Arc 1: Chapter 17: Night Visitor
Living on the road for weeks at a time, it is easy to forget how divine simple pleasures can be.
Even as I was given new clothes, allowed to bathe and shave, I did not forget that I intended to kill the man who offered these indulgences. I took no satisfaction in the thought, no irony. It only made me feel dirty, ill-at ease.
The Baron’s a madman and a murderer, I reminded myself. He’s trying to fashion himself into a nascent Dark Lord. This isn’t the time for misplaced honor.
As a distraction, I stared into the mirror in the comfortable chambers Priska had led me to. Like much in the castle, it was old, over-designed, and beautiful — a piece near half as tall as I was, its bronze border worked into the shapes of dozens of entwining serpents.
It had been a long time since I’d taken a good look at myself. I ran a hand along the freshly smoothed edges of my jaw, trying to remember the last time I’d made use of a razor. My own skin felt cool and unfamiliar.
I looked… not old, precisely. My skin was still smooth and my red-blond hair still untouched by any traces of silver. I looked ten years or more younger than I was, and would for decades yet — another of the Table’s blessings. No, it was something else that made me see age in that tired reflection. Myriad faint scars, a permanent furrowing in the center of my brow, a weary distance in my gold-flecked eyes.
I ran a hand along the scars crossing my left eye. They began just above the eyebrow, running over it and my temple at a sharp angle in four thin, long grooves. The marks ended below my cheekbone, a single line of scar nearly touching the corner of my lip. They were not so faded as my other scars, still dimly burning with a touch of red.
They never really had stopped burning.
I tore my eyes from my own tired image as a knock rapped against the door. I finished lacing the shirt I’d been provided along with the room — a dark green piece with roomy sleeves, comfortable if old fashioned — and cautiously approached the door. I listened, waiting for the telltale signs of heavy breathing, the creak of a great weight, or even a betraying stench. Anything to let me know if it was the ogre or something similarly dangerous on the other side.
Nothing of the sort. I spoke through the door. “What is it?”
The answer came without pause. “It’s me. Just wanted to check in on you.”