“So what are you going to do, High Witch? Disappear like you always do, or turn and face the world you helped destroy?” Elyssara challenges, leaning back and taking a long pull of her brask.
Lara grunts her acknowledgement.
“What would you have me do, Lightborne? If you were in charge?” Lara presses.
And the insinuation is clear—you are not in charge.
“First, I would have your loyalty, or nothing at all.”
Lara smirks.
Elyssara leans in.
“Then, I would have you free the Melders.”
Lara looks away.
“Arrogant bastards,” she mutters under her breath, and it’s the most lively Elyssara has seen her.
“Oooh, the dragons rattle your cage a bit do they, High Witch?” Elyssara taunts. She needs an edge with this woman who gives away nothing, so she pokes and prods any place she can.
Lara slips her unreadable mask back into place.
“They are insufferable. I would’ve bound them for no coin at all just so I could shut them up,” she hisses.
Elyssara scoffs a laugh. “I’d wager you didn’t, though.”
Lara smirks again.
“Then, I’d have you fight by my side to destroy Nyrielle and Maireth, and everything they’ve fucking built.”
Lara raises an eyebrow.
“Is that all?” Lara says drily, the first sign of humor from the witch.
Elyssara’s lip quirks. “For now.”
A pause.
Lara weighs her up.
Assesses her with a keen eye.
“They were not exaggerating about you,” Lara observes. “A taste for war. A mind for politics. The beauty of a woman they will always underestimate.”
Lara’s words hit far too precisely to be anything other than personal. They’re not compliments—they’re calculations.
“Don’t forget I have a penchant for vengeance, too.”
Lara nods, a subtle smile gracing her lips. Not approval.Equality. The kind neither woman offers lightly.
She pushes to stand, her tall, lithe body squaring like a trained warrior.
“I believe Seren is coordinating a conclave for those against the north. I will listen. I will observe. And I will make a choice, Lightborne. But know this: I do not offer allegiance without compensation,” Lara states coolly, all pragmatism.
Elyssara pushes to stand, her eyes level with Lara’s.
“I would expect nothing less.”
