Twenty-three

Kwes had laughed at Syreilla’s consternation on finding the priest’s things missing from The Hollow Jester. The dwarf had gone back to the awful little place and collected them telling the innkeep to deliver the message of where he’d gone to Lady Rook. Even so, she really should have expected anything left there to have been stolen. He was still laughing to himself occasionally, remembering her face.

“It wasn’t that funny, Magpie.” She gave him a sourly chagrined look and he grinned at her.

“It was, Lady Rook. How much dust have you gotten on your feathers? Even you can’t expect to leave things lying in the open in a place like that and expect them to be there when you return.”

“I won’t forget again.” She gestured with her chin toward the door of The Bent Elf as they approached it. “Why are we here?”

“This is where I stay. I have a few things to collect and you can both come in, bathe, and rest in comfortable beds if you’d like. I’ll have clothes found for you both.”

“I have clothes, but Cyran needs something.” 

She’d stopped outside of the door, hesitating to go in and the priest stood next to her with a very similar expression of disapproval on his face.

“No one will bother you if you don’t wish to be bothered.” He grinned at them, “If you do wish to be bothered that can be arranged.”

“I could not understand why any divinity would choose to stay in that dirty inn, Lady Rook, but this…” 

“Believe me, cousin, this isn’t my idea of ideal either, but you do need a bath and you can’t walk around in blood soaked clothes. I’ll guard the door for you and if anyone bothers either of us they’ll wish they’d never heard of a brothel much less gone into one.”

Cyran smiled faintly. “I thank you.”

With a sigh, Kwes headed in to find Amtalia. The dainty half-elf was taking money from a well dressed man and sending him with one of the girls. “My dove…” He beamed as he kissed her hands. “I have some guests-”

“And you want me to see to them personally?” She arched a brow and smirked at him.

“I want you to see to it that they aren’t bothered at all.” He glanced behind him and saw the two making their way in as cautiously as if they expected to be attacked. “No one is going to bite you, you have to pay for that here.” He laughed at Syreilla’s annoyed expression.

“If I want to be bitten I have a dragon at home to do it.” She eyed the furnishings with distaste. “You like things so gaudy, Magpie?”

“Magpie?” Amtalia looked at him with amusement, “The name suits you, Kwes.”

“Amtalia, my dove, let me introduce you to the Rook-”

“Lady Rook.” Cyran corrected him sharply.

“It’s fine, cousin. I’m used to being called the Rook.” She placed a hand on the priest’s shoulder with a smile. “It was sweet though, thanks.”

“I don’t understand.” Amtalia gave him a frown that said odd people were trouble, “Is she a Lady or-”

“She’s a goddess.” Kwes shrugged, “And this is Cyran, a priest. He was one of the White Hands and is apparently a demi-god of sorts.”

“Is one of the White Hands.” Syreilla corrected him. “He’s mine for the moment but that doesn’t change what he is. And he’ll claim his father when he’s ready to, don’t press him to be more before then.”

The man looked relieved, “Thank you, Lady Rook.”

“I’d like for you to see them bathed and he needs fresh clothes. No one is to bother them.”

Pinching the bridge of her delicate nose for a moment, Amtalia sighed. “I’ll see they get baths and fresh clothes. May I speak to you privately?”

“I’ll be in my rooms. You can have them brought there when they’re finished.” Kwes left them in the Madame’s capable hands and went down to his private chambers. He needed a bath himself and wherever they would be going there would probably be theft involved. Working clothes, tools, traveling supplies, all of those things were safely stowed and needed to be gathered.

As he ran the water for his bath into his small private tub, he considered how much money he might need to take to buy Syreilla’s Eye from the dwarves… Or perhaps Syreilla the Rook could claim it and he could ask her for it as payment when she’d finished whatever mischief she was planning. He’d help her rob every temple standing for that circlet, possibly burn them too if it came to it.

It would have helped him avoid being taken by surprise. Kwes stripped and climbed into the water, groaning at the feeling of hot water on his skin. Being shoved under the floor of the assassin’s house hadn’t been pleasant and he was still mulling over some of the things that had occurred to him.

“Kwes?” Amtalia came in and shook her head at the sight of him in his tub. “You could have used the larger bath too. They’re insisting on bathing separately.” 

“Rook is guarding the door for him. He won’t need to do the same for her, anyone who disturbs her will wish he’d never heard of this place.”

“Who is she? You can’t be serious when you say she’s a goddess. I know the White Hands by reputation they-”

“I was told not to use the names of the gods for the moment or else they’d pay me too much attention, Amtalia, so let me try to get through this with a little vagueness. You know who the White Hands serve, yes?”

“Of course.” 

“Cyran is the son of that god with a human woman. He wanted a priest with gifts because his brother, the god of thieves and poets, has had a few children lately. One of them was my sister, Syreilla Acharnion.” He paused and Amtalia nodded slowly. “She was split in two by a goddess into a mortal woman, Syreilla Hammersworn, and the divine part, a goddess, the Golden Rook.”

The half-elf’s eyes widened as she grasped his words, “Upstairs, guarding our bath, is…” 

“The Golden Rook. You’ll probably feel like you’re going mad around her, it’s apparently something that happens. She’s got a temper worse than Hammersworn’s and I’m going to be helping her with a few thefts. Apparently she stole something from Death and needs to collect a few things here in the land of the living to reclaim it.”

Amtalia’s mouth dropped open and she sat heavily in the nearest chair, on top of his fresh clothes.

“It’s best if no one bothers them. Today alone I’ve seen that blood drenched priest shrouded in white flame wield a flaming sword to kill someone who attacked us. And the Golden Rook…” Kwes took a breath and breathed out a laugh remembering the stories she'd told, “Lost her temper and burned the Temple of Im-of the one she’s borrowed the White Hand from to the ground with dragon’s fire. After she dragged a mage bodily to death’s doorstep and kicked him over the threshold. Alive.”

Wiping her brow Amtalia nodded again, “I’ll-I’ll make certain no one goes near them.”

“I’ll be leaving with them as soon as they’re ready. I hope they want to rest a bit first…” He groaned again and stretched in the water. “I haven’t had a good couple of days.”

“I’ll have a few of the girls get the rooms next to yours ready in case they want to rest.”

“Perfect, my dove.”