After dinner, where Xyra ate nearly every tart and lapped at the pudding like a stray cat, they all retired to Vora’s study. Perhaps it was the wine, but Volsten saw fit to take a seat in Vora’s large chair, where only she sat. To his surprise, and perhaps also due to wine, there was no reprimand from the lady of the house. Instead, she planted herself firmly on his lap, swung her legs over the ornate arm rest, and rested her pretty head against his shoulder. All he could think was how soft and light and warm she was, and how the thinness of her gown and the tightness of Dolent’s clothes made the moment all the more intimate, and how she smelled of spring from her soaps.

He did nothing more than hold. One arm across her thighs, the other around her back as they listened to Xyra turn the pages of her book. She sat in the study’s middle, rocking side-to-side, all smiles in her green gown. That was definitely the wine.

As the night went on, it became harder to hold Vora. The swinging of her legs brought the bottom of her gown up until it rested in a place that did little to cover her thighs. This was the most dangerous part of the night. He could only guess at Vora’s intentions here. It was true that she placed herself on his lap, and it was true that she snuck glances at him. Red-cheeked, cat-faced looks those were, and she breathed hot, wine-scented breaths upon his neck.

But this was not the first time she’d done such a thing, and he was sure that this would be no different from the others. Nevertheless, he traced a finger along her inner thigh until it caught the bottom of her gown. Vora shivered in his grasp. The finger was working her gown farther up, until he could see thin, laced cloth beneath.

That was his next destination had Vora not decided it was enough. There was a gentle push of his hand, and a quick pull down of her gown to cover her indecent areas.

“You said that you had a room in an inn, did you not?” Vora asked in no more than a whisper.

Did I? “Yes, I did.” His mind was starved, and the room was hotter than he remembered when entering.

“Then it’s time you go to it. It’s quite late.” Vora unwound herself from him and stood, freeing him to stand as well.

Volsten didn’t. He simply looked at her. The gown didn’t hide her curves at all. “But…why? Again?” There was no attempt to hide the pleading boy in his voice.

“Because, Volsten,” Vora said, no hint of wine in her voice, “Vora Chamiret is no one’s wench!”

*

Volsten opened his eyes to soft morning light. There was a dark arm laid across his bare chest, and a warmness next to him that only came from another person.

Atusa must have been both very happy and very perplexed at his vigor last night. It being as late as it was, the inn had been nearly empty, save for a few choice men that often hung around for far too long. Atusa was cleaning the tables, and without a thought, Volsten had grabbed her by the wrist and led her up the inn’s stairs.

“Boy…” was all she said. He didn’t need to pull; had she shown any resistance, he would have left her as she was, but she was quite happy to play go along with him as her sisters, brooms in hand, giggled themselves silly.

Then it was a matter of relieving things, and they both enjoyed the method. Atusa enjoyed him, he was sure, but Volsten imagined something altogether different when he looked down at her.

He laid in bed, his arm resting on his forehead. His other arm was smothered between Atusa’s breasts, and he was in no hurry to save it. That, and he was unsure of what to do next. His business in Tregar was done. All that remained was the pay itself, and that did give him pause.

20,000 crowns were a lot. Not for Vora herself, seeing as she worked for Princess Farruca, and that didn’t even take into account her fortune as a Chamiret, but for him. He’d need to find somewhere to put that many coins, and he was at a loss for where.

Really, it would be better if Vora kept it and allowed him to use 20,000 as he saw fit. But that didn’t sit right with him. He trusted her above all but the goddess herself, but that meant the money wasn’t truly his. He’d always need to ask her for a crown.

He sighed. Having no home was terribly inconvenient at times. It was his choice, but he was glad that only Vora knew of that fact. She’d offered for him to stay in her palace, of course. You’re always welcome to stay, she said during many of his visits. He wasn’t opposed to living with her, but Dolent had made it clear that he wasn’t welcome. Just as it was clear that calling him ‘father’ wasn’t welcome. Dolent was long dead, but Volsten felt no want to live among those halls again.

I’ve ruined my mood, and the day has just began.

Atusa stirred, and Volsten found this as good a time as any to move. Shameful how comfortable he was with her on his arm. A knight had no business being content with what amounted to a tavern wench, no matter how shapely her body was.

Volsten sat on the bed’s edge and ran both hands through his hair. Already he could hear the bustling of the inn. He pushed himself from the bed and sifted through the heap of clothes on the floor until he was near dressed. By this time Atusa was fully awake. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, watching him, a smile on her face as she played with curled black hair.

“I don’t know what got into you last night,” she said, words lazy, “but I’m glad it did.”

Volsten struggled to pull Dolent’s tunic over his head. Now that he was free of the palace, he’d need to buy something that fit. “The frustrations of travel. It’s hard to find a woman as gifted as you, so I’m left…wanting, I will say.” That was no lie. Atusa was formidable in that regard, and it raised his suspicion that it was just the way of Khebian women to be voracious in bed.

As soon as Atusa began to laugh, a light knock sounded on the door.

“You up, sis?” The words came as if layered over a barely restrained giggle.

Atusa jiggled in all the right places as she came to get her clothes, then stood before him and made a great show of dressing in the sun’s light. Volsten applauded with a handful of her backside. She jumped at the force of his hit and had to recompose herself before opening the door. She didn’t open it all the way, but the rampant childish giggling was no doubt a product of her sisters.

Volsten was tying his boots, thankful that at least these were still his. And then it occurred to him that he still hadn’t paid Hilda, and that he still had no sword. She’s going to kill me. Volsten had no issues with going back on his word, save for when it involved people he liked, and he counted Hilda among those.

Volsten grabbed his coin pouch from under the bed and stood behind Atusa. She leaned from the door, whispering with her oddly amused little sisters. He wrapped an arm around her stomach and leaned over her until his head poked out of the door.

The giggling stopped. Tetira and Hikile stared at him with looks of disgust.

“I hate to interrupt this meeting of long-lost sisters, but I must leave this room. Is that fine with you three?”

“No,” the twins spoke in unison.

“Yes,” Atusa said as she moved from his grasp and into the hall.

“Apologies.” Volsten bowed as he stepped forward. “I believe your sister holds a higher position in this inn.”

Another united stare of nastiness. Their disdain for him was fake, a sort of game they liked to play with him from time to time. At least, that’s what he told himself. They were exceptionally good at it.

Volsten jogged down the steps. The inn was packed already, and he realized that it wasn’t as early as he thought. Hilda, as always, was at the counter. No matter how busy it was she never looked stressed.

Her eyes found him. Like a guilty academy boy, he slinked his way up to her. She frowned at him

“I know, I know,” Volsten said. Gold coins fell on the wooden top. “I was preoccupied last night, and you were nowhere to be seen.”

“My girls were here,” she said, sweeping them into a large hand. “You don’t trust them?”

“Atusa? Yes. Those brats?” The crowd began to howl, and that meant Atusa was coming down the steps. Volsten waited for her sisters to disappear behind the kitchen doors before finishing. “No.”

“And why is that?” Hilda asked as she filled the mugs Atusa presented to her. “They never stole nothing from you, mind.”

Volsten took one of the mugs from Atusa’s tray. “Remember those times when I didn’t pay? Remember how angry I became when you asked for it?”

Hilda nodded. “Yeah, I bout kicked you out a few times, boy.”

“It’s a bit suspicious that it only happens when I hand my gold to those demons.”

This looked to be a revelation to Hilda, given the newfound anger on her face.

Volsten lied, of course, but the thought of those little brats standing sullen before Hilda’s might was too hilarious to leave a fantasy.

“Atusa!” she shouted.

Her daughter was on the other side of the inn, planting mugs among rowdy men. She looked up at her shouting mother and mouthed What?

“Watch the counter!” Hilda didn’t bother looking to see if Atusa listened before storming into the kitchen.

Volsten decided that he would rather not be there for the rest and thrust his mug into the arms of an unsuspecting patron as he left, walking in the direction of Ensgar’s forge.

*

Ensgar the Blacksmith owned a modest forge in the Iron district. It sat near others like it, some smaller, but many larger. There weren’t many; the Iron district was barely a district at all, with how tiny it was. Volsten had never seen a map of Tregar, but if given one, he was sure that the district would be no more than a pin prick in the sprawl of the capital.

The smallest district, but the loudest. If one had a good ear, they would hear hammers striking anvils from halfway across the city. Here, the fanciness of most other districts was lost. These were simple buildings, resembling country cottages out in the woods. No beautiful, deep blue road ran through this place. It was gray, just as much of the city’s roads outside of Honor.

Volsten walked among those buildings, and on the sidewalk that lined that road. He didn’t pass many on his way to Ensgar. People didn’t like to wade through the thick, metal-scented air if they could help it. A few women passed by, and none of them smiled. Rough creatures they were, with dirtied faces and aprons. They were also a bit more robust than other women. A feature of the Westland, he’d noticed. Man or woman, they always found a way to be stocky. And metalworkers. Why did they all become blacksmiths or some such? Volsten thought it was a terribly boring life to look forward to.

Outside of Ensgar’s forge, with its chimney sticking high into the air, was a wooden bench. On that bench sat a man near Volsten’s age, black hair slicked back and shiny in the late morning sun. His chin held a small patch of hair, combed and trimmed into a neat little rectangle. His noble’s suit was a mix of bright blue and yellow, with long sleeves and a striped cloth that covered one arm from shoulder to hand.

There was a buzz of recognition. Goddess, Zevin? Who else wore fragrance strong enough to wash away the scent of metal that permeated Iron?

Zevin wasn’t paying much attention to anything that wasn’t right in front of him, and this allowed Volsten to walk damn near on top of him before he noticed. When he did, he shot to his feet. “Goddess be praised, it’s Volsten!” he said. “You’ve returned from another long trip safe and sound, my knight.”

“And I find my good friend most changed.”

“Yes, it was a necessity. I noticed waning interest from the wonderful ladies in Tregar, and I thought it a must to reinvent myself…again.”

Volsten didn’t think it possible to wane further, but Zevin was good at that sort of thing. At this range, the stench of fragrance was causing Volsten’s nose to scrunch. That was something Zevin didn’t see any reason to change, apparently.

“But what say you about your own clothes?” Zevin asked, eyeing him from head to toe. “A bit small, are they not?”

“I didn’t get to choose these if I’m to be honest with you,” Volsten said. “Vora was kind enough to gift them after my previous attire was deemed unfit.”

“Oh!” Zevin placed a hand over his heart, and his eyes closed. “Do not mention that accursed, lovely name around me. That buxom lady causes me endless heartache.” He fell back on the bench.

“You know, you could always give up. She’s quite picky when it comes to her lovers.”

Zevin’s eyes opened. “Spare me. You’re in and out of her house like you own the place, and you’re no more suitable for her than me. I bet she’s quite easy, but I just need to know a few things. Oh, to have women falling into your lap!”

Volsten rolled his eyes. The number of times Zevin asked for help with Vora was uncountable, and every refusal seemed to embolden him.

“Wait!” Zevin said. Volsten was on the cusp of entering Ensgar’s forge. “You can’t go in yet. Our most esteemed Lady Melridge is in there.”

Volsten shrugged. “Do I care?”

“No, but Melridge does, and given her rank, the old bastard listens.”

With a sigh, Volsten joined his friend on the bench.

“To be a low-ranking knight is like being a servant at a noble’s ball, isn’t it?” Zevin patted him on the back. “You’re in, yes, but you can’t truly partake.”

“I have no rank,” Volsten corrected him. “You know I don’t care for the damn guild. Far too much ass-kissing.”

“Maybe if you kissed more ‘ass’, as you put it, you’d almost be in the Order too.”

Volsten focused on the buildings across the street. The thought of the Order made his skin crawl. But then Zevin’s words hit him. “What? Who? Melridge?”

“Rumors, my good knight,” Zevin said, folding his arms behind his head. “But they’re based on fact. She’s the highest rank one can get in the guild. There’s little left for her to do besides that.”

“S-she’s no older than us!”

“Another point in her favor, then. To be so young and already so accomplished? And not to mention, the face of a goddess. Perhaps she’ll be my next conquest after Lady Vora…”

As Zevin went on about impossibilities, the door to Ensgar’s forge flew open. Melridge stomped onto the sidewalk beside him. So loud was her armor that he had no choice but to look. His eyes traveled up her red-plated body until it found her face. Among the few freckles were eyes of deep green, and he was surprised to find that they were on him. Time slowed as they locked stares. She was angry; her eyes and set of mouth told him as much. But it couldn’t have been anger at him, given that they’d never even spoke before.

The moment passed, and she clanked off in the direction of Honor, long red hair flowing like the short cape behind her.

Zevin whistled. “Goddess, imagine the body beneath that armor!”

Volsten unclenched his fists, then stared at them. When did I...? He looked again at the shrinking figure in the distance. Then, he stood. Ensgar was free at last.

Zevin stood behind him. “Hey! I was here first!” he said.

Volsten was already nearing the forge door. “What use have you for a sword? I’m in pressing need as a knight.”

“Fine, then,” Zevin said as he plopped back down on the bench. “I’ll just tell Ensgar to make me a sword twice as good as yours!"