Tallah

Was that some kind of recognition there?

The captain had been examining some freshly displayed items. She stepped around the vanadal, hands clasped demurely at her front, her lips curling into a half-smile. Not in uniform.

“Evening?” Mertle blinked away her surprise and kicked Barlo in the ankle. “I wanted a nap, not to sleep the day away. How late is it?”

“Second bell,” Quistis Iluna replied. “My name is Quistis Iluna, Captain to Valen’s Storm Guard cell. My colleague here is called Barlo.” She offered her left hand, palm up, in the traditional elend greeting.

Mertle put down her mug and placed her own palm on the captain’s, third and fourth fingers on the veins. A shudder of panic lanced up her back as the woman’s steady heartbeat pulsed against her fingers. The heat of her skin brought an unpleasant remembrance of the Night of Descent. Again that same look, as if she had her measure taken, weighed, and filed away for later consideration at leisure.

“Mertle Mergara. How may I help the esteemed Storm Guard? I don’t remember having any order overdue at the Citadel.”

Pulling her hand away, the leaden weight of Aliana’s silver bracelet dragged on her wrist, forgotten from earlier. Her heart quickened but Quistis Iluna spared it only a single unimpressed glance.

“Well, I was rather hoping you could identify someone for us.”

At a short nod from the captain, Barlo dug into one of his heavy cloak’s inner pockets. Mertle appreciated the workmanship of the thing as it looked about as heavy as she was.

“Would love a look inside that lining,” she stage-whispered to Tummy.

“You wouldn’t manage to lift it.”

“I’m strong enough.”

“You ain’t.”

“Meanie.”

Barlo let out a slow chuckle as he retrieved whatever it was he searched for and placed it on the pock-marked surface between them. Mertle’s heart threatened to explode out of her chest as the vanadal took his hand away from the plaque he set down.

Sil.

It was Sil staring out in life-like detail from the picture, wearing the disguise that hid her scars.

The world dimmed for a heartbeat as an old part of her rose to the forefront.

It can’t be coincidence that they’re here with this. She’d been out in Valen with the woman from the picture. She’d been seen and she wasn’t someone wholly unknown in the Agora. It would be stupid to risk a lie to the heavily armed vanadal. He pinned her with a yellow, predatory gaze. With an Iluna healer at his side he wasn’t someone even Tummy could overpower easily.

There was no safe exit she’d dare take. She needed a different approach.

The best way out, when there is no way out, is to stick close to the truth. Your quarry knows you’re there to kill them dishonourably. Their ire will not be against you. Even if you’ve achieved your task and emotions run high, you are merely a blade and not the wielding hand. What is the purpose of breaking a perfectly fine blade once you’ve wrenched it into your grasp?

Her aelir’matar’s words echoed in the diminishing spaces between heartbeats as she reached for the plaque with trembling fingers. She choked.

“S-Sil?” she asked as she picked up the thing with infinite care. Every detail was perfectly depicted, from the tilt of her eyes to the slight asymmetry of her nose and lips.

“Sil?” Captain Quistis asked, raising an eyebrow. “As in Silestra?”

“N-No. Just… Sil. She never…” She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “Why do you have a plaque of her? Is she in trouble?”

Tummy set a steadying hand on her shoulder as she placed the plaque back on the table, the tips of her fingers brushing against the image for maybe a heartbeat too long.

“What is this about?” She forced a misting of tears into her eyes.

All of a sudden the whole shop seemed much too small, much too cramped, as Quistis’s gaze turned its overbearing interest onto her. She’d seen that sort of look before, on a dray that had stalked her in the night when she’d ran…

“I take it you know this person?”

“Y-yes, captain.”

“And you say her name is Sil? Is that right?”

She nodded and licked her lips.

“How do you know her?” The tone of the question was light, nearly uninterested, but the eyes spearing her were anything but.

“Intimately.” The word came out of her in a rush along with a manufactured blush that burned on her cheeks. Tears came easier now. “Please. Is she alright? I haven’t heard from her in a long time. But that… that’s just how she is. But now you’re here. What is this about?” Each word tumbled on the tail of the last, cascading from her in a panic that she didn’t need to forge.

“When’s the last time you saw this person?”

“T-two days before the Night of Descent. We were supposed to go together. She never showed.”

“I see.”

The following silence had a cold edge to it as Barlo dug through a different pocket. He handed a scroll to Quistis. She read off it without looking at Mertle, though Barlo’s careful eye never wavered. This was human interrogation, a whole process that needed answers to line up. The aelir would’ve just beaten her bloody and then found a use for what was left, normally as a repurposed menial.

Humans were civilised.

“How did you meet this person?” Quistis asked as she rolled up the scroll. “If you don’t mind our asking.”

“I don’t mind. But please tell me what’s going on. Why are you asking about her?”

“Answer the questions, please,” Barlo spoke up for the first time and his tone was not as pleasant as it had been with Tummy. “This is us being polite. We like being polite.”

A squeeze from Tummy on her shoulder suggested she listened. His eyes were on Barlo the same way Barlo’s were on her.

“I’ve… I’ve known her a few turns now, actually. Three? No. Four. We’re not what you would call a constant… couple.” She smiled timidly and averted her eyes from Quistis’s interest.

“She came in during that Summer of fire from a few turns ago. Was that four? Or five? That time when they were taking down the Alchemists’ Quarter. And there was ash in the air every day. Then.” A look up at Tummy had him nodding along. “Yeah, back then. She came in and wanted some custom work done. We were just setting up here actually. Was one of our first real commissions.”

“And where were you before Valen?” Quistis asked, diverting the question. She had rolled the scroll tight and was gently tapping it against her knuckles.

“Oh, we did some odd work, here and there. We’ve mainly held down a shop in Diolo for a few turns. Had some trouble and, well… we fled here.”

Barlo laughed and the boom of it shook the building and some of Mertle’s confidence. It was the truth. He would know how things went on in Diolo. But between her word and his…

“Sailing ‘cross the Divide for some trouble in Diolo of all places?” He grinned at her, revealing jagged rows of fangs. “How much did ye owe, chit?”

“More than reasonable,” Tummy snapped.

Barlo let the laugh wither away in his gut. “We ain’t on Nen. No need t’ be testy, smith. We ain’t sending ya back. Go on, chit.”

“Not much more to say, really.” She shrugged and sipped her cooled coffee, feeling a measure of kinship with the large vanadal. Nothing about either of the Storm Guard suggested any hostility on their side, just the overbearing interest. “We did the work. She came in a few more times. We… became involved. Whenever she was in Valen, we’d meet and spend some time together. She was back at the beginning of Winter this time. And never showed for the Descent.” She allowed another blush and half-hid it behind the rim of her cup. “I was rather looking forward to it.”

“That rather confirms what we’ve been learning before coming in here,” Quistis said. And that confirmed that they’d not simply stumbled in out of the snow. “I’ve been told the two of you struck quite the impression. Not very traditionalist of you.”

“We’re not on Nen,” Mertle replied, echoing Barlo’s word and giving him a long glare. “I left tradition behind. I quite like being me, and I quite like being here.”

“Was an observation. You stood out. It’s how we learned of the two of you. I truly appreciate your candidness, and hate that I must ask you to join us at the Citadel.” She tapped the picture with a finger as Mertle reeled. “I’m afraid this person is involved with some very dangerous things. You are our first real lead to her.”

“Are you arresting her?” Tummy asked. Mertle recognized the dangerous edge in his voice.

And, apparently, so did Barlo. He leaned forward to press knuckles on the table until it creaked under the weight.

“I’d watch the tone, smith,” he rumbled. “I said we likes being polite. Let’s keep being polite, aye?”

Mertle took a quick inventory of their available weaponry. If Tummy struck the vanadal just then, would she have enough of an edge to pin the Iluna? Two swords under the counter, one knife in her boot. They could—

Barlo’s yellow gaze turned fully on her. It reminded her oddly of the lighthouse that had guided their ship into Amaranth’s port through the gales of the mad Winter storm.

“Whatever ye’re thinkin’, chit: don’t.”

“You’re not under arrest, miss Mergara,” Quistis said so calmly that it shocked Mertle’s inner tempest back to stillness. “And you’re not compelled to come with us. We would appreciate it, yes, but we do not mean to compel you. This isn’t Nen. You are welcome to refuse, but please do not do anything stupid.”

She put a hand on Barlo’s arm and he pulled away, folding in back under his titanic cloak, all threatening presence contained once more.

“Thank you, Barlo, but that was unnecessary I believe. I apologise, smith Toh’Uhm and miss Mergara.”

Now this was how humans did things. The aelir were straightforward enough. Answer insult with poison, suspicion with torture, death with death. Humans built traps. And Tummy’s moment of panic had walked them straight into one.

They could’ve asked for Mertle to come with them from the first moment if they knew as much as they said they did. Now she couldn’t refuse, not really. Quistis had made sure of that. So polite and demurely calm. Refuse her now and make the Guard suspicious enough to drop the politeness. And that would make the Tianna mission so much harder to achieve if she couldn’t walk abroad without eyes on her.

“Whatever I can do to help, Captain Quistis,” Mertle finally said, measuring each word. “Can I have your word that you will explain to me what’s happening? Please? I don’t know what you think Sil did, but I’m worried sick for her. Please.”

She got a nod in response. “I promise I’ll tell you what I can. Now, best get a thick cloak. It’s quite cold out there.”