Forty-five

“No. If my armor cannot fit beneath it-” Cyran scowled as the half-elf threw his hands up and pulled the tailor away to speak to the man.

If he had been with Syreilla it might be different. He’d been told to obey her and anything he did in her service would be forgiven, but he didn’t feel comfortable obeying Kwes and now that it had come to it… Now that he’d been told to do something against his beliefs, to steal from a temple… It was unconscionable. 

The tailor came back and took measurements over his armor. As the man stepped away, Kwes gave him an annoyed look, “He’ll find something loose and not as fine as I had hoped for, cousin. You’ll be passing as my bodyguard and not as a man of wealth. Try to control your temper if people treat you as a servant.”

“Perhaps you should leave me behind, I don’t know that I can-”

The half-elf made a sharp gesture. “You’re coming with me and you don’t want to disappoint, Syreilla. She was going to let you stay behind and you insisted on coming. This is important.”

He inclined his head hesitantly. It wasn’t as if he were doing the thieving… Even trying to convince himself he couldn’t. Cyran rubbed his face and tried to think of what he could do that wouldn’t endanger Syreilla or Kwes but would prevent the theft.

“Why don’t you go have a seat, cousin.” Kwes put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him with concern. “You look tired.”

There was a chair among the bolts of fabric, nearly hidden. Cyran went to it and gave his cousin a nod before putting his head in his hands. Closing his eyes he mouthed a silent prayer asking for forgiveness and asking if Imos was certain he should assist his cousins. He felt no answering surety and frowned before offering a prayer to Eludora apologizing and explaining that he didn’t want his cousins harmed but he couldn’t allow her to be stolen from. He had tried to warn his father… 

A wave of pleasant warmth washed over him. He drew a deep breath feeling refreshed. They wouldn’t be harmed but they would be stopped.

“Cousin? Have you fallen asleep?” Kwes rested a hand on his shoulder. “He has some suitable tunics that were already partly made, they can be fitted to you and we can have them quickly. We’ll be paying more for them than we should but…”

“I’m awake.” He looked up with a small smile. “If I had any money I would help you pay for them.”

“I expect Syreilla to pay me back for it. Either with coin or by helping me with another job.” 

Cyran rose to allow the tailor to do his work but before the man could finish pinning the unfinished tunic two guardsmen with polished silver breastplates entered the shop.

“We are here to escort Kwes, son of Odos, and Cyran of the White Hands to their lodgings.” 

The one looking at Kwes put his hand on his sword. “You won’t need the new clothes.”

“We intend to stay at-”

“You’ll stay where we put you.” The first who had spoken smiled grimly. “There are more of us outside. Where is Syreilla the Rook?”

“I couldn’t tell you if I wanted to.” Kwes put on a grin that made him resemble Syreilla, “And I wouldn't if I could.”

“We’ll see.” 

The garment was removed and they allowed him to pull on his soap filled jacket once more before they were escorted out.