#my question is.... why did she leave after Imogen unmasked her?

[lesbianmaxevans]

Imogen vs Bloody Rose || Chapter 16: Hell House

[enchanted-prose]

#19 Gamble

“cat why are you posting everything right now?” 

because i have this finished and it’s not fair to my pals if i only have the whole thing published on one platform

Word count: 5,007

Characters: Jaron, Roden, King Oberson (original character), Ayvar (original character), Feall Cormeach (original character), Renlyn Karise (original character)

Notes: Feall’s man bun. that’s all

Enjoy!

It was almost sad, seeing the great hall devoid of the grandeur of Blackberry Night. Sadder still knowing that Renlyn Karise hadn’t been able to see the fruits of her labor. Jaron had no intention of shedding any tears. Today, Feall was declared recovered.

There were questions demanding answers, and Jaron was determined to get as many of them as he could.

He’d taken a morning climb down the castle wall to test his leg, and managed to avoid slipping. Mott wasn’t impressed and immediately escorted him back inside.

At least Jaron managed to get the climb in, if Mott had known sooner, Jaron was certain he would’ve been locked in his own office. He would’ve been forced to tend to the stack of papers on his desk he’d been avoiding since the Faola attacked him.

The Faola would’ve been a fool to stick around Drylliad. According to Roden, the Faola’s sleeves were split on both sides, marking him as a thief with no loyalties. 

Making him an easy target for everyone bigger than him.

Even if the sleeves were stitched, the slits would still be recognizable.

Jaron asked Roden multiple times if he’d seen the Faola darting around town, almost trying to find a reason to free Renlyn. The Faola was responsible for the attack, carried the name Mireldis Thay, and lusted for revenge with enough fury to commit treason. Renlyn, though passionate, carried a quiet fury. If the Faola made an appearance on the streets, Jaron would either have to let Renlyn go, or recognize that there were more people determined to slaughter Feall.

Everytime it seemed like the situation was clearing, Jaron found a flaw.

Tapping his fingers together, Jaron slipped past the columned corridor leading down to the great hall. 

Think, think, think.

Imogen would’ve told him to make a list, but he had no paper. He’d have to remember his list until he returned to his office. 

Feall didn’t recognize the Faola during that very first attack by a personal name, but by other aliases, and even then the Faola had been used as a name for the entire group rather than the individual. The attack only resulted in stolen goods, but no deaths. It took a note to Oberson requesting Feall be handed over to the Faola to bring the circle to Mireldis Thay. There was a second attack on Feall, and that was when Jaron took responsibility for finding the culprit. Jaron and Imogen realized that Jolly likely knew more than he let on, the third attack happened, and Renlyn was confined to her apartments.

It would be a busy day.

He needed to know if Roden had seen the Faola snatching loaves of bread to throw to the woman with no eyes in lower Drylliad.

He’d then know what to do with Ayvar.

And then he’d confront Feall.

Every word Feall said was honest, but that was the catch.

Each word he said didn’t equal everything that actually happened.

Jaron snatched a steaming iced bun from a passing plate, and shoved it into his mouth. The bun burned his tongue, but he continued chewing anyways. The sweetness justified the bun’s abuse.

Saints, he should’ve grabbed one for Roden.

There was a second captain’s quarters hidden near the back of Jaron’s throne. Roden rarely used it, and Jaron didn’t blame him. It was dusty and sneaky, meant to hide a bodyguard while the king sat upon the throne. However, Jaron still knocked on the door, just in case Roden was hiding inside.

No sign of any type of movement, not even from the few mice that managed to escape Imogen’s cat’s deadly claws.

He wiped his icing stained fingers on the leg of his trousers, and marched off to the kitchens.

No sign of Roden there either. Odd, considering that the kitchens were among Roden’s favorite places. He was the kitchen staff’s favorite and always managed to get his hands on a meal when he visited.

It was a cozy place. Drying herbs hung from the ceiling and a dome shaped oven crackled in the corner. Jaron glanced around, making sure nobody was looking at him, and snagged a vanilla bean from where it hung. A part of him wanted to know if it tasted as good as it smelled.

Previous experiences with biting into other drying herbs reminded him that it wasn’t worth it to bite into the bean.

He pocketed the dried vanilla, and spun on his heels to exit. The kitchen door slammed shut. Jaron glanced over his shoulder, grinning.  “I beat you to all of the iced buns, didn’t save a single one.”

“I got lemon tarts this morning, so I’m not too disappointed,” Roden snipped. He tugged at the sleeves of his dark shirt. “I’m sorry I wasn’t at my office, I woke up early and-“

“You don’t need to excuse yourself, I’m not mad. Although I will be mad if I don’t get the answer I want.”

“I’ll do my best to answer.”

His palms grew sweaty. It was wrong to hope for a specific answer, but Jaron couldn’t stop himself from wishing. He wanted to be right. He wanted to know that Renlyn wasn’t responsible for the various attacks. The more he wondered, the more his hopes grew.

“Have you seen our Faola friend around?” Jaron asked. He stepped out of the kitchens, knowing Roden would follow. “Any sign?”

Was it wrong how much his heart sped up?

Was it wrong that he wanted so badly to be wrong for the first time in ages?

Renlyn had been a friend to him and the others in her own way. Her biting words kept them dancing on their toes, and searching for ways to match her prowess.

It was hard to believe that somebody could smile and get excited about a hand carved wardrobe while plotting to behead another friend in her quiet moments.

“I’m sorry, Jaron,” Roden shook his head. “I haven’t seen any movement from the Faola, especially not after that night. I’ve seen the others, if that helps. They’re rallying behind a new face.”

 “Masked or unmasked?” said Jaron, forcing himself to laugh. 

He had no excuse to release Renlyn from her new prison.

“Unmasked, calls himself Ulspierre. He’s Ayvar’s brother. Very unsettling.”

Though now he had good reason to release a scarlet haired thief.

Jaron clasped his hands behind his back and paused. He’d walked a little too quickly, leaving Roden behind. “Thank you, I suppose, for telling me. It wasn’t what I wanted but I can’t control the truth.”

“What does it mean for Renlyn?” Roden asked. 

“She’ll remain in her chambers until we can get a genuine confirmation of her identity, and I’ll decide her fate from there.”

“There’s something not quite right about Renlyn, and I’m not sure why.”

Jaron pushed the door open to Ayvar’s tower room, bracing himself for the hundreds of spiraling steps before him. “Jolly was completely clear and completely misleading all at once.”

“Exactly,” Roden nodded. “I’ve been around Jolly for ages these past few weeks, and he’s really quite blunt when he wants to be. He’s never brought up Mireldis Thay around me.”

“Did you ever ask?”

“Well, no, I try to keep work and my friends separate.”

“But I’m your friend and I work with you,” Jaron paused on the stairs, heaving in a breath. “By the Saints, why did we have to put Ayvar in the tower?”

“Because she’s a woman and it’s not respectful to her to leave her in the dungeon with watery eyed criminals.”

“Have you been reading Amarinda’s romance novels again?”

“That was a one time thing, and the answer’s no.”

Ayvar’s tower room was hardly better than her cell in the dungeons. She had a cot, blanket, and clean water. Additionally, she was completely alone, save for the guard posted outside of her room.

“Good morning, I hope you didn’t try to use your hair as an escape rope,” Jaron said. “Hello? Ayvar?”

“Captain Harlowe?” The guard gripped his halberd like it was the only thing holding him together.

“I can answer questions too.”

“Your Majesty?”

The room was completely empty, and the sight of Ayvar’s folded blanket made Jaron’s rabbit heart begin to race. Did she die in the night?

Silenced to keep whatever song she sang under wraps?

“Where’s Ayvar?” Roden demanded. “There was a prisoner here, soldier, and you were under strict orders to never let her out of your sight!” “Sir, I, uh,” the guard bowed to Roden, realized his mistake, and then bowed to Jaron. “The prisoner was requested for an audience, King Oberson himself came to escort her to a private location.”

“Do you know where he’d be?” Jaron asked.

“No, sir, I’m sorry. Sir. But I know where the prisoner was taken; you’ll find her in Lord Feall’s chambers, supervised by two other guards. We made a promise not to let her out of the castle without your approval, sir.”

Roden groaned, “You were told not to let her out of the cell, actually.”

“It’s not like he could’ve said no to a king,” said Jaron. He suddenly had another reason to add to another list. “We needed to talk to Feall anyway.”

“But the stairs, Jaron, the stairs.”

“You need to work off those lemon tarts anyways, I knock two things out of my schedule and you don’t get soft in the middle. It’s a win-win situation!”

Although Jaron secretly dreaded the long descent down. 

If he forced a joke or two, he wouldn’t have to explain his frustrations. Explain how much he hated the idea of locking Renlyn in the dungeon because she didn’t have an alibi for the night he’d been attacked. 

Silence meant he could think.

He could paw through his list.

Feall didn’t know the Faola’s individual identity during the first attack. Jolly arrived in Drylliad for the festival. Oberson grew afraid because rumors spiraled about Mireldis Thay. A letter demanding Feall reached Oberson, confirming that Mireldis Thay was searching for Feall, or at least someone wearing her name was. The second attack on Feall. Regar’s arrival. Row’s pleas. The third attack. Renlyn’s arrest.

Regar’s arrival.

Jaron hobbled down the stairs as fast as he could, his leg beginning to scream. “I can’t go this fast!”

Roden thundered past, taking the steps by pairs rather than one at a time. “Sure you can, Jaron! Just admit that I’m faster than you!”

“That’s not fair!”

“Chicken!”

Feall’s chamber was on the opposite end of the castle, tucked several floors beneath Jaron’s office. Somebody was having a conversation behind Feall’s closed door.

“I went up and down the tower stairs looking for you Ayvar, so Feall, I’m sorry for not knocking,” Jaron said, pushing his way into the chamber. “Though ask my permission the next time you want to move a prisoner of the crown.”

The chamber was plain, a standard guest room. White painted walls, canopy bed, simple desk, fireplace. Although this room couldn’t be plain with Ayvar’s brilliant hair falling over her shoulders. She wore manacles, and was flanked by two guards. 

“Good morning, your Majesty,” Ayvar bowed. The chains on her wrists clinked together. “I’m sorry finding me was such a chore, but it seems that I don’t have that much control over what I get to do these days.”

“A price you have to pay for breaking the law,” Jaron countered. “It’s almost better that you’re here with Feall, I have important matters to discuss with you both.”

Feall was standing, the bandages around his torso visible through his linen shirt. His curling hair was tied in a bun at the apex of his head. He didn’t look like a liar. 

“I sent a page to request your presence,” Feall bowed. “But you were nowhere to be found and I needed to speak with Ayvar.”

“You should’ve waited for my permission.”

“The matter was urgent.”

“Explain the matter, then,” Roden growled. “You answer to Carthya’s king while you’re on Carthyan lands.”

The crisp morning became stale in an instant. Feall took a step back, while Roden casually set his hand on his sword. The hammering in Jaron’s ears was too loud. His heart raced and he didn’t know how to stop it.

Too many things could go wrong, too many things. Feall could attack him. He could kick at his bad leg and escape. Jaron had no idea what would happen if he received another blow to the leg. What he would-

He’d be alright. Roden was in the room with him. 

And besides, Jaron trusted Feall.

They were at least acquaintances. Possibly even friends.

“I wanted to apologize,” Feall winced as he stood a little straighter. “Ayvar tried to save me all those weeks ago, she’s been imprisoned for an unjust cause, and I felt like it rested on my shoulders.”

Jaron crossed his arms, “Ayvar, is this true?”

“I don’t see why I’d need to lie,” she said. “Lord Feall is telling the truth.”

“Your patched friend tried to kill him again.”

“And apparently he kicked you, your Majesty. Please understand, the Faola was built based on a legend, and unfortunately our cause was  used for an ulterior motive. We never wanted to harm the king.”

“I find it so interesting that you’ll still beg your cause,” Jaron tilted his head. “Stealing is still a crime no matter what you do with what was stolen.”

He’d never admit that deep in his heart, he would’ve taken the same path. Stealing from the nobles sitting before their flickering fires to give to the match girl freezing in the streets. But as the king, he couldn’t say something like that.

So he kept it to himself. 

Ayvar entwined her fingers together. “Is there anything you want to ask of me?”

“Not exactly,” Jaron said. “My answers have been found, no matter how disappointing. Will you return to banditry when you’re eventually freed?”

“Do you already have plans to arrest me?”

“I don’t but Captain Harlowe might. He’ll get awfully bored now that things are beginning to die down.”

“Then you’ll have to forgive me for not answering.”

“Take her back to a holding cell, she’ll know her fate by this afternoon,” said Jaron.

The guards beside Ayvar nodded. She bowed her head once again, muttering her gratitude as she was escorted out of the room.

With her out of the way, it would be much easier for Jaron to be himself. He couldn’t allow himself to look like a fool in front of one of his subjects. There was no telling what would come out of his confrontation with Feall; he could appear very foolish if things didn’t go the way Jaron wanted them to.

“Sit down, Feall, we have a lot to talk about and I don’t want to strain you with your wound,” Jaron gestured to the simple chair beside Feall’s desk.

“If you think I need to take a seat, then you should too,” Feall said. “You were injured too, your Majesty.”

Jaron frowned, “I can stand if I like.”

Feall grimaced as he sat down, and he looked to Jaron. “I will do my best to say what you want me to say.”

“But I don’t want to hear what you want to tell me, I need to know the full truth.”

“Yes, yes you do. Where would you like me to start? Can I ask you a question first?”

“I suppose you can, unless you’re asking me to leave, in which I won’t.”

“Your Majesty, is it true that you located Mireldis Thay?” Feall’s face was devoid of any emotion. “Is she here in the castle?”

“The gossip made its way here too. I currently have our suspected Mireldis Thay kept in a safe cell. However, it seems that you have more history with her than I thought. There’s something more than a good old fashioned ‘I want to kill you for your title’ happening with her, isn’t there?”

To Jaron’s surprise, Feall nodded. “You never asked, so I never spoke of it.”

“Why not?”

“There are things I don’t feel comfortable thinking of, let alone discussing it.”

“Then I hope you can forgive me,” Jaron frowned. “Your comfort put my wife in harm’s way, and it’s not something I’ll ever forget.”

Imogen. The most valued person in his life.

He’d slaved away in order to survive, but surviving isn’t living.

Imogen inspired him to live.

He didn’t want to think of a world where he didn’t have her hand to hold onto. A world where he didn’t hear her lectures each time he climbed out of their bedroom window instead of taking the stairs.

That world was cold and desolate, but a fantasy.

Imogen had almost suffered the consequences of a battle she’d never even heard of.

“Is the queen hurt?” Asked Feall, almost managing to leap to his feet. He didn’t make it very far before he pressed his hand against the bandage around his torso.

Jaron scowled. His face was made of stone lines. “Imogen is fine. But you have to be completely honest with me Feall.”

Every story had a beginning, middle, and an end. They were long and they were short. Jaron smirked; he’d canceled almost every one of his meetings later that afternoon. He would hear every detail Feall gave if it meant Jaron stayed there the whole night.

However, he wasn’t sure if Roden had the same drive.

“How do you know Mireldis Thay?” Jaron crossed his arms. “You’re here as a guest in my home, not a prisoner. You’re my friend, you have no reason to lie to me.”

Feall looked down at his hands, his shoulders going soft. 

It was unsettling, watching a knight of Feall’s stature shy away from telling a story.

He finally heaved in a breath, and began his tale. “As you know, there are five lesser kings in Bymar who answer to King Norman. King Graer Thay led Idunn Craich, and took me under his wing after my father fell in a skirmish with Gelynians. I became his ward; an example to his children. Mireldis and I knew each other long before-”

“You knew Mireldis Thay as a child and you never told us!” Roden snapped. “Do you-?”

“Hush, this isn’t even the good part of the story,” said Jaron.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Feall cleared his throat. “I became the, ah, man of the household when Graer returned to the mainland to train with King Norman’s household. I was- I was sixteen at the time.”

There had been many times when Jaron had gone to the crypt where his family was buried. He hid there among stone coffins, almost praying a spectre would appear just so he could say goodbye.

He hadn’t begged for an unholy apparition in years.

The look on Feall’s face faltered. His stern squint widened.

Almost like he’d seen a spectre. Almost like he was seeing the ghost of a person he never said farewell to.

“Take your time,” Jaron murmured.

“Queen Ingrid Thay took care of most matters, I handled the rest. Mireldis grew jealous, claiming I’d taken both her mother and her father from her,” said Feall. He rubbed his forehead. “She sulked, so I ignored her. I grew capable of managing funds and trade under Ingrid’s- under Ingrid’s guidance. I gained favor, Mireldis did not. 

“Two years later, Graer hadn’t returned, and the Avenian war broke out. Queen Danika called for every man who could fight, I was of age, and I answered her call. It was the last time I saw Mireldis as a princess. I was fighting in Gelyn when Ingrid wrote to me, explaining that Graer had been conspiring with Avenian generals to betray King Norman, and that the sixteen other noble houses extracted punishment. Graer and all those who followed him deserted the next day.

“I returned to Bymar, but not immediately to Idunn Craich. King Norman and Queen Danika invited me to spend a season with them, and I did. I returned to Idunn Craich to help Ingrid, and once I saw fit, I returned to the mainland. There was a series of bandit attacks near the Gelynian border that following summer, attacking both Gelynians and Bymarians. 

“My orders were to find out if the attacks were correlated, and then to stop the perpetrator if they were. It took months of tracking to eventually recognize a pattern; the attacks occurred near mountain passes, and the survivors often told wild stories about trolls attacking them with scythes.”

Jaron didn’t hide his snort, “Were they trolls with scythes?”

“Luckily, no. They were Gelynian miners and sheep herders who were trying to gather fortune,” Feall explained. “Eventually, we were able to map out the attacks and find the epicenter, which led us to a tiny cottage in between both Gelyn and Bymar. I saw a girl inside. She would’ve been Mireldis’s age, but when we returned to arrest the bandits, they were nowhere in sight. The girl left with them. We found her body settled in with the victims from another attack. I assumed she was Mireldis. She’d always had hair that lingered past her knees, and the corpse I saw had the same.

“I continued serving the king in protecting the Bymarian-Gelynian border, until I was called north. A new bandit appeared, stealing from caravans but never with more than ten others. Called himself the Black Knight, though now it seems that he is in fact a she. The Black Knight vanished, eventually turning to terrorize south Bymar by leaving Various men and women tied to trees. It was much harder to track her there, as the pattern often extended into Gelyn. Earned herself the name of Shrike. She vanished before I could take her in, which turned out to be because she was anticipating my arrival in Drylliad protecting King Oberson.”

The memories were coming back. Jaron remembered the exchange between Feall and the Faola. Between Feall and Mireldis Thay. He’d heard Feall throw out both of those names; nobody knew that Mireldis Thay was wearing a mask.

“And you figured out that the Black Knight, Shrike, and the Faola were Mireldis Thay when she sent that letter to Feall, demanding that he hand you over to her,” Roden frowned.

Jaron could practically see the smoke coming out of his ears. He was working his brain too hard.

“Exactly,” Feall rubbed at his forehead again. “It really came together when I almost died. Twice.”

 “Congratulations, escaping death multiple times is a requirement for being a person I speak to for more than a few weeks,” said Jaron.

Feall’s story was wide, it dragged in several other people. Honest people, like Queen Danika and King Norman. Jaron knew they gave truth and expected truth from those they brought into their court. 

He’d have to think about Feall’s words.

It frustrated him knowing that Feall knew Mireldis as a child, and yet, this factor was never discussed. 

Was this how Imogen’s cat felt when it saw a mouse run across a kitchen floor after they’d hunted tirelessly for it?

Jaron tapped his toes, stacking the information. Think, think, think. There was a detail staring him in the face, but he wasn’t sure just what it was. Something big and important. Arguably important, that is. If it was so vital, Jaron wouldn’t have forgotten it.

“Did you have a good relationship with Mireldis?” Jaron asked, fighting the urge to pace.

“I- well, yes. We were playmates at one point, but things have obviously changed since then,” said Feall. He twirled the strings of his shirt around his fingers. “Your Majesty, would it be, ah, nevermind. Sorry, sir.”

“Spit it out, Feall. No point in not asking for something, you don’t know what I’ll say.”

“Would allowing me to visit Mireldis be out of the question? I want to see her, I want to- I want-”

“To apologize?”

“To ask her why she hates me so.”

Everyone always wanted answers. They always wanted to know why people did things that they did, especially if those things involved people getting hurt.

It wasn’t enough to just accept that maybe some people chose differently.

Jaron knew Feall was hoping to find an answer. He wanted to know that there was a sliver of goodness in Mireldis Thay. He wanted to know that something caused her years of banditry and assault. It could excuse her actions. Jaron recognized the naiveté in Feall’s plea, he wanted to fix Mireldis.

But not everybody had an underlying just reason for what they did. Bevin Conner claimed to be a patriot and then murdered Jaron’s family. Devlin, the former pirate king, led a life of piracy in the name of ambition.

It was all too likely that Mireldis Thay hated Feall and tried to kill him because she could.

“What makes you think Mireldis would want to see you?” Jaron asked, crossing his arms.

Feall cracked a bitter smile, “I don’t think she ever would want to see me, but I want to see her. I’ll forego any danger in the name of justice.”

“Then allow Roden and I to accompany you, in case Mireldis decides on a whim to snap your neck.”

“If she can snap my neck, I think we should be concerned about what she’d do to you.”

“I can hold my own, Feall,” said Jaron. “What happened when I was with you was just a lucky blow.”

Or was it?

The Faola had kicked at his leg rather than running him through with a sword. Jaron was lucky to have walked away with his life.

The kick to his leg was a demonstration of power. Mireldis Thay could’ve killed him, but she didn’t.

Just like her proximity to Imogen could’ve given her a window to kill the most important woman in Carthya, but she never used the opportunity.

Extending a hand, Jaron nodded. They’d go to see Mireldis Thay. Feall could confirm her identity, confirm that Renlyn Karise was just a false name. She’d finally display a show of emotion rather than keeping her same deadpan expression, and Jaron would gloat for a moment before deciding her fate.

He had no intention of following through with the treason charge. Renlyn would be valuable in the future.

It was a stupid move to execute a future ally.

“Jaron, something’s been on my mind,” Roden said. He’d fallen behind by a few steps. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the attacks on Feall.”

“Ah, thinking can be quite dangerous for you,” Jaron countered. “Every time you think of something, I think of something, and suddenly everything’s on fire.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I. Are you planning on setting the forest on fire?”

“No! I’m thinking about-,” Roden burst. His face colored as his voice echoed around the corridor. “I was there, after Feall’s second attack. I drove them away and took Feall back to-“

Jaron motioned for the guards outside Renlyn’s door to come closer. “Do you want Feall to thank you?” He asked, and then turned his attention to the two guards. “Has she done anything foolish? Is she still in there? Any cursing or vase-throwing?”

One of the guards shook his head, “No, sir. The lady within hasn’t made a sound, she’s received her first meal already. Didn’t say a word.”

“We thought she was dead for a few minutes,” confessed the second guard. “It’s not natural, being able to sit so quietly for that long.”

“Ah, that’ll change,” Jaron said. “We’ve come to visit her. Brought her an old friend.”

“Jaron, please, it’s really important,” Roden tried, he held his hand up to keep the guards from butting in.

“Ignore that hand, we’re talking. Have-“

“Feall wasn’t the only victim on the night of the second attack! He-!”

“I know, Roden, I heard the entire ordeal and then read the-!”

“Mott, Tobias, and-!”

“Stop interrupting me!”

“Not until you listen!”

Picking fights with Roden was too easy, but Jaron hated it when Roden did the fight picking. Those fights were usually heated and ended with fists flying, and Jaron had no intention of getting a fist to the face and-

“Oh Saints,” Jaron pressed both of his hands into his hair. “Oh no, no, no no. Feall, don’t open that-!”

Unfortunately for Jaron’s dignity, Feall opened the door to Renlyn Karise’s room.

The important detail he’d forgotten came rushing back, triggered by Roden’s attempts to point it out. It ruined everything.

Renlyn Karise had been the fourth victim during the Faola’s second attack on Feall. She’d handled the situation all too well, bounding back to tending to Imogen the very next day. It made it easy to forget that she’d been kneeling on the ground with Tobias and Mott while Feall fought for his life.

“Do you get what I was trying to say?” Roden snapped. “Renlyn is the reason Feall didn’t lose his head that night!”

“Don’t remind me,” Jaron rubbed his temples. He’d never hear the end of this one.

“Is- is this a joke?” Feall called from Renlyn’s room.

Jaron didn’t have the patience to stay to hear Renlyn’s stifled snicker.

He didn’t like it when he was wrong, and he’d been wrong in one of the worst ways.

He’d arrested a woman without full thought, and let Mireldis Thay escape.

“Get Ayvar, Roden, we’re going to fix this,” Jaron growled. “The longer we wait, the farther she’s run away.”

“And what will we do about Renlyn?” Roden asked.

“Nothing, I don’t want to deal with her just yet. We have a bandit to catch. Renlyn can sit in her gloating glory until we’ve got the right Mireldis Thay sitting in the dungeon.”

“This would be our third suspected Mireldis Thay, maybe we should give this fight up.”

“I’m so glad you can count that high! I don’t care if we catch a thousand false Thays, I will not accept this defeat!”