight stiffens at my accusation but holds my gaze. “I want it to happen, was going to advocate for it myself as there’s no way we could sneak Khan out beneath your notice. I…just don’t want anything to go wrong. This feels very much like walking on ice. Everything’s solid but one wrong move and you’ll slip. Worse, step too hard and the ice will crack, dropping you into freezing waters.”

“Enough with the colorful analogies. Really, how can this go wrong?”

“You could end up offending her and causing a war between our races.”

“Starting? That war has been raging for five centuries already, hasn’t it?”

“I’ve been telling you—" He cuts himself off with a deep sigh. “I really think I should—"

[Lou.]

“Hold that thought, Lance.”

[I have something interesting for you. Trespassers with scales and tails.]

No. The estrazi? They’re here?

[Indeed.]

Oh ho. As expected of the daring woman willing to face an army to retrieve her lost love, she wasn’t content to wait for Lancecain to bring news. Come to snatch Khan herself, I suppose. Is she alone?

[Accompanied by nearly two dozen others.]

Then I don’t have to track down the rest of them. How lucky. Well, show them in.

[As you wish, my summoner.]

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Good news, Lance. You’ll be accompanying me to the meeting after all.”

“Really? Thank the ancestors. Lou, you won’t—wait.” His eyes narrow with suspicion as I move over to the full-length mirror besides the dresser. No time to change but I look fine, I suppose. It would be a trial to make this face and body look anything other than gorgeous really. “Forgive me, but you are not a generous woman.”

“Nothing to forgive. You’re quite right.”

“So why have you changed your mind?”

“It’s not that I’ve changed my mind but that someone else has changed the circumstances. Little Water is here. Seems a bit petty to keep you away when she’s gone through the effort of coming to us.”

“She’s here?! But why…”

I look over as he trails off, watching his face go through a myriad of expressions. Finally, his features settle on a sour frown, hurt evident in his eyes. I smother a chuckle at the sight. Is the young hero realizing that his lizard isn’t as taken with him as he is with her?

“Don’t be upset. She’s a headstrong woman, isn’t she? I’m sure she appreciates your goodwill, but I doubt she’s gotten this far sitting back and letting someone solve her problems for her.”

“…you sound as if you admire her.”

“Is she not admirable? I keep telling you, I have nothing but friendly intentions toward the wayward maiden in love. Come on.” I motion for him to follow me as I leave the bedroom. “Our guests are here.”

There is a veritable bounce to my steps as I walk toward the living room. Not that there is anything about this situation to be particularly joyful about. An estrazi leaving the north is bound to be the opening act in another tragedy, a problem that will no doubt find its way to my doorstep. My cheerful mood is a temporary thing, I’m sure. I’m choosing to invest all my attention into this Little Water’s epic tale of love and treachery to keep my mind away from the greater implications for as long as possible.

Given that I’m going to murder who knows how many innocent people in a few days, hopefully with the benefit of saving thousands more, I can’t be faulted for wanting to indulge in a little frivolity. To hold onto that last glorious night at our old home. Keep the party going, as it were.

With singing bards and childhood stories dominating my thoughts, I step into the welcoming room with a big smile. An interesting sight awaits me, a crowd of figures obscured by long, dark cloaks of varying shades, the oversized hoods obscuring their features. Off to the side are my succubi, Geneva in her usual guise and Fen having shrugged off her human pretenses, but I only spare them a fleeting glance. One figure commands my full attention.

She’s standing before the cloaked crowd, the proper place for a leader, with her head held high but the end of her tail lashing in what I can only interpret as anxious anticipation. She’s quite different from the estrazi that ambushed us in the north. Not quite as…beastly, I suppose. More human, though there is something predatory about her features.

Perhaps it’s the lack of a nose, though she does have two small nostrils, that makes her eyes and their slitted pupils look too large. Or her thin lips that fail to soften her angular face. Her silvery-blue complexion would be exotic if I weren’t used to casual shapeshifting but the pattern of scales over her cheeks and the sides of her face are certainly interesting. The small line of hair that follows the crown of her head is short but has a healthy sheen, speaking to efforts to maintain it. The same goes for her horns, polished to a gleam.

Overall, an exotic charm. I can see how she has two young men lusting after her, though poor Lancecain insists his interest is merely political, despite lacking in womanly charms. No chest to speak of but she does have noticeable hips. Probably to swing that girthy tail of hers. There’s a lot more behind her than my succubi’s whip-like appendages.

Is that what it is? Do Khan and Lancecain have a thing for tails? Saints, I hope it’s true. That’d be amazing.

“Interesting,” Geneva mutters but I ignore whatever scheme is no doubt brewing in that devious head of hers.

“Maybe my luck is turning around,” I say to the estrazi who is just as interested in me as I am in her. “I was just going to find you, lizard. I have so many questions.”

Maybe it’s her eyes that have enthralled the men of the north. They certainly are something. Blue, but incredibly pale. Almost clear. They remind me of ice. I’m happy to stare them, picking out the slightest variations in her irises, but she soon musters her voice. As expected of the heroic maiden.

“If this is meant to be a cordial meeting,” she says, her voice a pleasant rasp that hisses a little on certain letters, “then you should refrain from calling me lizard. Or do you not understand the insult implied if someone calls you an ape?”

I raise my hands playfully while I walk toward her. Reading her is strange but I can tell she stiffens with fright at my approach. I stop well enough away and hold out a hand. “Well, I do want this to be cordial and I think that starts with introductions. Lourianne Tome, no one who is rather quickly and against my own wishes becoming someone.”

That entrancing gaze moves down to my extended hand in clear hesitance, but she eventually grasps it, clawed fingers closing around my fingers and shaking it. “I am Little Water. No one who will become someone or die trying.”

My smile stretches wider. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”