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[Laufey]

Aftermath

“Ah, my love, it brings my heart joy to see you safely back among us.” Aarin Gend, Spymaster of Neverwinter, smiled warmly at the woman sitting opposite him at the table. “I had feared greatly for your life.”

She smiled back at him, a warm and open smile, full of eager expectation, and he felt his heart leap a little in his chest at the thought of such a lovely woman being attracted to him.

“How could I not come back,” she said in that melodious voice of hers, which send delicious little shivers down his back, “when I knew you would be here, waiting so faithfully for me, as always? Even death could not keep me from you, Aarin.” She sipped the last of her wine, the candlelight glinting off the plain silver ring she had worn on the fourth finger of her right hand ever since he had known her.

“I would have fought at your side, had I been free to choose. But my place was here, in the castle, at my Lord Nasher’s side.”

She simply nodded, and her large green eyes were clear and steady, holding no reproach. “I know. Your Lord, and your city, they are your first loves. You don’t have to explain.” She idly raked her long hair back a little, and the pointed elven ears became clearly visible. Then, her smile was back, a little sly now. “But perhaps you wish to make me your second love? Or at least your third?”

Aarin did not reply, at least not in so many words. But he rose from the table hastily enough that he almost overturned his cup, and his breath was already quickening, his pulse loud and eager in his ears. She stood as well, and came to him, her pale skin so smooth to the touch as he reached out to caress her, as smooth as silk. He worked eagerly on undressing her, cursing silently at the tiny laces at the throat of her shirt. She was clinging almost desperately to him, her strong fingers tearing at his garments with a frenzied urgency to match his own, and her nails raked the back of his neck.

“I love you, my heroine of Neverwinter,” Aarin murmured, bending down to kiss her. Her mouth was hot and eager as it met his in fierce battle, as if she could not get enough of him.

“And I love you as you do me,” she whispered when they finally drew apart. “We elves know much about love, Aarin. Come. Let me show you.”

And she did, at great length. She was no blushing virgin, his heroine of Neverwinter, his Raviera. No, she was a tigress, proud and strong, as eager to take as to give. There were the soft lips, and the clever tongue, that knew how to drive him to near madness, but there were also the small and sharp teeth. They teased him a little now and then, never hard enough to harm, only to heighten the pleasure. He knew the reason for her aggression too, she had fought so hard and almost died, and it was natural to want to remind herself that she was fully alive. And how alive she was! Oh, she was glorious as she straddled him, conquering him as she had conquered all her foes, though in a far more pleasant way. Could one die from pure pleasure? Gods, it had been so long…far too long.

Afterwards, they rested in each others’ arms, content and satiated, their bodies slick with sweat. “At least in this, I hope I can compete with Lord Nasher?” she whispered, her fingers tracing little teasing circles on his chest. They were so pale, compared to his darker skin…a beautiful contrast, it was.

“Ravi!” he admonished her. “You shouldn’t joke about such things!”

She giggled a little, sounding almost innocent. “Oh, all right, all right…I won’t say it again. But you should have seen the look on your face!”

“Let us speak of more serious matters instead,” he countered, wrapping his arm around her. “How went your battle with Aribeth, the Betrayer?”

Her laughter faded away, and she was serious once more. “It was a close call…very close. But for one thing, it might well have been I who died instead of her.”

“One thing? What was that?”

“Why, you of course, my dear Aarin!” she said, planting a brief kiss on his cheek. “I told you, I wouldn’t dream of not coming back for you. While poor Aribeth…she didn’t have anybody to come back to anymore, did she?”

Aarin sighed. “No. I suppose she didn’t. I had hoped…that perhaps you might have persuaded her to repent. To beg forgiveness of Lord Nasher.”

“I doubt she would have wanted that,” the elf thoughtfully remarked, and her slender fingers traced the pattern of his ribs, towards the hollow of his throat. “After all, she saw what asking forgiveness got Fenthick, didn’t she? And she wanted her vengeance. I can understand that. When an elf craves for vengeance, things get ugly. We have so long to plan for it, you know.”

“Lord Nasher did what he thought was best,” Aarin said with a frown. “The city was in an uproar, and the people demanded retribution.”

“And would they have demanded less from Aribeth? After all, she actually did attack them, while Fenthick was only a naïve fool, trusting where he shouldn’t have.” She sighed. “Do you know, on the eve of the ritual, I learnt from Fenthick himself that he had lowered Castle Neverwinter’s wards, allowing Desther and his so-called Helmites access. Now, I’m less trusting than Fenthick was, so I warned Lord Nasher about it. Do you know what he said?” She didn’t wait for a reply, but the smile had come back, that sly and teasing smile. “He told me to mind my own business. Said he knew about it already, and had it all in hand.” She flowed smoothly into a sitting position, then stretched like a lazy cat. “It’s funny how that was never mentioned during the trials of Fenthick and Desther, isn’t it? I guess there weren’t any trees tall enough in the city to hang him. Oh yes, he did what he thought was best, all right. But for whom?”

“Lord Nasher is a just and honorable man!” Aarin protested. He was feeling angry now, a dull and throbbing anger, pulsating in his temples. Yes, this was the woman he loved, but she was questioning the honor of his lord. “I would do anything for him, and for Neverwinter.”

“Yes. You would.” The shift in her voice, from slightly bitter teasing to icy coldness, came with shocking swiftness. But it didn’t even come close to matching the swiftness with which the equally icy sharpness of a dagger’s blade pierced Aarin’s throat, finding the artery without error. He didn’t have time to move, or even to call out. He had time only to look without comprehension into the pitiless green eyes looking down upon him, cool and without mercy. Blood bubbled into his mouth, across his lips, a hot torrent that was choking him, drowning him. ‘Why?’ his lips formed, but no sound emerged. It seemed though that the elf, the woman he had called his love, could hear him.

“For Calli,” she whispered. “For Calliara, my sister. The one who loved you. The one you said you loved. The one you killed. For your lord. For your cursed city, may it suffer from a thousand plagues and more!”

In a flash of insight, Aarin understood the truth. The truth of why she had come to Neverwinter, why she had trained so frenetically at the Academy. Why she had fought so hard to get close to him, and to Nasher, to earn their trust. More than trust, in his case. Why she had chosen this moment, this moment of all moments, when he had fallen in love with her, to betray him. But it was too late, far too late.

As Aarin Gend’s eyes glazed over in death, Raviera silently dressed herself, wiping her weapon clean on the mattress under which it had been hidden until the moment when it was needed. She wanted it to be neat and clean, for her next appointment of the evening.

And in his bedchamber, one floor higher up in his castle, Lord Nasher slept the undisturbed sleep of the just, for just a little while longer, as the Hero of Neverwinter approached.