#also oops

I hadn’t planned on telling her my life’s story. Didn’t think she’d want to sit through something as sordid as that. But I told her everything, from the death of my family in Ostian to my years as a slave to some Middlerealm nobles who treated me like their personal beast of burden, and later their attack dog. I allowed her to draw to her own conclusions there. Most people usually do.

An hour had already passed over drinks and samplers from the kitchen. Maybe I was feeling more loose-lipped than usual, or it was just that energy Dijaam emanated that left me feeling more relaxed than I was when I first walked in. She was just so damned easy to talk to, to share these details with. With Jespar, it felt necessary. With her, it felt like a natural impulse.

A kindred spirit, someone who wanted to carve their own path the same way I used to before I lost myself to dust, smoke, and bottles.

“I came here to be free. Or, rather… that was why my friend wanted us to come here. When we heard that there was no slavery in Enderal, it seemed like an obvious choice,” I ultimately told her. Dijaam had offered her condolences earlier. It’s been over a week since Sirius’ death; his absence is still felt at times, where I catch myself imagining what he would say in situations such as this one. He would probably disapprove of all this — my running from Arantheal, wasting precious time and coin on drinks and gorgeous women. But at the end of the day, he knew I was a grown woman, and allowed me to make my own choices. And while Dijaam’s company doesn’t fill the void that my best friend once did, her kindness was welcome.

Part of me still believes it would have been better had I stayed behind. Sirius could have gotten a job on the Morning Dew, and he wouldn’t have had to worry about keeping me calm when the shakes and aches would wake me screaming in the middle of the night while we were supposed to be hiding. How many people would have stayed stuck around a waste of space like me?

In the end, I guess he didn’t, seeing as he’s dead now. I always did have a bad habit of being a hazard to the health of those around me.

“I guess deep down, I wanted the same thing for myself as well,” I added. “To be free from all the shit in Ostian, the prejudice of the Middlerealm… to decide what I wanna do with my own life without the dark cloud of nobles hanging over my head.”

Of course, I get why the Von Brandts pursued me after all those years, but still… the bastards really didn’t know how to let shit go. Who could blame them? After all, I slit my master’s throat while they slept before running. And even though she had survived, I heard that she would never be able to speak again. There was no way that my actions would go unpunished for such a crime.

Who could blame me, either? When I found copies of the Rania in their home, I panicked. Thought they were trying to convert to the very cult that had my family killed. Thought maybe the members they would inevitably bring under their roof would recognize the urchin child who escaped judgement that night. Thought they were trying to bring in a terrible slice of Ostian I knew too well.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Dijaam’s words suddenly broke me from my thoughts, and for an irrational moment; I wondered if she had read them when I saw the way her brow furrowed. “You know, this is precisely why I find it interesting that so many people accuse us Kiléans of being ‘greedy’ or ‘dishonorable’.”

I squinted. “What d’you mean?”

“Well, just take a look around. Are the other nations of the Civilized World really so much better?” She gestured to me. “We’ve got Nehrim, which was recently split and devastated by three madmen. I don’t think I need to tell you about that.”

I winced, but let her speak. After she had let me run my mouth for the last hour, dumping all of my shit on her, I felt I owed her this much.

“Then there’s Qyra, with its fabled free-thinking and universities, but every two weeks there’s a new attempt at ‘revolution’ with at least three dozen corpses. And don’t get me started on Arktwend, Arazeal, or this place.”

No comment from me there, either. I grimaced and nodded. I read about all of these places before. Qyra was always of particular interest to me, as it was the only place in the Civilized World that wouldn’t inherently condemn me for the magic I’ve recently dabbled in. It remained a contender for potential alternatives to my current predicament, but Dijaam raised a good point about how much death unchecked freedom can bring.

“Where exactly are you going with this?”

“What I’m trying to say is,” Dijaam sighed, “yes, there’s poverty on the Blue Islands, on Kilé. And yes, there are problems. But we are free.”

“Isn’t that what you kinda critiqued Qyra for?”

“That’s different from the kind of freedom you’d find on Kilé.” She gesticulated vaguely. “Where I’m from, life is what you make of it, no matter how dire the circumstances you were born into. Basically, it’s the opposite of this sorry excuse for a country.”

I waited for her to elaborate.

When she didn’t, a hint of annoyance crept up from the depths of my adoration. Even still, it was as though she knew exactly how to appeal to my base instincts, to my desire for freedom that I couldn’t find neither in Nehrim nor here.

“In other words, what you’re saying is that, on Kilé, just about anyone who supposedly works hard enough can make their own fortune?” I arched a brow. “That sounds a little too good to be true, if you ask me. I dunno.”

Especially when I remembered the words of the Kiléans who I used to travel with in Nehrim. Sure, my former companions eventually wanted to return home, after they had been left behind on Waverock due to a dispute with the captain of the ship. But they had left Kilé for a damned good reason. Their so-called “free country” was not as welcoming of everyone as they were of others… most certainly not to an Entropist or a lycanthrope.

Yet still, I longed to see those glittering shores they spoke of with such longing and nostalgia. It could have rivaled the beauty of Ostian, if its people did not leave the region with much to be desired with their Cult of the Creator and their love of self-hatred and misery.

“Anybody can become rich, famous, or, if they want to, live an eremite’s life on the beach, as long as they can go through with it,” Dijaam said. “And sure, there are exceptions. But in my experience, those who never made it brought it on themselves.”

I blinked, setting my wine aside to give her a pointed look. Annoyance rose up again, but not entirely at her so much as the sentiment from which such an ideal must have stemmed from.

“Dijaam. You do realize that a significant part of my life I just told you about was spent on the streets, yeah? I didn’t live that way because it was fun, or that I was ‘lazy’, or because the lifestyle appealed to me. As far as Nehrim goes, most Aeterna don’t have many opportunities to ‘make it’ on a place where we’re already predisposed to intolerance. Always figured that was why my mother put up with my father for so long once I made it to the Middlerealm — thought the abuse was better than the likelihood of her daughters ending up captured as slaves to some count. Mind you, that ended up happening to me later on, anyways… but I’d rather not go into that again.” I took a deep breath. I told myself not to get worked up, and yet I couldn’t help myself. I never could. “Are you trying to imply that I somehow brought it all on myself?”

If Dijaam took offense to my words, she didn’t show it. If anything else, she graced me with an amused smile, before leaning in.

My heart skipped, and then I realized she was pushing back threads of hair to reveal my ears to herself, which she regarded with a contemplative sound.

“Don’t get me wrong, friend,” she said softly. “I’ve heard horror stories about what your people go through in Nehrim. But my point still stands, doesn’t it? You could have rolled over and died a long time ago, submit to your master completely, or much worse… yet you clawed, crawled, and scraped your way from the dirt to this bar, where we’re enjoying some perfectly delightful wine with, if I do say so myself, even more delightful company.”

Still not liking the implications of what Dijaam had said, I grimaced, and faltered in my resolve to remain vexed. Because at the same time, she wasn’t entirely wrong.

“What happened to me was a series of coincidences and bad luck. You can’t expect all Nehrimese Aeterna to be so ‘fortunate’ as to stumble their way to other countries after losing their friends.” I deflated a little. “But I suppose there’s some sense in what you’re trying to say, too.”

“Of course there is.” Dijaam leaned back. “And I have to say, despite all the odds you had stacked against you, you’ve made it just fine. Now you’re here, working as a Protector for one of the most influential merchant guilds of the Civilized World, because you wouldn’t surrender to what other people tried to sell you as your ‘fate’.”

“I don’t believe in fate,” I snapped, like the word alone was a personal affront… because it was. “Most of the time, fate’s just an excuse people use so they don’t have to take responsibility for everything that happens in their lives.”

“I know. That’s why you’re different from the rest of these people here.” She smiled. Blazes, what a smile she had, and the way her nose crinkled slightly when she did. I would go to war for that crinkle.

“I’m really not,” I said.

An explanation was on the tip of my tongue. Self-flagellation, maybe. But when I looked at her, saw that glint in her eye that almost challenged me to say it, my obstinacy waned.

Once again, as if sensing what was going on in my head, Dijaam sighed. “Believe it or not, I know what it means to have to fight from the dirt, too. Unlike that snot, Dal’Loran… I wasn’t born with a bag of gold stuffed up my ass. But instead of wallowing in self-pity or listening to the priests talk about how everything gets better once you’re dead, I took responsibility for my own fate.”

“Hey, you’ll get no arguments from me there.” I raised my hand. “Judging by the way you talk, though… I take it you’re not exactly from some noble house, either?”

She laughed joylessly. “If a dust-sniffing loser as a father and a clump-footed, half-witted brother qualifies as ‘not exactly noble’, then yes.”

Reluctantly, I asked, “And… what about your mother?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Right, I get it. Sorry for bringing it up.” I gave her a rueful look as I tried to shift the subject. “What was that about your brother, though? He’s a half-wit or something?”

“Was. Merciful as the gods were, they ‘blessed’ him with a deadly fever at the age of ten. Probably better that way.”

“Huh. I’m almost afraid to ask — if you also don’t wanna talk about it, I understand, but… When you said your father was ‘dust-sniffing’, d’you mean to say that he was an addict?”

If anyone knew how bad the type was, then it would be me. All things considered, Sirius would probably still be alive had I gotten my shit together much sooner.

“An addict and a failure,” the barbs in Dijaam’s words were palpable.

Shame pitted my stomach, but I tried not to let it show that much. Would Dijaam think the same about me had she known my own predispositions that I omitted from my tale?

It was strange. I hadn’t thought about it much over the last several days, if only because the shakes didn’t get too bad since I arrived in Enderal. What twitchiness and headaches I did have, I attributed more to my budding magical talents than my cravings for anything like dust or nightflower.

Had my addiction afflicted only me, I could at least say my shame was my own and no one else’s. But I had seen the look of disappointment on Sirius’ face every time he found me at the bottom of a bottle, or drowning my sorrows in some smoky den of depravity. I always figured if I disappointed him enough, he would find me no longer worth the trouble anymore. But when he threatened to stay in Nehrim on my behalf if I chose not to go with him… Well, I couldn’t have his death on my conscience, now could I?

What a joke I am. I don’t deserve to be here.

“Do you know the kind of person who does nothing all day long but whine about how unfair the world is?” Dijaam went on. “Take that, and throw in two sacks of drogae, and there you have him: Jaaran Onêlys, my esteemed creator and one of the reasons I spent most of my childhood eating dust and insects for breakfast.”

I tipped my now-empty glass to her with an understanding frown. “And my ‘esteemed creator’ is one of the reasons why I haven’t had a decent wink of sleep in decades. You have my sympathies.”

“And you have mine.”

“Thanks. But it sounds tough, what you went through.”

“It was.”

I nudged her shoulder, similar to the way she did earlier. “Yet now you’re here, employed as an emissary for one of the most powerful governmental bodies in the Civilized World. Seems you’ve also come quite a long way in defying the odds that ‘fate’ had also dealt you.”

“I have. And I’m only getting started.” Her smile faded. “You should see them, all these losers who I grew up with. Yes, they were dealt a tough hand, but instead of grabbing fate at its throat, they just went through their lives with their heads bowed and nodding at everyone. I’ll never understand how people can be that way.”

“I’m sure they’ve had their reasons.” If anyone knew a thing or two about wallowing and keeping their head down, it would be me. “Gloomy subjects aside, I really enjoyed… this. We should do it again soon. Maybe you can tell me more about Kilé. Truth be told, I’ve wanted to go there for the longest time.”

My words seemed to have a certain effect on her, as she perked up in her seat. “That’s good to hear. It’s a beautiful place, really… The forests, the Great Falls, the beaches, Unnil-Yaar…” She rubbed her cheek, failing to mask her wistful tone as she spoke. It reminded me of my former companions, the way they spoke of their homeland. “Now, well… I’m getting nostalgic. I’d say we make a cut here, shall we?”

“Are you sure?” I asked, resting my chin over the bartop as I contemplated my life choices. “I mean, I’ve got a place nearby, if you’d wanna get to know each other a little more.”

Blazes. What was I doing?

It’s hard to say whether Dijaam was charmed or disinterested, but her laugh that time felt different. Like flowers and bubbles… or maybe that was simply the vibe of the wine we’d been sharing for the last few hours. Hard to say. Even now, I don’t know what I’m thinking when I think about her.

“You make an appealing offer, Protector,” she said with a lilt in her tone. I couldn’t tell whether she was teasing or seriously considering the offer. “But… it is late, and I should see how my crew is doing.”

I wanted to sink into the floor right then and there, but refrained.

Dammit, Jade. Have some bloody dignity.

“Right. It was a pleasure, Dijaam.”

“And you as well, Jade…” She got up. And as she strolled past my seat, she brushed a hand across my shoulder, placing it on the back of my neck. Her touch was warm, and her words lingered in my mind long afterwards: “Maybe another time.”

Another time.

With a tug of my braid, she left. Watching her go was hard, but I felt light.

Talking to Dijaam Onêlys that evening, it was… nice. Normal, even. As I sat in that tavern well into the witching hours, I realized that that most normal I’d felt in a long, long time.

It probably helps that she’s beautiful, witty, and easy to talk and open up to — someone who I wouldn’t mind spending more time with.

Another time.

Shit.

I think I might be in a bit of trouble…