After five glasses of wine, Yaya knew she had to stop. There was no keeping up with Tex. Not even with her Elven constitution. Her friends would be wondering why she hadn’t reported back. If she was still executing their agenda. She wanted to stay here. With a sad funny Tiefling who thought she was pretty – and only eighty-five. Yaya put her glass down.

  “I should go.”

  Tex put down her tankard – its eighth refill, by her rough count. “Where are you staying?”

  Yaya fastened her cloak under her mistletoe. “A short flight outside of town. I don’t usually stay in the city.”

  “I have a room upstairs.” Tex offered. “Not, not like that. We could get an early start. Grab some lemon cakes from Harbreeze.”

  For a moment, Yaya considered. “I am not some conquest. There can be nothing like that with me.”

  As the noise swirled around them, clinks of dishes and slurps of drinks, silence hung between them. An understanding passed between them—of what Yaya was willing to give, and what she was still considering.

  “I get it.” Tex smirked. “Just friends. You seem like you could use one.”

  “We should make a plan.”

  Tex pulled out the sketch of the fleeing Elf. “I think we should check out the shops first thing. Someone will know this ear and that scrap of magical cloak.”

  Tex stood and wobbled slightly, steadying herself with her pike. Yaya considered any of the magical remedies she had to sober her up – though Tex seemed to be navigating the busy tavern just fine. They went up the staircase to the second level. Tex led her down a passage to a very narrow set of stairs. They had to go up these sideways, and carefully, one step at a time.

  The door was small. The room, even smaller still. Too small for Tex’s pike to lay flat in any direction. There were a few dozen pillows on one side, a large window in the pitched roof, and the tiniest fireplace Yaya had ever seen. But there was fresh wood. A bucket with clean water. Yaya stacked some wood in the fireplace. Said some words and from nothing the logs caught fire.

  “I hate being cold.”

  “Me too.”

  Yaya frowned. “I thought that your kind were naturally warm?”

  “So, I’ve been told.” Tex tossed a wink at Yaya as she started moving the pillows into two separate sleeping areas. Yaya opened the window. The view was probably the worst in Baldur’s Gate. She could see the slums in perfect detail. She could smell them too. She closed the window.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Should’ve warned you, sorry.”

  Tex placed the last pillow. She made two sleeping nests, three feet apart. A claw pointed to the one closer to the fire.

  “You take that one.”

  Yaya noticed that it had a few extra pillows on her side. Not that she needed them. Most nights, she found a tall tree with strong branches for a quick perch. When Tex started to take off her armour, Yaya turned around and did the same. Her cloak was light and green. It would make a decent blanket. When she took off her leather pieces, a finger traced the maker’s mark. The Elvish symbol for “S” and the twin blades of her house. Out of her leathers, she took off the outer dress she wore and hung up her amour with care. She kept the mistletoe fastened to her cloak. If magic was needed, it should be close to her.

  Tex held up her bag pipes, “Do you want some music before bed?”

  “No,” Yaya settled on the pillows. “But thank you.”

  “Suit yourself. Could’ve lulled you to sleep with an emotional and passionate rendition of ‘Wailing Spirits of Icewind Dale’.” Tex unpacked a blanket from her pack and put the pipes away. “That one always gets me the most tips.”

  Tex lay down on her own pillows. “What about you? Play anything?”

  Tucking her cloak under her chin, Yaya thought about it. “All of my sisters were taught how to play something. Yara can play the lute. Noya bangs a decent hand drum. I was going to learn to play the viol. My tutor thought I had talent.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Impractical choice when you’re alone in the woods with a man learning how to turn into a bear.”

  Tex let her say it. She didn’t push back or follow it up with a comment of her own.

  Yaya fiddled with her mistletoe. “At eighteen, they realized their quest was over. I was required to learn magic – not music.”

  “Your parents still sound like the worst.” Tex fluffed out her blanket.

  In the middle dark of the room, Yaya smiled. She almost told Tex how right she was. They were the worst. But Tex’s snores were already filling the space between them. Rolling over to face the fire, Yaya put one hand on her mistletoe and drifted off.

  When the sun rose, Yaya was back in her armour before Tex stirred. She needed less sleep and had spent some hours watching Tex in hers. Her kilt and body smelled like mint. Yaya wondered if mint tea would be a good fit for lemon cakes. Tex stretched when she woke, her finger and toe tips touching either end of the room.

  “You’re very tall.”

  Tex laughed. “I’m excellent for getting things off high shelves.”

  She dressed quickly, packed up her things, and set off with Yaya to find breakfast. Outside of Harbreeze, Tex handed Yaya two lemon cakes wrapped in brown paper. Yaya waited until Tex wasn’t looking, then popped a whole one in her mouth. They grew lemons in the orchard just outside her home. She and her sisters had always loved to—

  No.

  Yaya shook her head and put the other lemon cake in the pocket of her cloak. When Tex turned back to her, she smiled and continued chewing.

  “Did you eat that one whole?”

  Yaya brushed a crumb off her armour. “No.”

  Tex stared.

  “Maybe.”

  Yaya sighed. “Yes. But you may not speak about it.”

  “Of course.” Tex put an arm around Yaya’s shoulders. “But just so you know, I might sing about it later.”

  They headed off to the Lower City, a scrap of cloak and lemon cakes safely stowed. More than once, Tex caught Yaya leaning in for the smell of her clothes. She wondered if they should have stopped at the bath house. When Yaya looked around the next intersection, Tex gave her underarm a quick sniff.

  Still minty. Thank the Nine.