#iona

Only, Theotae hadn't specified what the purpose of the dinner was; personal, professional, a thank you. Theotae had been kinder in the last month, not just to her, but to all her staff, likely a holdover from the Feywild. It wasn't that she was unkind before, but she felt less like a machete cutting through her problems. Iona suspected she could easily revert where necessary, but the added touch of delicacy was curious to see.

Fortunately, Theotae didn't waste time: the dinner was just the backdrop to ask for a personal favour. To once again act as her stand-in, only instead of steward of her home, Iona would travel out as part of a delegation. Her job as Warden of foreign diplomacy, deferred to Iona.

Iona wanted to joke that a dinner wasn't a fair exchange for a complex assignment but bit her tongue. How else was Theotae supposed to ask? As a casual aside in her office? No.

Iona remembered almost protesting staying behind when Theotae planned to leave for the Feywild. It was pure reaction and stubbornness. Symania was the logical choice, and being a protector wasn't always literal—it was knowing which decisions to fight and which to accept for the best outcome.

Too often work interfered with her personal feelings. At some point in the last fifty years the two had tangled her in a net. Rationality usually won, but there were tender feelings that demanded to be heard. Yes, she wanted to go to the Feywild because she felt like she and Theotae worked best in tandem, but also because she didn't want to be apart from Theotae, especially for a matter so close to the heart.

The same selfish part of her that wanted to be at Theotae's side in the Feywild wanted to stay in the city, logic be damned. Her answer didn't change, in the end. She would've accepted under any circumstances. Her love for the woman was what made her say yes as much it wanted her to say no.

"If that's what you wish," Iona said. "I can do that."