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Fantasy - Silversword -

Music reverberated throughout each narrow alleyway and every paved road of Caldbeck, accompanying a spectacle of faces bustling about the snowy port town. It was not often that one saw it as more than a grey hellhole of sailors, merchants and thieves, all clustered together in the small community that made up the single most dangerous of settlements outside the reach – or care, for that matter – of Maelstromian guards. Everyone benefited from trafficked goods – it was merely the mask of devoutness that made purloiners look like fair tradesmen.

Despite the flurry, it was hard to turn away from an occasion like this, especially for one of those fair tradesmen. A festival meant people would be gathering to dance, to spend their hard-earned coins on smoked sausages and warm bread, or, in others’ case, to take back a little something of what the nobles invested into the celebration of their Gods, with the tax money they so blatantly demand before the first snowfall each year.

The creak of Isara’s soles against the fresh snow was almost inaudible the closer she got to the town square. She had been waiting for the first snow of the year, missed the way she could trace the swirls of her breath in the air, but had not missed the weight of her winter coat and boots. It made it difficult to keep silent, although it would not matter in the context of a boisterous revel. She knew all too well how to see herself through the crowd without raising any brows of the few guards pacing by, like one of the poems she learnt by heart when she was little.

The first face that grabbed her attention was too pretty for the dirty port of Caldbeck, she thought. The girl had green eyes, and pale blond hair, almost the colour of frost; she wore dangling earrings made of iron, cautiously hidden behind her locks but peeking out when she moved towards the wind. The jewels were of little interest in comparison to the satchel tied to her hips, which jolted whenever she jumped or took a long stride from one empty spot in the crowd to the other. She was happy, and how could one of her wealth not be? She could afford all the smoked sausages the merchants of Caldbeck had to offer, but Isara knew she was only there for the longing gazes of those walking by.

An old drunkard watching her kept his hand pinned to his left pocket, as he liked his lips and swallowed the illusion of a kiss. The wealthier hags of Caldbeck said that, in the winter, one would have to wear strong perfume to bear through the polar air that masked any scent in the wind. It made her wonder how badly he would reek of alcohol in the summer, when the air was warm and carried the scent of rotten seashells and algae well into the fields outside the town.

A pretty squire was busy weighing silver hilts in his hands, showing them off to two of his comrades as they stared in disappointment at their own worn iron handles. He was asking for an opinion, and they seemed indecisive. Isara thought she could choose for him, she had already developed a strong liking for the one with a green gem at the base.

By the time she reached the merchants’ stands, the music had died down, and the bards were waving their hands angrily, likely disagreeing on their next medley. The air was warmer there, and smelled of mulled wine. Standing by a display of antique jewelry and trinkets, a man with two of his comrades watching attentively behind him discussed with the seller, as the latter tried to convince him of the authenticity of a visibly battered wristwatch. The man was not too old, but not young either, his face riddled with wrinkles, but pale and clean; he bore the colours of the Falstarks beneath his coat, but looked more like a well-circumstanced traveler rather than one of the King’s men.

“Eight and it’s yours, m’Lord,” the seller stuttered. “’Tis a good one, belonged to my wife.”

The old man weighed the piece in his hands, turning it from one side to the other. “You’re trying to sell me a dead woman’s goods for eight gold coins?” he hissed. “And here I thought this shithole of a town could settle for less than five. Seems like you’ve gotten too comfortable with your low taxes this year.”

“I have something better for seven.”

Isara shot the man a cold smile and held up a tablet of silver, hanging by a thick chain. He turned towards her, his brow cocked and his front teeth bared. “A pocket watch is better suited for a man such as you,” she continued. “Fits your other stuff, too. Bet you it’s worth more than that one.”

“I don’t pay gold for silver,” the man dismissed her, looking back down to the seller’s trinket. His gaze, however, hid hesitance, and Isara only advanced towards him, opening her palm right above his to cover the seller’s ware.

“That one’s gold plate. One can see it from a mile away. This one’s pure silver. Won’t rot either if you keep it in your pocket like a man...” she added with a smirk. “Seven.”

The noble appeared to think, his frown only growing deeper. His eyes lifted to her then, and he bared his canines again. “Six,” he almost muttered, not bothering to dry his mouth for her. “Or I’ll make sure the guards here know who you stole it from.”

Isara held her breath and and clutched the watch between her fingers. She stared at him for a moment, and the man glared back, daring her to refuse. Eventually, she parted her fingers again and let out a soft sigh through her nose. “Six, then,” she nodded, and dropped the treasure into his hand, sticking out her other palm to receive the payment. The noble twitched his neck and one of the men behind him quickly delivered, dropping the coins into her palm like dirt. As she turned to leave, she heard the merchant call behind her, hissing and spitting once his client had lost interest in his wares.

When she reached the inn, the old drunkard was no longer there. The music had resumed, and now resonated from within the steaming tavern as well. ‘Six golds for a stolen watch,’ she thought with a smirk on her face. Six out of nothing. She had picked a far too easy target this time.
 
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“It’ll be fine! What are you, a rabbit? We’ve done this a thousand times over, quit your fretting,” Rikard deftly smoothed the collar of his woolen cloak as he spoke, eyeing his companion while he did so. Every line of his face lent itself to the suggestion of a severe personality; eyes mildly sunken, prominent cheek bones, a jawline sharp enough to cut, dark brown eyes that verged on black, and wavy locks of equally black hair swept out of his eyes. These features belied the man within, and the way those dark eyes were currently dancing was testament to that… if one cared to look close enough to see it. “Unless, of course, you wish to open your cloak some more, part your blouse and—”

“Bugger that!” Nerys snapped, hand reflexively clenching her own cloak more tightly closed. Today her hair was a mousey brown, the only striking feature of her face being the pair of emerald eyes that she vainly treasured. “Go on then, idiot, I’d hate to see you disappoint your beloved master!”

Rikard only grinned, turning smartly and beginning to walk with a leisurely gait through the crowded streets. Nerys followed behind—close enough to keep him in sight, far enough to not be associated with him.

Music surrounded them, accompanying every footfall. Though it was sourced from a hundred different places and nearly as many instruments, it somehow managed to refrain from sounding discordant. The notes swelled and swept over them, full of cheerful energy and verve. It would have brought a smile to Rikard’s face, but now that he was working a smile had no place on his dour face… not yet anyways.

His eyes came to rest on a twitchy noblewoman. She was tall, her eyes flicking to and fro as though she could not decide which stall or hawking merchant to flit to first. Her hands, adorned with several rings boasting precious jewels, fluttered just as twitchily as the rest of her actions. Perfect. It helped that she had a bulging satchel at her waist and Rikard swiftly adjusted his course to make a beeline for her.

“Excuse me, my lady,” he intoned when he was near enough, dropping his voice an octave and waiting until her attention was fully focused on him. “I was wondering if you might be willing to direct me towards Floreths?” it was a popular destination with the highest echelons of society, known even to the lesser nobility and dreamt of by the ambitious. It was a compliment of the highest order to assume she was a patron, and the noblewoman blushed immediately.

“O-oh, well you see…”

Rikard kept his eyes trained seriously on her but in his peripherals noted Nerys slipping around to the other side of the woman. It was at that exact moment, just as the woman was stammering out some confused instructions about which streets to take, that Rikard allowed his face to light up with a sunny smile, eyes crinkling at the corners in obvious cheer.

“My, but what would I have done without your help!! I thank you with all my heart and soul. Does me good to know that people such as you still exist in our world!”

The woman’s mouth opened and closed like a landed salmon; her eyes having widened at the sudden change that had come over Rikard. It was a predictable reaction. To see the grave face of a wise master suddenly transform into the sunny countenance of a young man was jarring at the best of times. Gone was the serious visage he had worn, replaced by a vibrant warmth that felt oddly out of place in such a naturally gloomy face. So startled was the noblewoman that she went completely still, a far cry from the nervous energy which she had been exemplifying only moments earlier. It could not have gone more perfectly.

A quick glance to the side showed that Nerys had already slipped away and Rikard now offered the woman a deep bow from the waist, grabbing her hand and placing a warm kiss on its back. “Again, my gratitude is immeasurable,” he crooned, before releasing her and stepping away. “May the blessings of the gods rain down upon you this winter,” he said and then vanished into the crowd.

It took a full minute before her cries of alarm caused a stir and by then Rikard was already long gone.

He met Nerys beside The Rocking Horse—a tavern they had agreed upon ahead of time as a meeting point—and waved a gold-banded ring set with a massive ruby in front of her nose. “I did tell you there was nothing to worry about,” he said with a laugh, pocketing the ring and nodding towards her with his chin. “I assume you fared well, too?”

She produced a heavy coin purse, full nearly to bursting with silver, and jiggled it twice. “Does this meet your satisfaction, idiot?”

Rikard grinned and clapped her hard on the shoulder which earned a look so cold that he immediately raised them in surrender and took a step back. “Vidar will be pleased! We’ll drink well tonight!”

“Coin in and coin out with you. Little wonder you’re always hopping about in whatever old scraps Vidar deigns to give you. I doubt you have a single copper to your name.”

He did not deny it, merely shrugged and looped an arm around her shoulder, heedless of the murderous glare she shot him. “And yet I enjoy my life at least twice as much as you… so tell me, what is more valuable? A purseful of coin? Or an enjoyable life?”

“The coin purse,” Nerys said without hesitation, jabbing the hilt of her dagger into his arm. For the first time a ghost of a smile crossed her lips as he yelped and released her, but she composed herself quick enough that it was nigh impossible to have seen. “I’d take the comfort and security of a full purse any day. Your kind of happiness is fleeting, idiot.”

“Hasn’t fled me yet,” Rikard muttered, rubbing the spot on his arm where the hilt had landed. “I’m going to have a bruise, you know. You might well have ruined my chance with the ladies tonight.”

“You mean the whores that you pay to coo pretty words at you?” Nerys said sweetly, pushing off from the wall and preparing to slip through the sea of people. “I’m pretty sure they’re lying through their teeth anyway, so this shouldn’t cause any harm. Now, come along, we’d best go meet up with Vidar and the others.”

Rikard sighed loudly and shook his head but followed behind Nerys all the same. “Your words wound me, Nerys. I fear I may never recover.”

“If only.”
 
The inn smelled of ale, pine and smoked ham, a concoction of scents which had come to make Isara feel at home. It was often that the thieves gathered in one of the few taverns in Caldbeck, if only for the convenience of privacy in the dark, often bustling rooms they offered. That, and being loyal clients came with perks that their tight pockets could not overlook.

Despite the clamor and throng, the freshly kindled hearth did little to overbear the polar breeze seeping into the tavern whenever someone opened the door or cracked a window. In moments like these, Isara was grateful Vidar only procured them thick clothing for daytime rogueries; the leather was sturdy and lenient with her movements, albeit almost always of a gloomy black or grey, to keep them concealed through the dark streets and alleyways of Caldbeck.

For someone who was part of the flock of ravens, it made it easier to spot her mates by the bar counter – Orynn and Kasian were a tough pair to miss, even in the vast diversity of a port town. Their dark tint glistened in the candlelight like oil, both of such similar features that it took a pair of sharp eyes like Vidar’s or Nerys’s to tell them apart. That day they wore both wore brown leather and ermine, and each a pair of snow boots which Isara could only assume had been earned after their job from two nights before.

“Wine, please,” Isara sighed as she leaned against the counter and propped herself on her elbow. “Mulled, if you will,” she added as the barkeeper turned and shot her a pitiful gaze.

“You look like you could use some warm food for once,” she said, and opened her palm to receive payment. “We made stew, fresh this morning. I don’t go throwin’ this offer often around here, but a woman knows another’s suffering when she sees one. You’re pale as stone, child.”

“Since when are you paid enough to care?” Isara huffed, dropping a coin into the tapster’s hands. “Mulled wine. Keep your stew for your more quality clients,” she added with a long breath, canting her head slightly towards the two noblemen standing at a table behind her. The woman pursed her lips and took the money, giving her a contemptuous nod before turning away towards the kitchen.

“The witch’s upset again,” a voice coming from behind her snickered. Isara turned, and Orynn’s face greeted her with a bright white smirk. “You’ve been drinking your mind out for the past few days. That,” he pointed to her pocket, “is Vidar’s money you have there. But a dime won’t get to him before you spend it all on alcohol.”

“A glass a day keeps thoughts away,” she recited monotonously.

The twins, however, did not seem convinced; Orynn snatched the satchel from her hands and passed it over to Kasian, who gave it a few shakes before tossing it back to her. “Six golds,” he said, holding back a smirk. “What’d you trade it for? A poor old man’s watch? Did you scare him off so badly that he pissed himself?”

Isara cocked her brows and placed the bag of coins in her pocket. “You guessed the watch part,” she said, “but it was a drunkard, not an old man.” She was tempted to add that he would have only wasted it on women and alcohol, but just as the barkeeper brought her wine, she quickly decided against the snarky comment. “Not all of us are as gifted as to steal from an eagle,” she added bitterly. It was no secret that what they lacked in tact, the twins made up for in skill.

A gush of old current announced another entrance, and Isara’s dark eyes quickly flickered to the odd pair stepping into the The Rocking Horse – Rickard, who appeared too pleased with his day’s work, and a woman she could only assume to be Nerys, that day donning deep maple locks to match her fur coat.

Isara envied Nerys. The woman was a few years older than her, well built and as far away from the classic appearance of a thief as one could possibly imagine. She supposed it would not take more than a silk dress to make her pass as a noble lady, but Isara doubted she would withstand seeing the same image in the mirror whenever she woke up in the morning. As much as the woman despised making use of her gifts, she did not shy away from ‘furbishing the masterpiece’ every now and then, as the twins liked to point out.

“Ah!” Orynn ejaculated, “The longing gaze! Which is it now, Is? Envy or love?”

“Cut it,” she frowned, her neck muscles tensing as she downed a glass of mulled wine and threw it back on the counter.
 
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Rikard lengthened his stride to pull ahead of Nerys so he could be the one to throw open the doors to The Rocking Horse. They swung inwards fast and far beneath his hands, sucking in a burst of cold air that had multiple patrons shouting curses at the pair of them. He paid them no mind, stomping his boots on the mat by the front door while Nerys blew out a world-weary sigh and did the same—albeit in a far less enthusiastic manner.

It was chill enough inside the inn that the only article of clothing Nerys dared remove were her gloves. Even those, once parted from her slender fingers, felt like a loss and she had to grit her teeth to keep from tugging them back on. There were enough eyes on them now that someone would undoubtedly mock her for a weak constitution if she did so and Nerys had no interest in that kind of headache.

Rikard, for his part, seemed immune to the cold. He had his ragged fur coat swept off and hung among a slew of others in nearly the same breath that his own gloves came off. Nerys was still daintily tugging out the last of her fingers from the mink-skin by the time he caught sight of the twins and Isara.

He swaggered towards them—earning a disgusted snort from Nerys—as he produced the ruby ring with a flourish from his pocket and waved it playfully in their direction. “Bow to the Master, peasants,” he crowed, hopping up on the barstool beside Isara and giving the woman a friendly nudge with his elbow.

“Something smells heavenly by the way, what is it?” Rikard inhaled noisily and appreciatively through his nose, “Stew? Fresh stew?”

“Gods know you’re so full of yourself that I don’t think you even need it,” Nerys muttered, having finally finished stripping the warm fur from her fingers in order to join them. She settled down on the other side of Isara, wanting some space between herself and the overly energetic little shit she’d been stuck with all day.

The barkeeper had been politely going about her business as though she couldn’t hear them but perked up at Rikard’s mention of the stew. “Indeed, it is! Made only this morning! Though your friend didn’t seem to think it was good enough for her,” she gave Isara a pointed stare which made Rikard turn to look at her in surprise.

“Perhaps her nose isn’t working, good lady,” he said when he’d regained his tongue, turning to shoot the barkeep his most winsome smile, “I would beg your leave to have two bowls of stew and a tankard of beer.”

“Make that three bowls and some wine for me,” Nerys added and the barkeep nodded agreeably before turning to fulfil their orders. “Not sure how you expect to pay for it, idiot, or are you going to trade a ruby for some stew and piss-water?”

Rikard rolled his eyes but there was no malice or hurt in his expression, “I was thinking that big sister Nerys would pay for today, and then I give her back what I owe once this little treasure has been pawned.”

“Don’t call me that,” she grumbled, but when the barkeep returned it was indeed Nerys who handed over the coin with an aggravated grumble.

The twins had seemingly been watching the exchange with a great deal of quiet amusement, but she did not expect that would last very long. Still, she welcomed the silence while it lasted. However brief.

“Here,” Rikard pushed one of the stew bowls in front of Isara and shot her a smile, “Have to eat something with your wine or else you’ll be a mess come morning.”

Nerys didn’t say anything, merely sipped the wine the barkeep had placed before her and quietly approved. It had been obvious that this had been his intention all along, and privately Nerys agreed that Isara needed to eat. The girl looked as though she’d float away with a stiff breeze… and Caldbeck was full of those.

“The idiot is right… this one time,” she cut off Rikard’s boasting before it could start. “Can’t have you moaning about headaches or the light being too bright. Already as it is, I feel the pair of you are half fish, considering how much time you spend in your cups.”

“Awww, big sister Nerys truly cares…” Rikard crooned around a mouthful of soup, slurping noisily and earning a wrinkled-nose glare of disgust.

“I’m not your sister, stop calling me that.”

“Make me.”

The tips of Nerys’ hair were beginning to shift towards a raven black. Never a good sign. Rikard, blissfully alternating soup spoon and sips of beer, missed this entirely though undoubtedly the twins did not. Black-haired Nerys was not a woman you wished to encounter. Even without being the cause of her ire.

“And I mean… between the matronly—I mean womanly—curves and your general attitude towards life. Well, actually, maybe we should start calling you mom instead of big sister. Or spinster? Hmm, I—"

Inch by inch the colour was crawling up her scalp and Rikard was oblivious to any warnings that might be forthcoming.

“Rikard, you--”

“Nerys…”

The venom dripping from her voice was halted, a large, warm, hand clapping on her shoulder in both warning and comfort. Immediately, her wrath fizzled as it always seemed to do in Vidar’s presence. He had an unpleasant knack for curbing her worse impulses.
 
Even in pitch darkness, Isara thought she would be able to recognize Rikard’s portly stride by the sound his heavy boots made against the floor. The inn creaked beneath them as they approached, and Isara eventually claimed a seat at the counter, leaving one empty between she and the snickering twins.

“A fucking ruby, eh?” Kasian grinned widely at the piece, stretching one hand as if to feel it for himself before Rickard tucked it back into his pocket. Kasian leaned back and gave the boy a nod of acknowledgement. “You’ve become better, Rik. Now Orynn and I fear your name will be on all of our targets.”

“Fear not, brother,” Orynn sighed, smothering a smirk. “One victory doesn’t make him king.”

Isara tapped her fingers anxiously against the smoked wood as Rikard claimed the seat she had, in her mind, reserved for Nerys. She could already feel her head pounding, either from the wine she had downed in one breath or from the seemingly endless bickering between Vidar’s nippers. She shook her head at Rik’s exchange with the barkeeper, who in return gave her a smoldering glare.

“Don’t bother,” Orynn gestured towards Isara. “The girl’s in a mood today. She made six gold coins from some moony drunkard and is contemplating whether to spend it all on a-“

“I had one cup,” she hissed back at him. “And I’m not intending to have any more, it tastes like brimstone.”

“’Cause that’s a man’s wine,” the twin smirked, and leaned in to pull the empty cup away from her face. “And drinking like a man doesn’t mean you are one.”

Isara was tempted to throw a comment back at him, when her lips were sealed by the strong scent of broth beneath her nose. She looked down, and was greeted by another one of Rikard’s pesky sneers, followed by an odd display of agreement from Nerys’s part. It was only then that she decided to obey, and pulled the bowl of stew closer to her in defeat.

The smell of it reminded her how hungry she truly was. She could not recall the last time she had enjoyed something warm in the past week. Their work had been too slow before the Winter festivities, enough to put a barrier between them and any dream at above-par living before the traffic returned to Caldbeck.

By the time she got halfway through her bowl, she had gotten used to the soothing sound of Rickard trying to earn a solid spanking out of Nerys, yet when the melody stopped, Isara’s breath ceased with it, and she turned to the towering figure of Vidar looking down upon them. Orynn’s grin disappeared, and he bit his lip, leaning over his side of the counter towards Kasian.

That day, he was calm, way too calm. Isara liked to think she could read the man well, after having spent so many years under his wing. The downside of their closeness was that he could read her as well, down to her deepest thoughts, to the point where she often wondered if he had secretly kept some of his magic after Silversword ritual.
 
“Laugh it up you two,” Rikard said between noisy slurps of soup, “This is the first of many victories, just you watch!” They’d always liked to tease him, but Rikard thrived in the face of adversity. This ring was the first of many, he was confident of it.

Even as he worked on firing Nerys up past the point of no return, he alternated glances towards Isara’s slowly emptying bowl of stew. As usual, the twins had been picking on her extra hard, so he was glad to be providing entertainment that would distract them from her.

He was fairly certain her acceptance of the meal had more to do with Nerys agreeing with him rather than his own gesture, but it didn’t matter. So long as she had something warm and nutritious in her belly he wouldn’t have to worry. Or at least… he hadn’t had to worry, not until their fearless leader appeared.

Vidar’s presence loomed over them like an oppressive stormcloud with a face. But, even as Nerys was beginning to flush in embarrassment from being chastised, Rikard was offering their leader his usual sunny smile. “Perfect timing, boss! Look what I managed to steal!” he pulled out the ruby ring and twirled it round his fingers. “Classic ditzy noblewoman, lifted it right off her finger, you would have been proud,” he flicked it up with his thumb, watching in appreciation as the gold band caught the light in a gleaming display. But it never came back to land in his palm.

Almost faster than the eye could track, Vidar reached and snatched it out of the air—as though casually plucking an apple from a low-hanging branch—he didn’t even bother inspecting it closely, just dropped it into some pocket hidden on his person and kept an unimpressed look fixed on his face. “And now I’ve stolen it from you,” he said mildly, leaning a little more heavily on Nerys whose hair had gone back to mousey brown. “Truly, you do exemplify what it means to be a thief,” he growled, turning his steely gaze away from Rikard to sweep across the rest of the inn—meeting the gaze of most of the other patrons who had been actively watching and listening—snorting as their eyes skittered from his. “Managed to attract the eyes of every fool in here.” He gave the young man a withering glare.

The normal cheerful brightness was wiped from Rikard’s countenance like the sun vanishing behind clouds. His eyes shifted down, shoulders hunching inward slightly as though he were a little boy again. Vidar was right of course; waving his prize about like an idiot and calling attention to it was an ultimate disgrace to the name of a thief. He might as well have been asking for a blade between his shoulders. Not to mention endangering the others. “I… apologize, Vidar,” he murmured quietly.

“He did do well,” Nerys interjected, grudgingly. It felt a little as though she were attempting to speak through deep water, the weight of their leader’s hand growing heavier by the moment. “Marked the girl well and chatted her up so I had an opportunity to rob her blind,” she pulled out the heavy coin purse and set it down on the counter as proof. “You might take the coin and give the idiot back his ring,” she said it more quietly than was usual and without the snappy confidence she infused her language with. Nobody in their right mind told Vidar what to do, not if they valued keeping their head attached to their body.

“No,” Vidar said coldly. He released Nerys who cast Rikard a quick and pitying glance before pulling her cooling stew close and beginning to silently eat. She had an inkling that they wouldn’t be lingering long, and she had no intention of her hard-earned coin being wasted on unfinished bowls.

“The boy needs to learn his lesson, and this will do the trick,” Vidar’s brows thundered down over his eyes and he kept his gaze fixed on Rikard hard enough that he had no doubt the young man could feel it, even without looking up. “This is a lesson you won’t soon forget… though I had rather expected you would have learned it long before now.”

The scolding over with, Vidar chuffed out a sigh and turned his attention to Isara and her half-finished stew. “Eat up, girl. You’ll need your strength,” if he said this in a tone that was a hairs breadth softer than usual, no one was brave enough to point it out. “All of you will need your strength,” a slight smile lifted his lips, “Because we have a job.”

In truth, Vidar might well have accepted Nerys’ offer of coin in exchange for the ring under other circumstances, but this particular job would be lucrative enough that he felt the boy could afford the deeper sting. “There’s some manner of beast rampaging about a village that’s quite important to the capital’s food supply. They’re paying us top coin to go put an end to it.”

Ordinarily, this would have launched Rikard into an excited chatter about magical beasts and what this creature might be. But right now, still feeling low, he could hardly even summon up the heart to shoot Isara a half-hearted smile.

Nerys, not much caring to see Rikard in low spirits (though gods knew he was equally annoying in high ones) asked the question she suspected would help brighten him back up. “Enough coin for each of us to make a ruby ring a trifle?”

“More than enough,” Vidar answered, and Rikard slowly lifted his head.
 
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Vidar was a well measured man. For that reason, Isara did not need to look him in the eye to know he cared too little for Rikard’s boasting, especially in a setting where others could hear. The thieves of Caldbeck were known and feared, but the sole reason they still walked its wretched streets was because their kingpin knew how to keep their concealed.

Nerys and the twins had fallen into his mold easily, from the first heist completed in his name. It did not take a big thinker to know that Vidar overlooked very few faulty interactions, which is why his group of beloved ‘corvids’ remained limited to the bunch of them. Vidar had what he needed, and saw it in them, albeit Isara knew that she would never truly be one of the thieves. She had not earned her place there. Vidar had allowed her in for the sole reason that she, in essence, was his entire notion of family.

She listened to the exchange with very little interest until Vidar finally voiced the reason he had gathered them all there. She saw Rikard’s head lift, and she eventually turned away from the bowl to direct her attention to him. “Why would they hire a bunch of thieves to take care of rogue beasts?” she asked, her brows lowering over her dark gaze. “Don’t they have the silverswords for that?”

“Must be something they can’t even pay the silverswords to do,” Kasian set his jaw. “They need cheap, brute force. They know we have mages.”

Isara’s neck tensed, and she took in a breath, looking back down absentmindedly at her bowl of almost finished stew. There weren’t many sorcerers left in Maelstrom, not after the war, and even fewer in a place so close to the Capital; and it seemed very unlike the King to ask for a favor out of the kind he so much contemned. “Which means that it is not the King paying for this job, is it?” she continued her chain of thought, biting her lip. “It’s the silverswords themselves hiring behind the King’s back to complete a job they realised they couldn’t handle.”

With that last line, she looked back up at Vidar and shot him a scrutinizing glare. Were they so desperate as to accept a job meant for warriors? That year had not been as kind to them in terms of gold, Isara knew, but she would never have thought that Vidar would turn back to his nature for the sake of riches.

“Even so,” Kasian shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “We steal watches from the pockets of drunkards, not eggs from a steaming mother dragon.”

“We’ve done things of the sort before,” Orynn narrowed his eyes, “but catching a poor old black shuck can’t really compare to... Whatever that is that’s breathing fear even into a mage’s bones.”

Isara wanted to agree with them, but a part of her irked to know more. The twins made it no secret that they were particularly good at disenthralling settlements of pesky lurkers; it was partly why Vidar had taken them in so quickly. The other reason, unsurprisingly, was that they did not shy away from plucking any shiny trinkets from desperate villagers while at it. She, on the other hand, had not seen anything much scarier than a Vidar on a bad day, and she assumed even Nerys had did not have much experience concerning magical varmints.

“What is it then?” she finally pressed. “Have they told you before you agreed to drag us into this? Because unlike some of us here,” she said while giving Rikard the side eye, “I’m not willing to die for some ruby ring.”
 
Vidar let them all puzzle through why they had been hired. Listening silently, the only part that moved was his eyes as he tracked the flow of their musing. All of life was a lesson if you looked hard enough. Telling them outright would dull their minds and thieves needed be sharp of wit if they wanted to survive.

Nerys finished her stew and pushed the bowl away, the movement catching Vidar’s attention as he flicked his eyes to meet hers. She arched a questioning brow, but he kept his expression steady and uncommunicative, earning a sigh. In bed he might treat her differently than the rest, but not so when it came to the business of the thieves.

The question that Isara finally levelled at him had all the eyes shifting towards her. Even Rikard peered, though his expression was still downcast. It made his face seem longer and more drawn, older, but not in a way that was appealing. Frankly, it didn’t suit him at all.

“We have a beast to clear out, that’s all you need to know,” Vidar reached behind his back and tugged out a massive coin purse that was stuffed with gold coins, placing it cleverly in view of the Corvids but hidden from other gazes. “This,” he nodded subtly to the bag, “Is merely a sign of good faith from the silverswords. A trifle compared to our full payment.” With the amount of gold that the silverswords were willing to pay them, he could firmly establish the guild. Lay aside coin as a buffer to protect Isara, Nerys and the boys should anything foul befall him. It was enough to make Vidar swallow his pride where the silverswords were concerned.

Rikard’s eyes locked onto the bag of gold coins, disbelief sketched across his features. Involuntarily, his fingers began to reach for them. Vidar’s hands, fast as always, cut through the air once more to snap a slap to his wrist.

A yelp drew eyes to them once more, but with Vidar looming they all skittered away just as quickly.

“You’ll get your share, Rikard, you all will… AFTER this job is complete,” Vidar said, no real consternation in his voice even following the slap. “Eat well, sleep well, and we leave tomorrow just after first light,” he shot Nerys a brief look—telling, even in that flash—and lightly ruffled Isara’s hair before slipping away from the bar. The coins had vanished, though none of them had seen him move them onto his person.

It was only when Vidar was fully out of earshot that Rikard blew out a loud sigh and straightened in his seat again. His wrist was cradled by his other hand, making Nerys roll her eyes. There was no way that Vidar had struck hard enough to cause injury—he’d never do something like that to a thief’s ‘tools.’

“I wonder if I could steal the ring back.”

Nerys blinked at him for a moment and then gave a scoffing laugh, pushing away from the bar and standing with a shake of her head. “By all means try it, Rikard. It’ll be a relief to not have you pestering me any longer, but don’t expect me to attend your funeral.”

He scowled; nose crinkled up as he glared at her. She arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to deny it, but he didn’t, couldn’t. This came as no surprise; Rikard knew it was true just as much as she did.

“That’s what I thought,” she said to him definitively with a snort, turning to Isara, “Make sure the idiot doesn’t do something stupid and get himself killed before we leave. Useless though he may be, I don’t think Vidar would be keen to replace him,” she shot Rikard one more pointed look before threading her way through the tables in the direction Vidar had gone.

Rikard’s shoulders slumped for a long moment before he straightened again, plastering a smile on his face that did not come close to reaching his eyes. “Guess it’s just the four of us then…” he sighed and studied Isara, “So… is the stew as bad as you anticipated?” whether she’d argue with him or not, he didn’t much care. Rikard would take any answer, provided it helped him forgot the colossal failure his evening had become. He flicked a glance towards the twins, “And shouldn’t the pair of you be burying yourselves between the teats of some whores somewhere?” One more beat of silence lingered and then he laughed, "I wonder if we'll get to slay a dragon."

✹​

Of all the colours Nerys used for her hair, her natural muddy auburn was never one of them. Not, at least, until she was in the arms of her leader. The brown faded away as she chanted something soft under her breath, strands of red catching the light instead as she padded down the hall of rooms.

Vidar waited for her in the one he had rented for the night. By their ages they could be mistaken as father and daughter but that no longer mattered to Nerys. It all seemed to slip away when they were entwined with the sheets tangled and their breath mingling in harsh pants on the air.

It was his hands that she loved best. They were calloused from years of handling his sword; rough, and yet impossibly gentle and deft. The marriage of warrior and thief was a pleasing one.

The first time it happened they had both been drunk. He had whispered things into her ear that would make a whore blush, things that had made her blush… and slap him. But, somehow, they had still woken to a dawn in each other’s arms with vague memories that kept them repeating the arrangement until she was in his bed more often than not these days.

Tonight, too, he welcomed her as she always did and Nerys submitted herself fully to what he offered her.
 
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Isara’s eyes fixated the coin satchel Vidar put in fromt of them, but the display of it did not impress her nearly as much as it did the others. She saw Rikard inch towards it from the corner of her eye, and as though cutting through the air, Vidar’s hand smiting his wrist with a firm but discreet blow. To her, the gold meant little more than the reassurance of tomorrow, yet she supposed she did have an advantage to the rest. As Vidar’s protege, she did not have to worry about the fragility of her place amongst his group, or living on the streets given a faulty misstep.

Deep inside, she knew he would not willingly endanger them for the sake of coin, yet his proposal seemed demanding, even for a mage as skilled - although abstained - as Nerys was. Then the twins, they were witty and swift, but whatever experience they had likely did not include wiping out creatures that scared even the toughest of silverswords.

And yet, he seemed settled on taking the matter into his hands, or rather, throwing it into theirs with the promise of a payment that would earn Rikard all the ruby rings he wished for and the boys all the women they could fuck in one night - or many more to come. And she, as a bird with fluff for feathers, could do naught but eye him with contempt and hope he did, at least, feel the burn of her glare on his cheek.

As he turned to leave, Isara pushed the bowl as far away from her nose as her arm could stretch and leaned back in her chair with a sullen frown on her face, which seemed to be engraved on her features then. “Really keen on that ring, weren’t you?” she shot at Rikard, her eyes still on the corner where Vidar was just making himself scarce. “What did you intend to do with it, propose to that milkmaid you met last night? Forget it... You aren’t getting it back. Unless you impress him, which I doubt anyone can these days.”

“Ah,” Orynn laughed, canting his head towards his brother. “That sounds like-“

“-Something you’d say!” Kasian tossed back at him with a big grin on his face. “Although I admit it sounds much more daunting when a mage chick says it. One wrong word and you could make a pig’s tail out of his c-“

“Goodnight, Nerys,” Isara sighed loudly, resuming her usual tapping against the table. She shot Kasian and Orynn the side eye, before letting her gaze rest on the bustling common room of tavern. It was nearing noon, a time which brought more visitors to The Rocking Horse, earning them some acoustic privacy before their drunken games and shouting got too loud to ignore over a casual conversation. Thankfully, it was enough to distract Kasian from cooking up another insult.

The day before a big heist always felt like a vivid dream to Isara. It was not often that she was allowed to participate in things quite as perilous, with Vidar’s petty pretext that she was not ‘swift and silent enough’ to keep them concealed. Although killing a beast did not require much swiftness, she supposed his reason for not casting her away was another - Caldbeck was a frigid, dangerous place for anyone, let alone a solitary woman. And frankly, she wanted to see what it was that scared off the silverswords for herself.

“Have you ever kept to a remotely consistent chain of thought or do you just voice whatever comes to mind at a given moment?” Isara smirked slightly and nudged him as she bent over the counter. “I missed you boys. It gets lonely around here when everyone’s out fucking some whore or stealing ruby rings.”

“Good thing you’ll have enough time to indulge in our presence, then,” Kasian gave her a wide smile. “Though I can’t say I’d worry about Rik, I know for sure he isn’t getting any action here. Head they pay him to stay away from the brothels, his tiny prick scares their women.”

Isara let out a quiet chuckle, but lowered her head, letting her dark curls shroud her cheeks. She liked to think he was not quite as terrible as they gave him credit for. She knew they were, yet that was no secret, even amongst their dysfunctional flock. In the back of her mind, she wondered if Nerys had ever tested their reasons of boasting for herself.

She paused for a moment then, biting her lip in thought. “I wonder if they knew my father,” she spoke softly. “Vidar always went on about how great a silversword he was, when I was little.”

“Well, Vidar doesn’t throw out compliments easily,” Kasian shrugged. “Though there ain’t much else to say about a dead man. We can but remember their greatness, eh? Which is why, Orynn and I are making sure in our case there’ll be a lot of it to talk about.”
 
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“The pair of you have an uncommon interest in my prick,” Rikard said sweetly, “I appreciate all the interest you have in it, but I’m afraid I’m not much aroused by boys.” He grinned impishly at his own joke, the melancholy melting away. “And if I’m not getting any action… it’s only because, unlike you two, I’m not actively collecting diseases.”

The wine had remained mostly untouched while he supped on the stew, but now Rik brought it to his lips and drank, eyes twinkling again. Isara’s small chuckle at the twins joke only made him more cheerful—even if it was at his expense—though his grin faded somewhat at her softly spoken comment on her father.

The twins responded as they normally would, but Rikard was quiet and thoughtful for a few moments before he answered in turn. “Only one way to find out… we’ll have to ask them,” he said, peering at her over the rim of his glass. “Or, ah, you’ll have to. I suppose I’m not the one you’d want with you for something like that,” he chuckled to himself and focused on the wine for another moment before turning a gleaming eye to the twins

“I fear your hunt for greatness is taking a rather slow turn. You won’t get very far when all you do is stick your noses up the skirts of various ladies,” he trilled the last bit, a rakish smile now turning his features decidedly handsome. “Not that there isn’t a certain type of greatness in that, but you won’t be heroes to much more than horny boys!” he laughed loud and cheerful, downing the rest of his wine and shooting the barkeep a winsome smile with his glass raised.

She smiled with a congenial roll of the eyes but was quick to bring him a fresh glass of wine. nonetheless Already, Rikard’s cheeks were beginning to grow slightly flushed, the rosiness improving his features and detracting from the pallor of his skin.

“By the by! You mock me and my ruby ring, but that was a thing of beauty!” he said, now frowning down into his cup with a boyish pout. “If only I hadn’t…” he sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of his nose, straightening up from the cup and giving his head a firm shake. “But never mind that. Beasts! And all that gold!” Once again, the grin made a reappearance and he caught Isara’s eyes first and then those of the twins. “Just for fun, what’s the first thing you’ll do with all that gold. Ah—” he jabbed a finger at the twins, “Second thing in your case. Pick what you’d do after buying the most expensive whore in Maelstrom.”

✹ ​

Nerys stretched luxuriously beneath the sheets, body warm and limber as she lay curled within the warm nest of Vidar’s arms. “You were rather vague on the details, Vidar,” she murmured at last, breaking the drowsing silence. “Considering the fact that you’ve lured me to bed at noon, I think you can tell me some more.”

She could feel the sound through his chest as he rumbled at that, shifting her slightly in his arms though not releasing her. “I don’t recall doing any luring. I don’t recall saying a word to you,” there was a slight smile in his voice as he said it. “You were the one who knocked on my door.”

“And you were waiting,” she reminded him, a smile now in her own voice.

“Aye, that is true,” he admitted, not sounding particularly upset. Silence stretched for a few more beats before he sighed. “We go tomorrow to meet the silverswords, they’ll give us more details then.”

“You intend to let Isara participate?” Nerys asked him. She wasn’t blind, she knew he doted on her.

Vidar was quiet for a few long moments before speaking, his words slow, “I won’t leave her here in Caldbeck alone. I can better keep her safe with me. If you’d keep an eye on her as well… a fellow mage…” his voice was reluctant. He hated to ask favours of her.

“Of course I will, she’s like the little sister I never asked for,” Nerys muttered, “Though if you tell her I said this, I WILL deny it… and murder you.”

“Murder me,” he scoffed, “I’d like to see you try.”

Nerys turned in his arms so that she could peer up at him, smirking through her lashes. “Would you?”

Vidar made no real answer, tugging her close and kissing her instead. Neither one would say it, but with a mission such as this on the horizon they had to make the most of every moment together.
 
Isara had never known her father, which was why the mention of him did not darken her frown much more. She had all she needed with Vidar, and more than many others of her age could ever hope for – a home, albeit ever-changing, warm clothes to withstand the polar blessings of Maelstromian weather, and enough food to keep her on her feet. And yet, a part of her continuously yearned to know the man Vidar spoke so highly of, and yet who gave up on his only offspring, though with the excuse of keeping her safe.

She found their boyish chatter oddly entertaining. The soft simper on her lips lingered for a while, even deepened as the jokes turned into prickly bickering. She noted the glow on Rikard’s cheeks, and the crimson tint of his lips from sipping on his second goblet of mulled wine, yet the flushed tipsiness only seemed to bring out the essence of his charm more.

“Well, I’d rather die from fucking too much than old age,” Orynn’s smiled glimmered like pearls with a mischievous pride. “Now that’s what I call a good way to go, eh?” He nudged his brother and leaned slightly back in his chair. “Do forgive me, Rikard, I did not mean to insinuate you should ever spoil your pristine honour.”

“Fuck honour,” Kasian shook his head in a theatrical exhaustion, propping himself on his elbow against the bar counter. “What better way to go than with a pair of ti-“

“I think we should all respect his abstinence,” Isara interrupted him, and Orynn flashed her a doubtful gaze, for he knew even she did not believe in that notion when it came to someone as wanton as Rikard. She took it with a grain of salt, and turned her own eyes to Rikard at his question of gold and future. Silence pervaded their corner for a moment, as the twins appeared keyed at the notion of spending their earnings on something other than exotic flesh.

“Hmm,” Orynn rubbed his chin and turned over his shoulder to look at his brother, who displayed the same expression of deep contemplation. Kasian bit his lip and looked back at the pair of them, answering in his brother’s stead.

“Suppose we lost count of the last time we spent our gold on something other than experience,” he said, and his usual devilish smirk slowly returned to his face. “Why else are we paid if not to live? Food warms your belly for a turn of the clock or two, clothes get snowed on and filthy either way... But women...” He patted his brother’s chest, and Orynn touched his brother’s hand with a dramatic melancholy.

Kasian frowned slightly and lifted his chin towards her with a smirk. “Can’t really say you get paid, eh, Isara?” he poked bitterly at her. “You flutter your lashes and Vidar grants his precious her greatest wishes.” He canted his head again. "At the expense of what we make from our heists, if I’ve calculated correctly.”

“Envy does not suit you, Kasian,” Isara sighed, bored of the subject of her case already. “I live just as you all do. Perhaps with even less damage to Vidar’s pockets.”
 
Fully prepared to defend his own honour and decision to abstain of late, a retort hovered on Rikard’s lips. Before he could snap it out, Isara’s voice cut through the three of them in defense of him and Rikard turned with slightly startled eyes to look at her. He would never have imagined that she would champion him on this. It warmed his heart and he shot her a grateful smile--the expression at once boyish and full of warmth--before turning to the twins with a smirk. “There you have it, women respect it. So, while you indiscriminately fuck anything that moves, I will be the one finding some quality woman to keep,” he mimed an hourglass playfully with his hands and then leaned back in his seat with a laugh.

They all grew silent as they considered his question, even Rikard finding himself lost in imagining what he would do with a heap of gold. Predictably, of course, the twins didn’t seem able to think of much beyond warm flesh. It made Rik shake his head in mock sorrow, “The pair of you have no imagination.”

Somehow, Kasian got it into his head to round on Isara at this point and Rik’s eyes widened slightly in alarm. He had not intended the question to devolve into an attack on her. She defended herself in a bored tone, but there was no way the comments didn’t sting. Rikard didn’t believe for a moment that she was as heartless as she pretended. He could still remember a vague time, back when they had been younger, where she had been full of smiles. He didn’t know what had changed, but it didn’t matter.

“That isn’t fair, and you know it,” he said coldly to Kasian, “Do you see Isara mincing about in expensive dresses or eating a hole through the coin purse?” he gestured to the bowl of stew, “Hard enough to get her eating at all, asshole,” the last was grumbled in a low growl. “The pair of you probably spend more than the rest of us combined… whoring your way through all of Caldbeck.”

Rikard scowled, the fun had gone out of him and he hopped off the barstool. This sudden movement proved to make him slightly dizzy--the wine having a greater effect than he had expected. A steadying hand on the back of Isara’s chair was enough to settle him, and after a moment of adjusting he released it and stood on his own two feet. “I’m finding somewhere to stay overnight,” he flicked her a brief glance, “You’re welcome to come with me if you don’t have arrangements already, Isara.” He pointedly ignored the twins.
✹​

Dawn broke incessantly, as it always did, and Nerys opened her eyes with a contented sigh. She was still caged in Vidar’s arms—the only type of cage she had no qualms about being caught in—and carefully shifted so she might peer up at him. Much to her surprise, his eyes remained closed and his breathing even and deep.

As a general rule, he tended to wake before her. Rather than releasing her and going about his morning, however, the leader of the Corvids would remain awake and hold her until she had woken too. Nerys had found it rather sweet from the first, even if surprisingly intimate. Enough to make her heart squeeze uncomfortably in her chest. She liked to believe she was under no illusions about his intentions. Thieving was stressful work. Vidar was a handsome man—silver haired and far older than her or no—and she was his type. This entanglement of theirs, whatever it was, was purely a source of release for them both. Nothing more.

Her eyes traced the silver stubble peppering his face, the wrinkle lines carved into his skin. Even in sleep he had a regality and sense of strength to him that drew her in. Soft lashes rested demure against his cheek, balanced by a nose that had been broken twice over. Jawline sharp enough to cut. Even in his early forties, Vidar attracted eyes wherever he went. The appreciative appraisals of women. Nerys didn’t blame them.

She freed a hand so she could gently trace the line of his jaw, offering him a soft smile as his eyes fluttered open at the touch. “Morning, boss,” she said with a coquettish smile.

Vidar snorted and leaned down to give her a gentle kiss, “Good morning,” he rumbled against her skin.

✹​

It took little enough time before the pair of them were dressed and seated at a table in the inn. They would breakfast here and then begin the trek to where the silverswords would meet them. Today, Nerys had made her hair silver. Whether as a play on the fact that they went to meet the silverswords or because she had privately wished to match Vidar… well, she would never say.

Two steins of sweet goat milk had been set before them, the promise of a hearty breakfast lingering on the air as the scent of cooking bacon began to fill the room. Vidar fully intended to treat the lot of them to a spectacular meal before they left. Isara because she needed food, and the rest because he couldn’t simply pay for her meal and not theirs.

They both were taking a long sip of the goats milk when the doors to the inn were thrown open in a similar fashion to the previous night. Both Nerys and Vidar sighed without looking up. They didn’t need to. Certain things were very obviously the province of Rikard.

Sure enough, he followed the fresh blast of cold air into the inn. His hair was still bed-tousled, and his eyelids drooped, but there was a cheerful excitement to his expression that betrayed his feelings on the upcoming job.

“Come sit down, idiot,” Nerys called to him—still not looking his way.
 
Isara was not surprised at the notion of Rikard defending her in front of the twins; he had been a sort of big brother to her ever since his first days by Vidar’s side, and yet, it was not often that he jabbed back with the same fire. She dared to peek through her lashes, and behind the smoking irate Rikard justifying her presence, both Orynn and Kasian seemed taken aback, as though surprised their bitter humour had not been universally appreciated.

As Rikard got up on his feet and invited her to leave with him, Isara merely let out a soft breath and bent over the counter even more, shielding her face behind a curtain of dark hair. A part of her wanted to believe that it was not only the wine which had rendered him seeking red, and yet judging by the way he stumbled before disappearing through the doors of The Rocking Horse, that thought felt more and more naive.

She noted the way Orynn’s jaw set as he turned to his own side of the table then. The twins feared Vidar – frankly, as any man with intact senses should – but her silence would be enough to let them know she had no intention of having him chastise them. The silence was heavy, burdening on her chest, and Isara decided it would be best to leave for the day, if only for the sake of cutting the tension between her and the culprit.

“We fucked up again, eh?” she heard Kasian mutter behind. His voice seemed softer, unusual for the likes of him. His brother scoffed and shook his head.

“It’ll pass. She’s too smart to pay any mind.”

✹​

The crack of down found Isara trembling, late, and with an unpleasant amount of snow on her shoulders and hair. It had not taken her much to regret not tagging along with Rikard for the day, yet the thought of spending the night even remotely in his vicinity sounded like a bad idea even when he was not hammered and upset. The latter occurred like the eclipse, which had made Isara even less drawn to accepting his offer.

Thinking about his question back at the tavern the other day, she thought that, perhaps, after being paid for their newest heist, she would ask Vidar for some warmer clothes. It did not help that her stomach growled like a dying wolf; the soup had come and vanished too quickly, leaving her insides cold and begging for something other than mulled wine this time around.

She had spent the night – or some of it, at least – fighting to fall asleep in Eyreka’s anteroom by the main street. It was a cozy place, but not often empty, as the girl had been working and sleeping in the same musky apartment ever since leaving her family down in the Southern countryside. Too grateful for even being received this time around, she had not complained about the shuffling of cards and occasional sobs coming from the other room, but as the skies threatened to turn blue and her clients getting louder by the minute, Isara decided it would be best to take in some brisk air in the stead of sleep until it was time to meet back at the inn.

Upon opening the doors to The Rocking Horse, Isara was greeted with the same irritated glares from the clients enjoying their warm breakfasts in peace. She spotted Nerys and Vidar already at one of the tables, Rikard red cheeked and freshly arrived by their side. They all looked considerably better than she did, Nerys and Vidar especially, with their faces glowing and her hair of a similar hue to his. She saw them in that state more often than not as of late.

“Are we having a big breakfast before leaving?” the young mage asked impatiently as she took a seat as far away from the pair as she possibly could, yet her eyes lingered on Vidar for a moment. She remembered the sour comments of the twins from the other night, and quickly added, “I can only assume we’ll be having stale bread and overly salted ham all day on our trip.”
 
Rikard had been mildly disappointed when Isara had declined his offer of finding a place to stay together. Not that she couldn’t take care of herself—he knew she could—but there was always safety in numbers… especially where a beautiful young woman was concerned. Although, he’d never call her such out loud. If she didn’t crack his jaw, then Vidar certainly would. And the twins would never let him live it down. He just hoped she had found somewhere agreeable to get some rest. She’d need it, they all would, for a job like this.

For his part, without needing to care about finding somewhere adequate for Isara to lay her head, he had broken into a stable and slept burrowed in hay among the horses. The sounds and smell of the animals always soothed him and—loathe though he was to admit it—Nerys hadn’t been wrong about him being flat broke. What few coins still jingled in his pockets had to be saved for necessities. The ring would have turned things around for him, but he wasn’t one to dwell. It was gone, and this job promised even more riches than the ruby would have brought him.

Whistling cheerfully, he approached the table with Nerys and Vidar. Both looked well rested; their faces glowing and body-language at once companionable and relaxed. It was almost like they’d… Rikard mentally shook his head, eager dismiss the notion that had just popped into it.

“Matching with the boss today, Nerys? That’s a bold move. Never thought you’d go for ‘old hag,’ but it suits you.” He said sweetly as he tugged out a chair and threw himself into it.

Vidar actually snorted, causing Nerys to whip her head around to glare at him, and that was when Rikard felt his heart sink. He hadn’t wanted to entertain the notion that the pair of them might have been knocking boots, but Vidar was not the sort to laugh at his jokes. Not normally. And the anger Nerys directed their leader’s way felt half playful rather than truly angry… and she was never playful. He wondered if Isara would know. How it would make her feel.

He didn’t need to wait long to find out.

Shortly after he’d sat down, the door swung open a second time. It was Isara of course, but when Rikard turned to shoot her a greeting it choked in his throat. She looked like Hell. Worse. She looked like something dragged from Hell, thrown into purgatory, chewed on by some drooling creature, dragged back to Hell, and then unleashed upon the earth.

Rikard almost commented on how bad she looked but thought better of it. She seemed thoroughly peeved already and by her choice of seat… he swallowed hard.

“It’s my intention to buy everyone a fine meal to start the day, yes,” Vidar said, a frown creeping across his features to see her sitting so far away from him and looking so haggard. “But you are correct. Stale bread and salted ham will be our staple for the duration of the trip.”

The innkeeper had spotted the two new guests and quickly bustled out with two more steins of fresh goats milk. Rikard plucked his up and quickly took a noisy sip, wracking his mind over how to cheer up Isara and distract from the obvious.

“You—”

“Where did you sleep? Or did you intentionally keep yourself awake all night to make this trip even less tolerable?” Nerys said to her before he could say anything, looking peevishly at her over the rim of her own stein.

“I slept in a barn, very sorry if I stink like horses and a stable,” Rikard cut in quickly, flicking a glance between Nerys and Isara in the hopes that he might draw any ire onto himself.

For his part, Vidar was looking her over carefully now that he had spoken--breakfast forgotten. Wherever she had been, it had certainly not been somewhere suitable and his previously good-natured expression vanished quickly to be replaced with vexation. "Isara, you do not look well..." he turned his sharp gaze onto Rikard and the young man quailed beneath it. "You abandoned her? Did not see to it that she found somewhere safe to sleep?" it was asked calmly, conversationally even, and Rikard was glad he had taken a piss before entering the inn.

"Well-- I--" he glanced helplessly at Isara. He didn't want to tell Vidar he had offered and she had refused. But he ALSO wanted to live another day. "I.. I..." he begged her for help with his eyes.
 
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It was not often that they found Vidar in such good spirits to splurge on a big meal for all of them. That day, Isara assumed would be one of the few of luxurious decency until they returned - if at all - from catching magical vermints. The smell of warm milk and sizzling meat tickling her nostrils made her stomach rumble even louder, and for a moment, she almost forgot about the exhaustion in her bones and the cold, wet curls stuck to her temple. She was even more content with a fresh mug between her palms once the barkeeper slid over to their table with a tray of them for the newest guests.

Only a few moments of peace passed until the glow in Nerys’s eyes turned to venom, spilling out from behind the rim of her mug before Rikard got to say another word. Isara looked of from her own to seek the usual playful glance, but was instead met with ice. She felt her stomach sink and her throat tighten, but kept her sullen poise, fingers tightening around the mug, threatening to crack it open.

Rikard looked like he was close to pissing himself under Vidar’s gaze, and she caught his plea before he would be forced to spurt out some apologetic nonsense. “A friend was kind enough to take me in,” she explained softly, eyes fixated on Nerys steadily. “I do regret not having gone with Rikard though, I am sure the barn was considerably less noisy than that place.”

She did not blink, but felt her eyes sting and the lump in her throat only grow thicker. “I am sorry my presence is intolerable, unfortunately you’ll have to endure a lot of it starting today.” It was Vidar’s doing, nonetheless, for she knew the man would much sooner decline the offer than leave her alone for a whole day in the hellhole that was Caldbeck. At the very least, she would not bother the pair of them in the evening.

As the doors opened one last time, the twins strode in, each coated in a melting blanket of snow and donning large grins on their faces, unsurprisingly telling of how they had spent their night. Orynn wore his travel cape on his shoulders, a patchwork of assorted leather and hand-sewn trimmings of wolf’s fur; Kasian, prepared for the family breakfast, kept it carefully folded and tucked beneath his arm, his other hand already in the air to call for a mug of his own from the overly encumbered barkeeper at the other side of the room.

“Bloody, you look awful,” Kasian smirked as he lowered his arm and used it to pull up a seat for himself by Isara. Orynn followed closely, and picked his own on the other side of her, intentionally wiggling himself between her and Rikard.

“Good morning to you, too... Which one was it?” Isara pretended to think for a moment, but then returned to her mug with a calculated nonchalance. “Ah, yes. The jerk one. Oh, no... that’s both of you.”

Kasian fashioned a disgusted grimace and leaned his head back. “Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine in the morning,” he sighed as he received his serving of milk from the barkeeper. His eyes flickered to Nerys and Vidar for a moment, then to the awfully silent Rikard leaning like a beaten dog, and his gaze immediately turned to his twin brother with a cocked brow.

It did not take more than a half-brained man to know something was off, and their first lead was the usual bickering between the ladies of their flock. Kasian noted the way Isara’s hand shook slightly around the mug and the unusual amount of steam it gave off, which made him regret his choice of sitting so close to her that moment. “Here,” he said in an uncommonly soft tone, and used one hand to set his cape over her shoulders. “This weather makes even the toughest of us shiver.” It was a good way to conceal it he thought, at least in front of the others.

Isara nodded with appreciation, now regretful of her initial greeting, and took a sip out of her milk to keep her mouth busy. Orynn eventually set his finished cup down and leaned back in his chair. “So what’s the plan, boss?” he sighed in satisfaction. “Are we stealin’ some horses or are we supposed to walk on foot to... wherever the hell those silverswords want us meeting them?”
 
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The relief that Rikard felt at Isara defending him was lost by the false calm he sensed in her voice. Made worse by her apology. Why had Nerys chosen to be so sharp in her words? He could see no sense or reason in it and turned towards the silver-haired mage with a scowl scrawled across his features.

“I think that ‘old hag’ might have been—” but the insult he intended to shoot her way was cut off by the arrival of the twins.

They brought with them a chill of cold air that promised further snow. A bad omen for the day of travel. Kasian’s cloak left a puddle behind him as he stomped inside while Orynn had his neatly tucked beneath an arm. Or was it the other way around? Rikard did not struggle often to tell the twins apart, but between his own present distress and the matching smiles they wore he could not be certain.

Heaving a sigh, he pushed a hand through his head of dark hair and frowned as he encountered a stiff piece of straw tangled there. He had thought he had managed to brush them all away, but evidently one had been missed. Rikard was in the process of removing it when the twins pulled up seats on either side of Isara.

Orynn—or was it Kasian?—jammed his own between Rik’s and hers, earning a protesting complaint from him as he accidentally jabbed himself with the stiff end of the straw. “Ow,” he grumbled, pulling it the rest of the way out and shooting Orynn a scowl that he was too preoccupied to see.

Vidar’s eyes on him were still cold so he slumped down into his seat, listening to the twins chatter with Isara and feeling lost for how to contribute. So oft they made him feel like some idiotic boy.

Nerys felt a hand come to rest just above her knee, a squeeze given as both a warning and command. Vidar wanted her to apologize, but just because she liked to fuck him didn’t mean he owned her. Steam was rising from Isara’s cup and Nerys knew full well what that meant. Truly upsetting the girl hadn’t really been her intention, but the irresponsibility of it all was infuriating. So, for the time being she kept silent, ignoring the hand on her knee and keeping her eyes pinned on Isara… for a moment at least. When even Kasian went so far as to throw his cloak over her, she did feel a touch of shame and finally turned her own attention to the mug of goats milk.

“The plan is neither,” Vidar answered at last, frustrated anger hovering in the margins of his tone though he kept all hint of it off his face. “I’ve purchased us a few mules for the journey. Stealing them would take too long, we leave after breakfast,” each word was clipped, laden with an unspoken desire to bash all of their heads together to instill a bit of sense. His hand left its place on Nerys’ leg, leaving her feeling cold and a little unbalanced. “We’ll be doubling up while riding,” the words had an obvious threat to them; sort out your differences before this ride, or else I’ll sort them out for you. With that, Vidar pushed himself back from the table and stood with an abruptness that was more telling than anything else. He did not say a word, striding with graceful purpose—even in anger—towards the bar where he exchanged a few low words about the meal with the barkeeper.

When he was gone, Nerys breathed out a sigh that was half regret and half anger. “Must you always be dramatic, Isara? You looking like shit and being even less useful than that doesn’t make your presence intolerable,” she lowered her voice to a hiss and twitched her head towards Vidar, “It makes HIS intolerable.” They all knew how put out and temperamental he could be when it came to Isara. Seeing her in such a state for the duration of the day would only make things worse.

“Or maybe YOU’RE being dramatic, Nerys,” Rikard said mildly. Having finished his goats milk he felt a great deal calmer and more himself. “Though I suppose we can all guess who you intend to ride double with.”

She had the decency to blush at the very least, a scowl screwing up her features and her fingernails digging hard into her own mug. “I don’t know what you could mean by that,” she said, each word bitten out sharp and pointed.

“Oh, I think you do,” he snipped back, tone still conversational. She was steaming now, just like he’d wanted, and with that accomplished he turned to the twins. “So, which one of you plans on riding with Isara tucked against your chest? Whichever unlucky one doesn’t have me?” he shot them a rakish smile, hoping to make someone laugh and break the tension. Or even try and hit him. Anything to pull them out of this strange discomfort that he detested on principle.

“None of you ride with Isara,” the voice came from directly behind Rikard and he might have melted to a puddle if he were able.

“I, uh—”

“Isara rides with me,” it was Vidar of course, his voice cold and his eyes even colder. Rikard managed an awkward laugh and clapped a hand to the back of his neck.

“Of course, that’s definitely the better arrangement…”

Vidar said nothing, only offered him a cold, unimpressed, stare before reclaiming his previous seat. Breakfast followed him; omelettes stuffed with ham and a medley of vegetables not often seen by the Corvids. Generous portions of bacon and ham—well seasoned and cooked to perfection—still sizzled on the hot pan they were served in. The scent of sage, thyme, and onion mingled on the air, wafting primarily from the eggs. But the piece de resistance was undeniably the six small bowls filled with gleaming red strawberries and a dollop of cream on top.

“Enjoy,” Vidar said, but it sounded more like he hoped they all choked on it—save, perhaps, Isara.
 
Isara listened to the conversation, absentmindedly stirring the cup of milk in her hand. They very rarely got along for more than a few minutes when together, and Vidar’s refusal to let out more information about the heist he had pulled them along into made it twice as difficult to ignore the upsetting dissension between the lot of them. It did not help that a part of her was convinced they had spoken of it in private – if talking had been the most innocent of their activities.

The milk in her mug had cooled down by the time Vidar sat up and walked away from their table for a brief exchange with the barkeeper. Her dark gaze turned to Nerys then, whose defensiveness slipped through her teeth quickly in a poorly executed attempt at blunting her bitterness from earlier. “I don’t recall complaining when I entered the room,” Isara calmly hissed back at her, her hand still moving nervously. “Was it my face offending you this time?”

Rikard chimed in to defend her once again, and her attention flicked to him and his cocky insinuation. She felt her own cheeks flush at the thought and bit her tongue to maintain her pose; she had not been the only one to mind the look on Nerys’s face that morning, it seemed, although she would never have thought Rikard would play squire for her sake in front of someone who could sprain his wrist with a simple glare. By her side, she could feel both twins shift slightly, observant in their silence until the same squire came in their aid to break it.

“Oh, I am sure whichever one of us gets to feel your prick against his backbone is one lucky bastard,” Orynn smiled ironically at the boy and leaned back in his chair. “I think Kasian can take one for the team, eh? I’ll ride w-“

Their effort to ease the tension did not last long. Vidar returned, and with him a sullen and brisk gush of air which made Orynn swallow his words before he could crack another jab at either Rikard or his brother. For one reason or another, Isara thought Vidar looked much taller and menacing that day, and the bitter expression darkening his features did not help with the impression that he was not in his best mood. She would ride with him. For that, Isara was thankful; at the very least, she would not have to endure snarky comments from either of the boys, or Nerys’s cold touch whenever she was forced to hold on to her when picking up the pace.

Behind him, as if to sweeten the atmosphere, the barkeeper returned with a tray filled with sweet and salty food, each giving off perfumed steam which tickled their nostrils and chipped away at the cold nagging on their bones. For a moment, Isara forgot all about her exhaustion, and in her ears no longer rung Nerys’s reproach, but the low rumble of her stomach, as a loud reminder she had not eaten in far too long.

“Is it poisoned?” Kasian asked with a cocked brow, but his brother did not wait before digging into the plate of sizzling bacon. Isara watched for a moment in awe – it was not often than one would witness anything of this beauty in the shithole that was Caldbeck – but the view did not last too long, until each and every viand was attacked by either forks or empty hands.

“Poisoned or not...” Isara made a few hasty picks for herself and made sure to fill her plate until it threatened to spill onto the table – three slices of bacon and the most seasoned of ham, two of the bouncier eggs sprinkled with thyme and finely minced ham, and a handful of vegetables thrown and cramped on the sole empty quarter of the plate. Before taking her bite, she looked up to Rikard, her gaze gentle this time, and shifted to Vidar, waited until he caught it, but she would let him decide whether it was sadness or gratitude that she wrote in it.

It was perhaps for the first time that the twins saw Vidar’s nestling eat with such fervent appetite. Her cheeks were red and round, barely able to hold in the big bites she took. The sight brought an amused smirk to Kasian’s face, which only extended to Orynn’s as the brothers exchanged glances inbetween their own nibbling.

“Careful there, polar bear,” Orynn rhymed, and Kasian poked him playfully with his butter knife.

“Let the girl eat,” he said, and peeked over to Rikard from the corner of his eyes, as if to let him know his drunken thesis from the day before had not whistled by his ears. “If this was your way of making us shut up, Vidar, you’ve succeeded.”

“Doubt that, you’re still talking,” Isara muttered with a spoonful of strawberries in her mouth, and almost dropped her dollop of whipped cream in an attempt to smother a smirk.
 
Rikard’s mouth was watering as the food was set before them. Even Nerys’ lips were parted in something akin to prayerful wonder. The tension of earlier was not wholly forgotten, but for the time being an unspoken truce seemed to have been called.

None save Vidar were immune to the frenzied desire to fill plates. Forks scrabbled and knives clattered. At one point, Rikard and Nerys found their jabbing utensils uncomfortably entangled and both scowled at each other; fighting to wrestle them free. Fortunately, Vidar had accounted for their ravenous appetites and there was more than enough for each to pile their plates high twice over.

With his own plate full, Rikard forked the first bite of glistening ham into his mouth and let out a mewl of pleasure. Peripherally he had noted that Isara’s fork had stopped its hunting and he turned towards her, eager to see her reaction to the feast. Instead, he was greeted by a soft smile that set a glow to her features and stopped his heart. He damn well nearly choked on the ham in his surprise at the expression, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

Vidar received a similar intentioned glance, but the one he was given summoned up an uncomfortable mixture of guilt and protectiveness in him. He had taught them all to be keen eyed, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that she was not blind to his involvement with Nerys. But, somehow, it still scalded him to have her know and to then see such melancholy on her features. He strove to chase away her gloom, not add to it. But still… he did not wish to cut Nerys off either. He could feel her keen eyes watching them too, waiting for his judgment as surely as Isara was.

It also had not passed their leader’s notice that she had given Rikard a far gentler, and clearly grateful, glance. The boy had been bright hearted from the moment he had found him: filthy, bruised, one arm broken, sporting a black eye, with a gap-toothed grin and a silver coin clutched in grubby fingers. He had nearly paid for that coin with his life, but he had been vibrantly proud nonetheless. Called it his lucky silver. But, when little Isara had asked to play with it some few months after Rikard joined them, the boy had cheerfully given it to her. Never to be seen again. And he never chastised Isara for it… even though Vidar knew the boy had treasured it. Still, the thought of his daughter making any kind of eyes at a man—any man—was enough to make his blood boil. Did that make him a hypocrite? He grimaced and reached to gently touch Isara’s head before sighing and moving to reclaim his seat beside Nerys.

For her part, Nerys brooded over her meal. Not to say that she partook with any less gusto—she had a plate as full as any of theirs—but her mind was troubled. If it came down to a choice between Nerys and Isara… she had no illusions about who Vidar would pick. That was a bitter thought. Enough to make her eye Kasian and Orynn for a moment with thoughtful contemplation. They did like to go on about their prowess in bed; she could certainly test them. But why? To what end? To try making Vidar jealous? She sighed and turned her eyes to her plate, forking in another mouthful of egg.

Orynn’s chiming tease made Nerys flick her green gaze up and she peered at Isara. It was rare to see the girl eat so well, and even if there was some seed of jealousy in her heart… Nerys was glad to see her with puffed cheeks and voracious appetite for once. Before she could say as much, Kasian jabbed his brother and insisted they let Isara eat. It made her own words superfluous and Nerys swallowed them down as surely as she had the eggs, sighing to herself.

“Take seconds, there is plenty to go around,” Vidar said, though he was only now filling his own plate for the first time, having waited till all five of the young Corvids had taken their share. He also took less than the rest: a slightly more generous portion of ham and bacon, but still not an amount that could compete with the mountains they had piled on theirs.

“Why does this feel like a last supper?” Rikard murmured around a mouthful of vegetables. “Or as though you’re stuffing us before butchering us for dinner?”

“Not much point in that. Even with bloated bellies the lot of us wouldn’t make for much of a roast,” Nerys supplied. She had saved her fruit for last and was carefully savouring each bite of berry. No juice was left unlicked and she made—perhaps excessively so—a show of it.

Vidar kept his gaze pointedly fixed on his own plate rather than looking at her. Overly so, in truth.

That was fine, any reaction was a reaction and it was enough to satisfy the mage for the time being. Licking her lips, she contemplated Isara for another moment. With full cheeks and an appetite that was swiftly being sated, she did not look as hellish as she had before. Though it grated, Nerys knew she had been overly harsh with her and sighed. Even beyond mages needing to stick together, she knew Isara had a hard time of it. Bad blood between them was no good.

Three glimmering berries still rested in her own bowl. Without agonizing over it excessively, Nerys pushed them deliberately in front of Isara. “I fear I cannot finish these, and they’re wasted on idiot men.”

“Hey!” Rikard protested, though he was smiling and licking his fingers clean of his own strawberry juice as he said it, warm approval in his eyes to see Nerys making this gesture.

“Make that boys,” Nerys said breezily, searching Isara’s dark gaze for some sign of forgiveness.
 
Isara was too preoccupied with ruminating her second helping of bacon to care about the twins’ childish bickering. She did listen inbetween loud gulps, although her interest lay more in the visible tension between Vidar and Nerys after their little argument. Every now and then, she would look over her plate or cup of milk to check Nerys’s expression, which albeit cold and unreadable, it seemed like the head of the corvids knew exactly what hid beneath it.

The girl did not think she had done anything wrong. Quite the opposite, the mage’s reaction to her apprarence had kindled the mindless argument, perhaps for the sole reason of sending her blood boiling to take away from the cold having settled in her bones over the morning. It was, however, almost impossible to regard it as a good thing, although slightly less so with a belly full of spiced ham and strawberries.

Her ears perked up slightly at Rikard’s comment, and despite her lack of participation in their conversation this time around, she did wonder for a moment whether this was Vidar’s way of pampering them before hell broke loose. They had no clue what their heist would consist of, what they would be faced with once they arrived, and if all of them would make it out alive and scratchless out of the monster’s den. She wanted to believe that Vidar would not endager them for the sake of a few stout bags of coins, especially not her, but whatever safety demarche he had in mind, she could only hope it had been calculated.

Isara was enjoying her last pieces of cut strawberry before Nerys’s hands obstructed her view, and for a moment, she was tempted to pull away in the fear of having her bowl snatched from beneath her nose, but as her pale fingers moved, she saw three more strawberries glistening ontop her almost finished bites. When she looked up, the apologetic gaze that met hers seemed too warm to be theatrical for the likes of someone as haughty as Nerys. She waited for a moment, brows twisting over her dark eyes, but eventually deemed the act innocent enough to dig into the bowl without the fear of it having been magically poisoned.

“Thank you,” she muttered, before filling her mouth with another piece of fruit. She was full and felt as though her guts would burst at the next bite, but she knew she wouldn’t enjoy that kind of luxury on their trip, or any kind of generosity from any of them when hunger and survival were involved. Vidar had trained them well for the latter.

She sketched nothing in return, following her word of gratitude. She did not want Isara to think her burst would be forgotten soon; forgiven, perhaps, for the sole reason that at the very least her flesh was making Vidar happy. Even the thought of it made Isara sick, but the idea had been playing in her mind for enough time for it to not come as a surprise. With Vidar, it was almost impossible to learn any personal information, but Nerys had made it clear, almost pridefully so.

Out of their tight group, Isara was the last to finish her breakfast. Once she was done, she wiped her mouth on the rim of her sleeve and offered Vidar a brisk smile. “I don’t think the mules will be able to hold us now,” she sighed as she leaned back in her chair. She did not want to get up for the life of her, but she supposed she could catch a few minutes of sleep on the road if Vidar was kind enough to hold her. She did not remember the last time he had held her in his arms, but the thought of it breathed more eagerness into her regarding their travels.

“Perhaps we’ll trade them for some proper stallions when we get there, with some... help,” Orynn suggested, rubbing his fingers together suggestively. It was the least the silverswords could do for them if they hoped to make it out in one piece. “I don’t suppose they want us fighting monsters from the back of donkeys. Unless boss is cutting down on the numbers,” he added with the hint of a smirk on his face.

“Because you see,” Kasian smiled and wrapped one arm around Isara’s shoulder, the tips of his fingers tracing Rikard’s earlobe erotically, “My brother and I have always dreamt of being knights on white horses. Since there’s no nights on white mules...”

“It takes honour and bravery to be a knight,” Isara brushed Kasian’s hand away and let out a soft breath of disapproval through her nose. “I’ll take the donkeys over a grimy carriage any day. It’s the best we have for now.”

“You only say that because you don’t have to ride with the likes of him,” Orynn complained, throwing a glare over at Rikard. “Or... My mistake, you would not have complained in that case either way, I assume.”

Isara pursed her lips and gave Orynn a solid kick with the tip of her elbow, which he was self-aware enough to anticipate and catch before it bruised a rib. She pulled her hand away from his defensive grip and stood up, intentionally letting her hair cover the side of her face facing Rikard, and pressed her palms on the table with an earnest thump. “We should go. The more time we spend here, the longer it will be until we’re blessed with a roof above our heads again. Awful as it is now with those two, I don’t want to imagine what it will be like when we’re all cold and liveried.”
 
Nerys could not say she was particularly surprised when Isara offered the barest muttered ‘thank you’ and nothing more. Well, so be it. The girl was young and temperamental, it would take more than a few strawberries to smooth over the hurt of a sharp tongue-lashing. At least she had accepted the offering. It would have been worse if she hadn’t.

Leaning back in her seat, the mage blew out a low sigh and was rewarded by the brush of callous-roughened fingers against her thigh, accompanied by a soft squeeze. Vidar’s way of thanking her for mollifying his precious Isara, it seemed. Nerys likely ought to have been angrier with him for not stepping in to settle the argument himself, but in a way… that alone showed how he valued her. Not long ago he would have risen with fiery wrath if she had dared to speak to Isara that way. So, instead of pulling away, Nerys surreptitiously slipped a hand beneath the table to cover his own.

They all finished their food quite quickly—even Vidar who had filled his plate last AND operated his utensils one handed—leaning back in their chairs with hands folded over overly full bellies. It was Isara who brought up the rear, as she so often seemed to do, still working through the mountain of steaming breakfast foods. Vidar didn’t care. He had bought the meal for them to enjoy. Only the gods knew whether they’d all return alive… Rikard had not been too far off the mark in his comment on it being a last supper. While Vidar fully planned to be the first one struck down (if any of them were so doomed) he nevertheless wanted them to begin this new venture with bellies full of the sort of fare he expected they would all be able to sup on for the rest of their lives if they were successful. There was more at stake here than simply the bags full of coin being offered them by the silverswords.

He lifted his gaze from the spot in the table that he had been boring a hole through when Isara spoke. There was the sound of eased contentment in her voice; a tone universal to those satisfied with full bellies. It was a rarity to hear it coming from Isara’s lips. His starving little pup. It was enough to make his voice fail him for a brief moment, and in that moment the twins took their opportunity to insert themselves.

Rikard felt the sensual touch on his earlobe and shuddered, face screwing up in disgust. “Gods, I think you’re wrong. The type of ‘knights’ the pair of you would make would be right at home riding a set of white asses,” he grumbled. Isara brushed Kasian’s hand away before Rikard could retaliate further and he huffed out an irate breath.

It seemed that Orynn’s comment aggravated Isara too, for she lurched to her feet and slammed her hands palm down onto the table. Rikard peered at her, puzzled, but a curtain of hair blocked him from seeing her expression. Her words also distracted him, and he shifted his gaze to look at Vidar.

Nerys also quirked an eyebrow and turned to look at the man beside her, but Vidar’s gaze lingered on Isara. Make it any more obvious, girl, and even a blockhead like Rikard will figure it out, was the thought that wriggled insistently into his mind, but it did not make its way into his expression.

“If we’re all done glutting ourselves then yes, it is time we head out,” he agreed calmly, a small—and rare—smile twitching his lips up slightly as he peered at his daughter. “Why do you think I chose mules? Cheaper and less apt to buck us off for weighing a few extra pounds…” even as he said it, he was pushing himself up from the table, dislodging the warmth of Nerys’ smaller hand from his own, feeling a brief twinge of loss at that. “Nerys will ride with Kasian… Rikard and Orynn will learn to get along on the other mule.”

He arranged it this way partially to spare Nerys the wandering hands of Orynn and partially to prevent her from losing her temper with Rikard. Kasian, at least, was somewhat more reasonable, and wise enough to know to keep his hands off of her lest he earn Vidar’s wrath later. Besides, Vidar was somewhat hopeful that Rikard and Orynn would exhaust each other before long through the inane bickering he was expecting.

The innkeeper had already been paid for the food and goat’s milk, so Vidar wasted no time donning his own thick sealskin coat from where it was hung by the door, swinging on his warg-fur cloak and pushing out into the frigid air. The mules were already tacked and tied to the hitching post in front of The Rocking Horse—something else he had arranged with the woman in charge—and Vidar moved to the head of the biggest one, stroking its muzzle once before promptly untying the lead rope from the hitch and swinging up into the saddle. There, he waited for Isara so he could offer her a hand and lift her up securely in front of him.

As Vidar had swept away from the table, Nerys eyed Kasian ruefully, standing up with a world-weary sigh of her own. “Try anything I don’t like, Kasian, and I’ll geld you,” it was not an idle threat where she was concerned, and she was sure he knew it. Rikard, meanwhile, looked ready to piss himself… whether in anger or horror, Nerys couldn’t be sure. “Chin up, Rikard, to hear Orynn tell it… you’ll be madly in love with him after the first few brushes against his lap.” She cackled as she said it, sweeping past them and after Vidar with her own coat being tugged smoothly around her even without coming to a stop.

“Fuck,” was all Rikard whispered, low and dejected beneath his breath, before pinning Orynn with a glare. “So then, what do you want? To rub up on my back? Or me on yours?” just saying it made him want to groan, but Rikard set his jaw bravely and was prepared to sit as gingerly far away from Orynn as he could manage.
 
Isara was red from forehead to toes, but at the very least the mention of Rikard riding with Orynn could make the apparent embarrassment pass as amusement at the thought of them trying to get along, at the very least for the sake of not upsetting Vidar. She let out a quiet breath of relief when the man rose as well, causing the entire rest of the diners to follow without further questions. The faster they got going and forgot of the strange exchanges that morning, the better.

She caught Orynn’s expression as she turned, the man eyeing his twin with a visible vexation, whilst Kasian displayed a smug smile stretching from ear to ear. They could not disobey Vidar’s orders, not if they still wanted their share of the gold the silverswords would be paying them. He did not shy away from displaying utter disgust and envy, however, once Vidar walked past them and his glare could not burn into them any longer. Isara could not bear to look at Rikard, but she could only assume he felt the same.

Orynn jumped like burnt at the boy’s comment, and towered over him menacingly. “Fuck knows you might not even have your tool by the time we get going,” he threatened, eagle glare twisting knives into him.

“Envy really does not suit you, brother,” Kasian quoted Isara with a smirk on his face. “Oh, wait... She did say that about me, did she not?” They looked the same, behaved the same, and yet it seemed like one of them was more gifted in terms of luck than the other. “I, for one, am in a far worse situation than you. Consider this - if I so much as touch Nerys, I will have my fingers burnt off or bitten by some... magical reptile she conjured from her sleeve.”

Of course, it did not take long until Nerys’s threat came along, and Kasian rolled his eyes, offering the woman his most theatrically courteous smile. “No depraved intentions here, my Lady,” the man said and bowed slightly, using the momentum to take a quick step forward and catch up with his brother. “Chin up, Orynn, at least if she does geld me then for once you’ll be the one with the largest prick!”

Orynn did not even bother to sketch a smirk at his brother’s snarky suggestion, yet jumped like burnt at Rikard’s comment and towered over him menacingly. “Fuck knows you might not even have your tool by the time we get going,” he threatened, eagle glare twisting knives into him, then turning to Kasian. “Tell me what it’s like to be fate’s favourite. And the boss’s, it looks like.”

“Oh, it feels heavenly!” Kasian exclaimed as he opened the doors of the inn and breathed in the brisk morning air once again.

Three mules stood tied to a pole by the entrance of the inn, which Isara had overlooked entirely upon entering earlier that day. They were well equipped for the weather and travel conditions, thick woven blankets beneath the double saddles and padded reins to keep their cold, dry hands from chafing after a few hours of riding. Isara was content to see Vidar choose the toughest one, large and steady to withhold the both of them with minimal effort. She followed quickly behind him, the ghost of a smile still on her face following the twins’ banter, and slipped her hand into Vidar’s for support upon jumping in front of him.

“It’s been a while,” she murmured softly. She held the reins clutched tightly between her fingers, and allowed herself to lean back slightly, resting against Vidar’s chest. The man was considerably wider than her - perhaps even twice as wide - and gave off an easeful warmth. “I don’t know if I can hold my balance very well anymore.”

She remembered the last time she had ridden with Vidar. Their horse had been old, greyed and tired, but it had made for a proper beginner’s mount, especially for a girl her age at the time. She remembered the way its rippling muscles felt beneath her, the discomfort of its width and the gentle huffing sounds it made whenever she pulled on the reins too abruptly, out of fear of falling off the saddle. The present mirrored the memory, yet this once, she had the reassurance that Vidar would not let her fall.

Isara peeked at Rikard from the corner of her eye, jumping ontop of his mule with Orynn behind him, the twin’s dark features twisted by a displeased grimace. By his side, Kasian had already mounted and set himself on the back end of the saddle, one arm prepared to support Nerys once she mounted herself. The girl wondered for a moment if Nerys had expected to he riding with Vidar, but did not bother to suggest otherwise. She had missed her hoary magpie, even more that day than any other.

A part of her, yet, would have hoped to ride with Rikard. She could already hear the twins’ comments playing in her mind, or Nerys’s subtle disapproval. She was young and hopeful. Idiotic, even, and for that reason she turned her head away to look straight forward, moving her hands on the reins right beneath Vidar’s. “Shake me if I fall asleep,” she said to him. “I don’t want to miss a moment of this raillery,” she added with a light giggle.
 
Orynn leaned over Rikard with menace in both expression and voice, but Rik only peered back up at him, completely unphased. “What? You want my tool so badly that you’ll take it from me? Gods, I’m in worse trouble than I thought…” he said with a false sweetness that didn’t reach his eyes, watching broodily as Orynn stomped out with Kasian on his heel, ribbing him the entire way.

He puffed out a vexed sigh and offered Isara a half-hearted smile as they made their way out the doors behind the twins themselves. At least she would have a pleasant ride. The only one out of the lot of them—save Vidar—who would likely enjoy this. Well, no, there was a good chance that Kasian would as well, but that was a very dangerous type of enjoyment. Nerys might have sworn off the use of her magic but that didn’t mean she couldn’t use it, and none of them were keen on testing the limits of her vow.

The air outside was cold and Rikard blew a puff of steamed air into cupped hands, looking up through his lashes towards the mule where Orynn had already claimed the back spot. This was not going to be enjoyable. Of course, he wasn’t sure he would have preferred to have been the one rubbing up against Orynn, so it didn’t much matter. If things grew too unbearable, he would just walk… or maybe shimmy against the twin enough to startle him into falling off the mule. Now THERE was a thought to warm his heart.

Still grinning at the mental image, Rikard approached Orynn and clapped a hand over his own heart. “My shining knight and his ass, what a pleasure. I do hope you’ll keep your arms securely around me for the duration of this ride!” he sing-said in a horrific falsetto, hauling himself up into the saddle and carefully imposing as much distance between them as he could manage.

For her part, Nerys rolled her eyes at the whole debacle and stepped smartly to where Kasian was waiting on their own mule. She would have preferred to ride with Vidar, obviously, but was not so foolish as to complain. Besides, Kasian was almost an acceptable second choice. She would geld him if he misbehaved, make no mistake, but his happiness at having been paired up to ride with her fanned the flames of her vanity a bit. Might be she’d tease him a little on this trip, give him something to think about the next time he had some pretty whore in his arms.

Swinging herself up with surprising grace, Nerys promptly settled herself squarely in Kasian’s lap and handed him the reins. “Remember to behave,” she said sweetly, casting Vidar a brief glance but he was either pointedly ignoring her or else too busy focusing on Isara.

The raven-haired girl had settled herself comfortably in front of Vidar, resting lightly against him. It made his chest squeeze tightly. She was right, it had been a while. The last time she had sat in front of him like this she had been half the size she was now. Vidar almost didn’t recognize her; this burgeoning womanly shape that now belonged to the daughter he loved.

Her hands slipped beneath his with the reins and Vidar smiled—though she could not see it—and gently took her hands into his own for a few quiet moments as they began to turn the mules towards the path out of Caldbeck. “You shouldn’t encourage their foolishness,” he chided gently, but the scolding had no real bite to it. As to her request that he wake her if she fell asleep, Vidar made no such promise. It would have been a lie to agree, after all.

Instead, he briefly pulled his hands free of hers to gather up his warm warg-fur cloak, pulling it forward until it was cocooned tightly around Isara. One of his hands then pinned the cloak there, his arm wrapped securely around her waist after he tugged her closer against his broad chest. With his free hand, he insistently tugged the reins from her and ushered one of her hands back into the warmth beneath the cloak, the other being claimed within his once more.

It was impulsive, Vidar knew, but he bent over her to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, giving her a slight squeeze with the arm he had wrapped around her. “Sleep well if you can, my little pup,” he rumbled softly to her, straightening up after a reluctant moment even if only to keep the mule on track.

It took precious little time before he could hear her breathing even out, the gentle rise and fall of her back against his chest becoming slower and steadier. Considering the wretched night she had obviously had, it came as no surprise to him that she would fall asleep in his arms. He considered removing her hand from his to tuck back beneath his cloak where it was warm but couldn’t quite make himself do it.

Vidar turned his head to face the rest of the Corvids. “If any of you speak too loudly, I will personally gut you,” he said. His voice was soft and low—though it carried well enough to all of them—which somehow made it all the more frightening.

“Of course,” Nerys murmured, smart enough to understand why he was making this request. It was good. She had no qualms on this front. Isara did need her sleep… exhaustion bred poor decisions so there was nothing but benefit in the raven-haired girl getting some rest.

Rikard smiled at this order, eyes lingering on the huddled hump in front of Vidar that represented Isara’s form—swallowed though it was in his cloak. “No complaints here, boss. I’ll try to keep Orynn from moaning too loudly over me.”

Vidar only sighed at this and turned his attention back to his daughter. Peering down at her, he relaxed his hold around her waist just long enough for him to brush his fingers lovingly over her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear and chuckling low to himself to see the beginnings of drool at the corner of her mouth. “I love you, little Isara,” he said—so soft that only the wind and the sleeping girl in front of him could ever have hoped to hear it.
 
Which each passing moment, Orynn was getting more and more annoyed with Rikard's comments, and presence as a whole, for that matter. He felt somewhat at ease in the back end of the saddle, knowing he would not have to endure his inappropriate touches and poking he tried to pass as humour, yet even feeling the sides of his arms and shoulders as he was manning the reins was enough to provoke the boy.

It was well into noon when the comments ceased and the ride turned silent even awfully so; he could hear the seagulls warbling somewhere in the distance, slowly being replaced by the trill of forest birds and the occasional howl of a lone fox. If he listened closely, he could count Rikard's breaths, the man pressed too tight to his chest for comfort.

He envied Kasian more than anything then. His brother glanced at him every now and then - Orynn could feel his gaze on his cheek - likely to tempt him to protest, or simply to see how he was bearing riding with Rikard whilst he was getting to enjoy the more pleasant partner.

When Vidar's warning came, Orynn found himself walking from a trance of sorts, and he nodded at the oldest corvid with a concoction of obedience and boredom carved in his features. "Can't promise you I can keep this idiot quiet," he hissed back, completely overlooking another one of Rikard's ridiculous jabs. He would be more likely to moan out of tedium rather than arousal at their strange position.

Buried somewhere in Vidar's cloak, Isara puffed softly, caught in a deep slumber much sweeter than the one back in Eyreka's narrow anteroom. Every now and then, when their mule jolted over a rock or slope, she stirred awake, or somewhere between awake and asleep, albeit a short break from heaven before she slipped right back in, lulled by her father's arms wrapped securely around her.

And yet, she could still hear every sound: she could hear Rikard and the twins' endless banter, although much quieter against the silence, she could hear the horses' hooves creaking against the polar frost, and she could hear Vidar's promise of love, which even in sleep, made her throat clench painfully and her chest tighten. Was it real, or was it but a fabrication of her mind? How could her senses trick her into feeling something so vividly, if it had been but a dream?

When the air grew colder and his cloak did not suffice any longer, Isara opened her eyes and breathed in the scent of a winter night. She had slept for long enough for the sky to have turned a darker tone of grey, hinting purple, and for the snow to freeze even more down their path. For a moment, she thought to chastise Vidar for not having stirred her awake, but knew better than to beat a dead horse; he wanted her rested and well, if only so he did not have to worry about her state for the rest of the day.

"Did I miss anything?" she murmured, stretching out of Vidar's cape like a waking yeanling and shifting in a way that her weight no longer encumbered the man behind her. Immediately, she longed for the warmth he emanated, and slipped her hands right beneath once again in search of a fraction of what she had just lost.

"Only Rikard acting like his child self for the entire ride," Orynn sighed and rolled his eyes.

"It looked like you were quite enjoying it to me," Kasian shrugged and casually pressed himself closer to Nerys, just enough for it to pass as an innocent shift. "It's the hunger in you speaking. Frankly, I think I wouldn't mind a bite or two of that salty ham you so much dislike," he added while looking at Isara, then Vidar behind her. "Will we be nestling around a fire or finding a village to spend the night? I w-"

"Have you gotten used to luxury or have you just always been that daft?" Orynn frowned. "We've been riding in wilderness for a good chunk of the this trip. Unless I'm blind to signs, there's no village nearby. And how long are we supposed to be riding for either way?"

"GODS, how I regret waking up," Isara groaned and closed her eyes for a moment. She could feel her head spinning and her cheeks catch ablaze from the bite of the freezing wind. "I thought this would be unbearable before you two twins started resenting eachother." The light pour of snow would make it all the more difficult to light a fire, which meant either she or Nerys would have to conjure one against some dry timber, with a bit of luck.
 
Perhaps sulky over his misfortune and Kasian’s good luck, Orynn was silent through the bulk of the ride. This suited Rikard just fine. He had been prepared for spitting barbs, unwanted touches, and general unpleasantness so silence was a mercy. Well… it was, but as the ride stretched and the silence grew thicker, it became uncomfortable more than it was a reprieve.

Rikard took to fidgeting, sucking in a breath to speak and then pausing, letting it blow out noisily instead. What was there to say? Speaking for the sake of speech would only further inflame things, surely. Besides, Vidar had given the order for quiet to prevent Isara from waking.

It didn’t help that whenever he glanced towards Kasian and Nerys, the mage offered him a smirk and wiggled herself closer against the twin she rode with. And his expression matched hers in its smugness.

Rikard was about to break his own vow and make a snippy comment when Isara stirred and stretched, the movement catching all of their eyes.

“Ahhh, the sleeping princess awakes!” Nerys trilled from her position against Kasian’s warm chest. Her own lips curved upwards in a smile. While Isara napped, Vidar had shot enough glances their way that Nerys knew he was suitably put-out by how comfortable she had made herself with Kasian—even if he had been the one to instruct her to ride with the more agreeable of the twins—and this had her in high spirits once again.

Vidar shot the lot of them an unimpressed stare as they bickered and tightened his arm around Isara. She had pushed herself further away from him after waking up, but now he tugged her back against his chest where she would be warmer.

“I’m of half a mind to leave the lot of you here to freeze,” he grumbled, Isara obviously excluded from that punishment—Nerys too, most likely, if the quick glance he passed her way was anything to go by—but after a moment he tipped his head to the sky and sighed, his breath streaming out in a cloud. “But, fortunately for this group of sad shits… I chose this route because there is an inn,” as though conjured by his words they rounded a bend and were greeted by the sight of… something.

Far as Rikard and Nerys were concerned, calling it an inn was an egregious insult to inns everywhere. The ramshackle building looked as though it had been cobbled together by a dozen different builders with a dozen different designs in mind. Shutters over windows hung askew—if they hung at all—and the light that shone through the windows only revealed the griminess of the panes.

A sign hung above a door that was barely clinging to its hinges, but what letters might have graced the sign at one time were now notably absent.

“The Unnamed Inn,” Vidar murmured as they drew nearer. “A haven for bandits, thieves, murderers, and every unpleasant type of folk that travels these roads,” it was not a particularly heartening descriptor and Nerys’ nose began to scrunch unhappily.

“And this is where we will be spending the night?”

“Better than freezing in the snow, isn’t it?” Vidar muttered, sounding a little more put-out by Nerys’ skepticism than he might have been by anyone else’s. “This is likely one of the last roofs we’ll have over our heads during this job. Crumbling or no, you’ll all be missing it before long.”

They had arrived by the front door and Vidar dismounted, lifting Isara down in the same movement. He was reluctant to let her go but released his gentle grip on her trim waist after a moment with a sigh.

From the stables—in equal disrepair—an old man hobbled out, giving their mules a thoughtful once over before hawking a gob of spit beside Vidar. “Stables’ll be two gold coins.”

“Two silver and not a penny more,” Vidar growled, and the stablemaster—well accustomed to dangerous clientele—shrugged a shoulder and held out his hand, palm up. Vidar deposited the agreed upon two silvers and turned to the rest of the group.

“For the sake of safety—and sanity—you twins will share a room together, Nerys and I will take another, leaving Rikard and Isara to share the third,” he studied his daughter carefully for a moment with this declaration and then turned to stare hard at Rikard. “I assume no one has any complaints on that score?”

Rikard had grown very still, glancing between Vidar and Isara with something bordering on disbelief. Sharing a room with Isara… not something he had expected. Downright dangerous if he wasn’t careful about keeping his feelings buried where they belonged. “Does that mean you and Nerys are being open about fucking?” he blurted out, cringing as soon as the words left his lips. That hadn’t exactly been what he’d intended to say.

“Wasn’t aware it was something we were hiding,” Nerys said smoothly, though her eyes flamed enough that Rikard began to shrivel where he stood—even without her using any magic.

Vidar had tensed, looking down a little worriedly at Isara. She seemed to have picked up on it already, but he still hadn’t exactly wanted his relationship with Nerys to be brought up in this manner. “I’ll snap your neck if you make me regret this, Rikard,” was all he grumbled, shouldering his way irritably into the inn so he could pay for their rooms. “Bare meals will be delivered to your rooms. Go to bed.”

Nerys had dismounted as well and reached a hand to playfully squeeze Kasian’s arm, “Thank you for the ride,” she said sweetly before snorting, turning her attention briefly onto Isara and leaning down close to her ear as she passed her by, “Enjoy snuggling up to Rikard,” a low laugh followed as she hurriedly followed after Vidar. Nerys was looking forward to a different type of ride this evening.
 
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