Tetira and Hikile left in a huff, but not before Volsten could let them know how funny this all was. He laughed great, deep laughs, laughs that doubled him over far longer than Hikile's boot.

Joyous laughter mixed with Tetira's incessant crying, and that made him laugh even harder. He regained composure just in time to see a scrunch-nosed Hikile leading her sister to the door.

The girl had never looked so offended. That put him in danger of another laughing fit. But he controlled himself and stepped over the piss that managed to escape capture by Tetira's dress. He dressed, then stepped out of his room and down the stairs.

He expected Hilda to stare fire at him as he descended, but his worries were misplaced. She paid him no more mind than usual as she filled mugs for Atusa to carry.

Atusa did notice. There had to be an expectation of his coming because no one could possibly hear him over the noise that permeated the inn during the late mornings. Nevertheless, she did, and instead of a coy smile, he was greeted with an odd avoidance of the eyes. Before he'd taken the last step, she was through the small gate that allowed one in and out of the counter. She seemed to pay extra attention to the patrons as she emptied her tray of mugs.

Volsten wasn't particularly interested in her at the moment, anyway. Hilda didn't look to be different from previous mornings. Warm expression, elbows resting on the counter with rolled up sleeves-same Hilda as always. But he was still wary of her given how touchy she was last night, and for no reason he could discern. So, as he slid into her field of view, he smiled.

Hilda's warm face cooled into an icy stare.

So, nothing has changed.

"Good morning, Hilda," he tried anyway. "I can explain the awful screaming. Your girls are quite rude." Volsten explained as best he could how one of her daughters ended up covered in horse piss. He might as well have been talking to himself for all Hilda seemed to care. Her blank stare made him feel rather stupid.

"Are you done?" she asked when he'd stopped talking.

"Yes. That's...that's all of it, my lady."

"Good. Now, you'll listen to me. How long have you known my Atusa?"

A beleaguered man of upper age stumbled to the counter. Volsten waited for Hilda to send him away with a drink before he answered. "I'm not sure. 5? 6 years? We met just after I left the academy. Why do you ask?"

"You think it's time, don't you?"

Volsten raised a brow. "For what?"

"Don't look at me like that." Hilda folded her arms across her generous breasts. "You've been doing whatever you pleased with my girl, like she's some tavern wench. It's time you treat her right."

"I do 'treat her right', Hilda," Volsten said, wounded. "She's quite satisfied in our ways."

"She ain't," Hilda said flatly. "I'm her momma. She tells me things, things that she would never tell you because she's mousy."

Mousy wasn't the word he'd use for Atusa. That was more fitting for Xyra.

Xyra. Volsten had put the dragon out of his mind.

"You come in, use her, and then never think about her again, I bet."

"That isn't true!" She's right.

Hilda shook her head. "You're gonna do something nice for her. You're taking her out tonight."

"With all due respect, my lady," Volsten said, turning on his knightliness once again, "I'm not sure if I can believe you. You're a wonderful woman, one whom I trust very much, but there's no shortage of families seeking to marry off their daughters to some noble line. Often against their will. I cannot partake in such a soulless thing, so I must decline. Doubly so since I've not heard a word from Atusa about this arrangement."

"Boy..." Hilda said. It was the most serious 'boy' he'd ever heard, and she accompanied it with a deadly stare. "I'm not arguing. I'm telling you. If you want to stay at this inn, you'll treat my daughter right. I don't got a problem with you sleeping with her, since that's what young men and women do. But you won't treat her like a whore. Not while I'm here."

Have I treated her that badly? He was never rude to Atusa, never demanding, yet Hilda would have him believe that he beat her. He treated her as good as any tavern wench could ask for. And, despite Hilda's protests, that was all her daughter was. That wasn't a bad thing, but Hilda clearly had greater plans for Atusa than what fate had deemed her worthy of, leading to this little misunderstanding.

"I won't pretend to understand the reason for this, but if you insist so strongly, then I will do so."

"Somewhere fancy, too. In Honor."

Volsten grinded his teeth, then spoke through them. "Of course." Hilda was pushing him. Take Atusa out? Fine. Any of the Outer District's eateries would do. But to Honor, among people of actual class? That was very much a problem.

Hilda smiled wide at him. "Good. We'll tell her right now."

She waved to someone behind him, and within moments Atusa was next to him, an empty tray pressed against her shapely hip.

*

This is all wrong, Volsten thought as he walked up one of the many stepped passages to Honor. It wasn't deepest night, but it was deep enough. The sun was just now gone, and gone fully, giving its command to the cool blue moon and its entourage of little lights.

Volsten turned the corner past a building. Now he was on the sidewalk that ran alongside the blue road of Honor. Behind him was the clacking of heels as Atusa struggled to keep up.

"Boy, would you wait? I'm not used to these!"

You shouldn't even be here, in those, in the first place! But he slowed anyway. There would be much attention paid to him if there was a Khebian woman chasing after him. Better that she be by his side, even if that would still garner strange looks.

When Atusa caught up to him, she looped an arm through his and held on for dear life. There would be no escaping this time.

As he expected, there were people about, carrying on under the newly lit alchemical lights. Fine, well-dressed people. Unlike the lower districts, Honor had a decent enough night life. That was one of the perks of living in Honor. Thieves often avoided robbing the place, given the numerous guards. The other districts had guards too, but those in Honor were zealous in their enforcement. Such was the case when you were tasked with defending the city's most important.

Even that had its limits, however. After a time the nobles would've had their fun, the eateries would close, and the streets would be empty.

I wish that was now.

They were coming up on a guard, stiff in his dark silver armor. That was another difference. The guards in Honor wore metal breastplates, while the lower guards settled for leather cuirasses that had seen better days. He always thought that a strange thing. Honor guards were in far less danger yet wore better armor.

The guard stood attentive in front of a dark alley, eyes staring straight from his helmet's opening. As they passed, Atusa pushed closer against him. Why was she so clingy? This was her and her mother's idea.

"Sir," the guard nodded. Volsten nodded in return.

Light pushed out of the windows before them, casting comfortable, orange light upon the sidewalk. Volsten wasn't sure what all the buildings were, but he knew most of them. There was a barber here, an inn there. Further down was Blue Street, their destination.

Volsten cringed at the sight of its fancy, jutting sign. This was going to be an expensive night for him if Atusa dared to eat anything. Or drink. Or take a seat, really.

The closer they came to Blue Street, the more looks they received. They weren't long, gaping looks, as the people of the outer districts would give when seeing something unfamiliar, but short, questioning ones. Easily readable questions. Why is that handsome man with a Khebian woman? Why is a Khebian woman in Honor?

Annoying, nosey bastards. They weren't as stealthy in their rudeness as they believed.

"Is this the place?" Atusa asked of him as they passed one of Blue Streets windows. The inside was packed with fancily dressed people.

"Yes," Volsten answered. He didn't feel much like talking.

"Looks real fancy..." Atusa said, straightening out as they turned to enter the wooden door.

The door opened into a small room, with portraits of ladies and lords hung on the red walls. An older bald man in a particularly fancy coat sat behind a small counter in the room's center. Beyond him was a set of intricate wooden double doors that opened to Blue Street proper.

Unfortunately, Volsten knew him. Morwhit. He thought himself the grand keeper of the world's greatest treasure.

He stared at them for a moment as they approached. Soon the corners of his wrinkled mouth had turned upwards.

"Ah, Sir Volsten of Camara, esteemed knight." Morwhit gave emphasis to each word. "It's been so long, sir, that I hardly recognized you."

Volsten gave a humorless laugh. "I try to avoid spending all of my earnings, Morwhit. Blue Street is a bit out of the casual range for me." For now, that is. Vora would soon change that.

"Nonsense!" Morwhit said, folding his arms across the smooth wooden counter. "You are the son of a Monet. If there's one thing that you have, it's money."

"Yes, but you know that my sister leads the house now, holds the estate. She was always the favorite, you see, so I have precious little access to that wondrous fortune."

"Have you tried asking?" Morwhit laughed. "Lady Vora is a kind, beautiful soul. I'm sure that she would allow you some control over it."

Volsten feigned ignorance. "I've never thought of that. I'll give it a shot."

"Good," Morwhit nodded. "One person? 7 crowns, sir."

Oh, Inera. He's doing it. "Two. Two people, Morwhit."

Morwhit had picked up a nearby pen and was hurriedly writing on a piece of paper. He looked up and scanned Atusa, as if he just now saw her. "Oh, my apologies. I didn't think she was with you."

"Ah, old age has taken more of your sight," Volsten said. The words were more for Atusa, whose body grew tauter against him. Of course, she was a Khebian woman in Tregar. She knew what Morwhit was playing at.

"Hardly," Morwhit said with little manners. "Your name, woman?"

"Atusa," she answered quickly.

"Atusa...?" Morwhit repeated.

He knows damn well that she's no noble. He'll get no last name out of her.

"Just Atusa."

Morwhit released a deep sigh. "I figured. You'll be an unusual sight, but if you're a guest of Sir Volsten, I'll allow it." He turned his fading blue eyes to Volsten. "21 crowns."

Atusa inhaled sharply.

"21." Volsten swallowed the number like poison. He was tempted to turn around right then and there. 14 extra crowns! Atusa wasn't worth that much.

But there was a slight smile to Morwhit's wrinkled, proper face, that teased angry defiance from him. He enjoyed taxing Atusa a bit much for his liking. Volsten's hand forced its way to his pouch, where he felt out 21 crowns, placing each white coin upon the counter with deliberateness.

When he was finished, Morwhit looked almost surprised, but certainly annoyed.

"Thank you, sir," he said as he jotted things down on his paper. "You, both of you, may enjoy yourselves inside.

Volsten nodded and moved past the counter with weakened knees. He felt far lighter than he would have liked.

Just before the double doors, a tug on his arm halted him.

"Hold on," Atusa said. She slipped her arm from within his and shuffled around in her white dress. "How do I look?"

Volsten's mood lightened a little as Atusa jiggled up and down. She's trying to vex me. He wouldn't let that happen, but Atusa was quite proficient at shaking, and he struggled. "Are you frightened? I know you love to prance about your mother's inn as if you're the most beautiful woman from here to Isaldin, but that's among rough men. Does the thought of high class ladies intimidate you?"

Atusa grunted. "No, boy. I've seen these women. I don't look any worse than them." She pulled at the straps of her dress. Like the one she wore in the inn, it was a hair too small, and clung to her body with greed.

Volsten wanted to argue, but Inera's ass did she look good. He would have gone on about how the way a woman carried herself was just as important as the way she looked, but that was something he found hard to believe himself.

"Confidence is one step, Atusa," he said with a slight raise of the brow. "I'm sure you'll turn more than a few heads." For more than one reason.

Atusa smirked, clearly satisfied with his capitulation. It smacked of confidence, so it was odd that her hands shook when they slipped around his arm again.

Volsten pushed against one of the doors. It swung wide, and Atusa gasped as the inside of Blue Street was revealed to her. He could only imagine what thoughts ran through her commoner mind. This would be the first time she saw something so beautiful. Finely crafted wooden tables set with golden rods. On top of those rods were gently glowing orbs of alchemy, pulsing their gentle yellow light across brown wood. A stage, smooth and shined until it reflected chandelier light clearly, rose above the carpeted blue of the floor. It was Blue Street's 'main' attraction, in the sense that it was planted squarely in the room's center. Steps led towards it from all sides.

There was a particular story to tell about a drunken Vora and that polished wooden surface, but Volsten preferred to not remember.

"This is so fancy..." Atusa whispered next to him, as if she would be heard over the general din of noble talk.

A woman in a sparkly blue dress was approaching them. Her sharp heels dug into the carpet as she walked.

I don't know this one, Volsten thought with amusement. He looked her over, from dull brown hair to blue heels. She was certainly up to the standards of Blue Street's waitresses.

"Sir," she said, hands meeting before her waist. "May I offer you a table?" She smiled a broad smile, staring at him intently. Him, and only him.

"Yes, you may. We didn't pay to stand, did we?" Volsten looked over to Atusa. Partly because the question was addressed to her, but mostly because she threatened to squeeze his arm into a pulp.

"Right," she said quickly.

The waitress seemed to notice her for the first time. "Of course. Right this way, sir."

She led them through a few occupied tables, laden with rich foods and richer partakers. He recognized quite a few of the noble ladies there, sitting with their unsuspecting partners.

I do wonder what they think of this. And they certainly would wonder, given the sidelong stares he and his Khebian charge were receiving. How long until this got back to Vora? The noble trait of idle gossip was strong, and Vora wasn't above it. She surprised him with how much she knew about his movements within the city. Where, when, and who. Had he been born with a fancy for superstition, his first guess would have been a spell.

The waitress led them to a table close to the stage. "Here you are, sir," she said, once again focusing her blue-lipped smile on him.

Volsten nodded and tapped Atusa's vice-like arm. "Shall we sit?"

Atusa finally relinquished her grip and slid into one of the wooden chairs. Volsten did the same, all the while feeling the waitress's eyes.

"Are...are you Volsten?"

Volsten lifted his attention from the neatly written menu to look at her. "Yes, I am," he said. "Why do you ask?"

Her face turned a bright red to contrast with her blueness. "Oh...it's just...you look just like the other girls said you did..." Her words fell away into a cough. She'd taken to tugging at brown locks of hair.

Chatty wenches, he thought with a smile. "Oh? Well, since you know mine, I must know yours. It's only appropriate."

"Maren. Maren Birith."

"Birith?" He knew the name. They were a fairly good friend of Chamiret. Which didn't mean much, given how nobles worked. "You're nobility, then. Why are you working as a waitress at Blue Street?"

"I thought it would be fun," she said with a shrug. "I know it's meant for lowborn women, but that's why I like it. The other girls are so different."

Volsten knew Maren to be the youngest of the Birith's children. No doubt she was as sheltered as any young maiden could be, yearning to be released to the world. He'd bedded a fair few of those. And Maren was pretty, all things considered, if a thin for his taste. She didn't fill out her dress quite as well as he would have liked.

"Different, indeed." He shot a glance towards Atusa, who stared at him over the tiny alchemical light. Goddess! She resembled her sisters a little too much at times. "This is a conversation for later, however. Would you mind serving us something?"

Maren nodded with eagerness.

Volsten skimmed the menu. It wasn't necessary. Every visit to Blue Street ended in bitter beer and half-eaten duck. But this was Atusa's first time, and as annoying as he found it, rushing things would only make her more uncomfortable. Not that he cared how she felt. He just didn't want the night to go terribly.

"See anything you like, Atusa?" he asked after a time of silence.

"It all sounds so fancy," she said, face masked by the menu. "Stuffed duck? Is that good? Never eaten duck before."

"Ah, my favorite. Goes best with a decent wine, I've been told, but I'm not a fan of wine." He paused. "Get whatever you like, however. This is about you, not me. As Hilda has made clear..."

"She reads so well, sir," Maren said. She sounded genuinely surprised.

"That's to be expected of a woman born and raised in Tregar, Lady Birith,"

"Oh!" Maren placed a blue-nailed finger to her thin lips. "She isn't from Khebia? I assumed with how dark she was."

Atusa looked up from her menu. First at him, then at Maren. No words came from her.

"She's really pretty," Maren said. "There's a Khebian waitress here that came from Khebia. Her accent's so strong that it's hard to understand!" Maren chuckled.

Maren didn't seem to have a single thought after that because she stood there, bearing the full weight of Atusa's gaze. The smile on her face made it look dumber by the second.

After what felt like minutes Volsten could no longer stomach the oddness. "Duck, Atusa?" He threw the words against the general din and clanking that filled the void. "I've never been disappointed by it."

Atusa's eyes didn't leave their target. "Yeah. I'll eat that."

"Wine?" Volsten kept things moving. "Not a fan personally, but I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

"Yeah."

"Fanstastic! Two orders of stuffed duck, a glass of your finest wine, and beer-more on the bitter end, that one."

"Of course, sir," Maren said with a curtsy. "I'll be back soon." She then navigated her way through tables and into a rather boring looking door.

Volsten watched as the other waitresses moved about room, their blue dresses sparkling in the bright light. They knew him, of course, but had the decency to leave him well enough alone. The weight of Atusa's attention was obvious, without him needing to look at her.

*

Maren had returned with wonder. Two large platters of golden-brown duck, surrounded by an assortment of green vegetables. Maren's thin body wobbled about with them, and there were a few times that Volsten thought they'd have to eat their meal from the top of a man's head. But she made it, and set the platters down as if she'd never been more thankful to see a table.

The drinks were the only thing missing, and for that Maren apologized profusely (to him) and scurried back behind the door. He didn't much care. Judging by how Atusa had already dug into her duck, she felt the same. A little unbecoming of a lady, which was fine: He didn't expect a noble's grace from a lowborn wench. But she made an effort. Tiny little stabs at the duck, small bites of its flesh, the occasional forkful of vegetables. She was no gluttonous beast at the inn, content to let grease drip from her mouth like blood from a wolf's maw, but this primness wasn't her either.

Maren appeared before them with two large glasses, one filled with a lively red, the other a dim, dark yellow-wine and beer to any slightly discerning eye. She left them (him, really) with a courteous smile and went about the rest of the room.

He and Atusa continued in silence, as much as one could among the general din of an eatery. She didn't speak to him, and his annoyance with the entire thing kept him from speaking to her.

That lasted for one drink. Before long Maren was with them again. Both he and Atusa waved empty glasses at her, and she seemed to catch their meaning. Another two were brought. Volsten found his annoyance drowned in bitter ale, and whatever kept Atusa's mouth shut floated dead in her wine.

"I don't even know where you from, boy," Atusa asked somewhere after the third glass.

Volsten was also on his third, and he found that it had the peculiar effect of lowering his gaze. He started with Atusa's face, as one does, but the first glass pushed his eyes to her neck. The second sent him further, until he was staring at a chest that was rather pleasing. That would have been a great stopping point, but he now stared at her hands, folded neatly on the table. A fourth glass would probably have him staring at trousers.

"You come in," Atusa continued, "talk real sweet to momma and me...looking like you do...and then I'm in your bed. Didn't know a thing about you."

"Do you need to?" he said to her hands. "It's a bit of fuuun, and that's all good."

"Yeah, boy, but...you gotta think." She poked her forehead. "You know all my family and you know a lot of my shit. It ain't fair, to me."

"Atusa, you tell me that stuff. And your mother, and sisters. I..." He paused to laugh. Behind Atusa a new couple was being seated, and the man's head shone with great ferocity. "I just don't make that choice, you know?"

"Like the Vora woman," Atusa said. "Heard you talk about her once, but she's your sister!"

Volsten moved as if waving her off. "You won't meet her, and I fail to see how it matters to us in bed."

"I'm saying that two people this close should know. It just don't make sense to tell the woman you're sleeping with nothing about you."

"The wine has made you more chatty than usual, hasn't it?" Volsten said, brow raising. He'd brought his eyes up to her breasts again, and that was as good a place as any to stop. "Where's that quiet smiling Atusa? Where has the wine hidden her?"

"Drinking makes me act like momma, so I don't do it much."

"I see..." He imagined that Atusa looked much like a young Hilda. Not a bad thing, really. It was clear to anyone that Hilda stopped caring after the twins, but she wasn't an ugly woman. In the end, however, she occupied the same space as a mother, and the thought of her did nothing for him. An unfortunate mark against the otherwise wonderfully made Atusa, being her daughter.

It wasn't long after that Maren returned...again. It was unusual for the same waitress to do everything, but Maren seemed determined to serve him, to the exclusion of all others. Not once did she step to another couple's table, nor did she greet anyone else who entered Blue Street's doors.

As Maren collected the plates and glasses, Volsten counted out crowns-15 of them. Even in his drunken stupor, the placing of the money on the table made him shiver. 36 damned crowns! All because Hilda wanted him to play husband.

Volsten rose, and Atusa followed suit, though without the annoyance of Maren blocking her path. Given his general state, she was lucky that he didn't topple her and her armful of dishes to the carpet.

"May I ask you something, sir?"

Volsten exhaled. "Hmm?"

She repositioned the plates in her grasp. "I don't have much to do after Blue Street closes. I was wondering if you'd like to speak more in the future."

"Is that a proposition, Lady Maren?" Volsten squinted. In a way, Maren resembled a bird.

"Of course not!" Maren snapped.

Volsten patted her on the shoulder. He may have done it a little too hard for a woman carrying a few plates, because she stumbled a step back, and almost into Atusa, who stood cross-armed and disapproving.

"Perhaps we can speak," he said when she had once again stepped forward. "But I warn you that I'm a bit of a busy man. I rarely have time to just 'speak'. It must be worth my while, or it'll be the first and last of our talks."

"Yes," Maren giggled, "yes. It will. Thank you." She smiled and left them, and as she picked her way between tables, he noticed how empty the place had become.

"How late is it?" Volsten asked himself.

A familiar arm took hold of his own. "Late enough that momma could kill me," Atusa said.

Volsten hmph'd. "Take care to remind her that this was her idea in the first place. Inera knows I will."

They left Blue Street and walked in silence past late night guards and statues. Fog had rolled in and gave the streets an eerie look. Or perhaps that was drunken paranoia. He couldn't tell.

Atusa pried again, asking questions she had no business knowing the answers to, but she eventually caught on that he had no intention to answer. Their talks turned to other things on their drunken journey back to her mother's inn. At times they fell into complete silence, with Atusa's heels being their only noise.