Playing God

I patted Senna’s shoulder reassuringly, glancing at Lira, who was trying not to laugh. She gave me a nod and a smile, like I’d done something well.

And maybe I had. I still wasn’t really sure.

But it seemed to work. Senna looked more cheerful after that, busily moving about the kitchen and showing Lira what she was preparing. They chatted about herbs, condiments, and the proper way to smoke meat. I stayed by the hearth, feeling like I ought to help, but more than happy to let them bond. Lira’s presence was likely less intimidating than mine, anyway.

A few moments later, Senna appeared in front of me with a tankard in her hands, offering it toward me shyly. “Mead, my Lord. I made it myself.”

I took the tankard and smiled. “Please, call me Kaelan.”

“Yes, Kaelan.” She gave me a quick curtsy, then lingered, as if waiting for something. What was she?—Oh.

I raised the tankard to my lips, bracing myself for what I assumed would be a rough, homemade drink. It wasn’t. The mead was smooth and delicious. “This is excellent,” I said, surprised by the flavor.

She twirled like a happy thing, dashing back to Lira’s side, leaving me with my drink and shaking my head at her innocent exuberance. In some respects it was heartwarming to see her take such pleasures in simple things; she’d lost her husband so recently, and I couldn’t imagine life had been easy for her.

Dinner followed the same sort of pattern. I was called to the table, but there were only two place settings.

“Have you already eaten?” I asked, glancing at Senna. I was sure she hadn’t; they’d been cooking for the last hour.

“No, my Lord. Kaelan, I mean,” she corrected herself quickly, blushing as she lowered her eyes. “I will eat later.”

I frowned. We were going to have to address this shy, too-afraid-to-talk habit, but one gentle step at a time. “Lira and I would prefer if you joined us. We’re living together, after all. The least we can do is share a meal.” Senna’s hands clenched in the fabric of her shift, wringing the material in her nervousness, her eyes lowered. “I’m sure we’d both love to get to know you, and you us.” I said, as kindly as I could, while I caught Lira’s eye over Senna’s head.

Lira stepped forward, accepting my plea for help. “Please join us, Senna. It would mean a lot to both of us.” Her gentle tone sounded more genuine than mine.

With a small, hesitant nod, Senna fetched another plate and more cutlery, joining us at the table. We ate the delicious stew she had prepared, accompanied by freshly baked bread, but the lightness of the mood began to fade when Lira asked Senna about her past.

“Have you lived in Fernwick long?” Lira began.

“No, ma’am,” Senna replied quietly. “My father had a small hut a little way from the village. But when Petro came, he brought me here.”

I blinked. “You mean after you and Petro fell in love and decided to marry?” I had a sneaking suspicion that wasn’t the case at all.

Senna’s eyes widened and she froze, her hand holding the spoon motionless beside her plate. She stared down at her stew, not moving.

Lira caught my eye and then spoke softly to the girl. “Did Petro negotiate with your father?”

Senna nodded.

“Then he brought you back here?”

Another nod.

“And were you married soon after?”

“That same week, ma’am.”

Lira took her empty hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Was he killed soon after?”

Senna’s head bobbed once, almost mechanically. “A few weeks later, ma’am.”

“And... did that make you sad?” Lira’s voice was even gentler now, like she was coaxing a frightened animal from hiding.

Senna’s knuckles turned white where she gripped her spoon. Then she shook her head, the movement vigorous, shaking loose a dark brown curl from her tightly plaited hair. She glanced guiltily at me and back down at her food.

Her reaction said it all. My jaw clenched in anger, and I glanced at Lira helplessly. It was probably for the best that Petro was already dead. I might have been tempted to make him that way otherwise.

“You’re safe here, Senna,” I said softly, trying to match Lira’s soothing tone. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

She lifted her head, her eyes guarded and wary, like a wild creature that had been struck too many times by the hand that fed it.

“Kalean is a very kind and gentle man,” Lira added, and I nearly flushed at the praise. “He takes very good care of me. He’s never hurt me or forced me to do something I didn’t want to do.”

Senna’s wide eyes flicked toward her, and then she let out a long, shaky breath.

I needed to change the subject before the conversation got any darker. “Do you see your father often?”

“He died, my Lord.”

I winced. Not exactly the cheerful topic I’d been aiming for. “I’m sorry to hear that.” This girl had been dealt a tough hand, though maybe such stories were common around here. “Have you enjoyed living in Fernwick?”

Senna froze again, the tension in her frame tightening. No answer.

Lira threw me an exasperated glance, but how was I to know that even the simplest question was a goddamn minefield?

I leaned back in my chair and let Lira take the lead. She was handling this much better than I had been.

She squeezed Senna’s hand again. “Has a man here shown interest in you?”

A jerky nod.

Alright, not what I expected, but maybe it was good. Maybe she had a boyfriend, and this could all work out.

“Do you like him?” Lira asked.

Another stiff shake of the head. So, not a boyfriend, then.

“Does he want you to marry him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to marry him?”

A violent shake of the head this time.

Lira shot me a significant look as if to say, see?

“You don’t have to marry him if you don’t want to,” I said, leaning forward again. “You can stay here with us, as long as you wish. You can marry who you want to marry.”

Senna looked up, her face filled with such raw, fragile gratitude.

As she glanced down again, I quickly pulled up her info card, confirming my suspicions:

 

I felt my fist clench on the table and was only vaguely aware of both girls staring.

Her character sheet told the whole story: both her current predicament in that damning negative Attraction score, and her troublesome past, reflected in Defense, Perception and Speed. Yet despite it all, her Resilience was impressive - a testament to her courage.

“Is your suitor’s name Jarek, by any chance?” I managed to grind out, my teeth clenched.

She stared, wide-eyed. “Who told you?” she whispered.

“Just … call it a hunch.” My voice was tight, and I worked to loosen my fist. Senna didn’t need more tension in her life.

I leaned back in my chair, my appetite gone, and took a swig of my mead. “As far as I’m concerned, this house belongs to you as much as it does me.” I tried for a smile, pushing my anger down with an effort. “Why don’t we all work to make it as happy a place as we can, eh?”

Lira clapped her hands together. “Oh, what a lovely idea! Perhaps tomorrow we could pick some wildflowers, Senna. A bunch or two would be so pleasant in this room. Would you help me with that?”

Senna glanced between us, her eyes still too wide for my liking, but after a moment, she nodded. “That would be nice … if it’s alright with you, my Lord.”

“Please call me Kaelan,” I said, as the girl blushed again and lowered her eyes. “And while you’re out, maybe ask Lira about my thoughts on the freedom of choice.”

“He’s big on that,” Lira stage-whispered conspiratorially. “He likes to know that we only do things we want to do.”

I gave her a grateful smile, impressed by how effortlessly she navigated the conversation. She was always a step ahead. Curious, I glanced at her info card to see if anything new had surfaced. Etiquette, Rank 24. That explained it. My High Priestess was as tactful and wise as she was beautiful.

Someone chose that moment to pound on the door, making the wood rattle in its frame and both girls jump.

“He’s here!” Senna gasped, her face draining of color.

Good. After seeing Senna’s info, I’d been hoping to meet Jarek.

The pounding came again, insistent and demanding.

I took a moment to wipe my mouth with my napkin, then leisurely stood up from the table. I made my way to the door, in no particular rush, and opened it.

“Did you knock?”

The man standing outside was a big fellow, I had to give him that. Taller than me, with broad shoulders and a barrel for a chest. He scowled, thick eyebrows meeting in the middle. No, my mistake: just the single eyebrow.

“Where’s Senna?” Jarek demanded.

“Inside, having dinner.” I smiled lazily. “Sorry, she can’t come out to play today.”

“She’s mine,” he grunted. “She’s mine, and so is this fuckin’ house. And you’re in my fuckin’ way.”

I leaned against the doorframe, examining the nails of one hand for signs of dirt, then polishing them on the lapel of my leather jacket. “I think you’ll find this house belongs to me. I was granted it for clearing out the mine. You know … the goblin-infested mine?”

“Yeah, so I heard.” Jarek spat on the ground. “Bullshit, I call that. You ain’t cleared out no mine. Why don’t you come out ’ere, and I’ll knock the shit out of yer. Then you can fuck off ou’ of town and give me my house. And my wife.”

“She’s not your wife, and this isn’t your house.”

“Yeah? She’s not your wife either, and I challenge yer.”

Those last three words seemed to be delivered with a significance I was ignorant of. Best check with Lira before I said the wrong thing. I gave Jarek a faux-pleasant smile. “One moment, please,” and closed the door in his face.

I strolled nonchalantly back to the table, ignoring the insistent thumping on my door. “You’re absolutely correct, Senna. It was indeed Jarek.” I glanced at Lira. “What is the custom here regarding challenges?”

“A man can challenge another if he feels slighted,” Lira replied, looking up at me with her usual calm. Next to her, Senna was shaking, her hands gripping the edge of the table, knuckles white. Her wide eyes were locked on the door, which trembled in time to Jarek’s pounding.

“The rules, please?”

Lira shrugged. “Usually, to the victor go the spoils.”

I nodded. It was barbaric, but not a surprise. “And the loser? Dead, I presume?”

Senna’s glanced up at me, her face pale, but Lira shook her head. “Not usually. It’s settled with unarmed combat, witnessed publicly.” She glanced at Senna. “Three rounds of two minutes?”

The girl gave a jerky nod, too distraught to speak.

Well, shit. I didn’t have a single rank in unarmed. Meanwhile, judging by Jarek’s size, he bench-pressed cows and moonlighted as a human battering ram.

“And if I refuse?”

Lira glanced involuntarily at Senna, then grimaced up at me. “You lose by default, and are branded a coward.”

She recognized the risks as much as I did. This wasn’t like fighting Drakos. Jarek didn’t have to kill me to win, and there were no infinite respawns if I failed.

Dammit. Why hadn’t I leveled up unarmed combat?