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“Easy,” he growls. “You’re safe. Been feasting on stray worgs all day.”
I have to fight laughter every time I see him. Zyranth is as far from human, or elvish, as can be, but he had ill-fitting garments specially commissioned. Atop his head is a ridiculous straw hat which has stretched to the point of tearing. He wears traditional elven garb, about ten sizes larger than the customary norm.
“I keep telling you not to wear that,” I say. “You look ridiculous, honey.”
“And I keep telling you that I don’t want my cock on display anymore,” he says, probably fully aware that it’s only visible when he’s aroused.
I shake my head. Ever since we ended the fight with Lord Everan, Zyranth has become obsessed with fitting in. But the ways he goes about it have become increasingly ridiculous. I want to tell him that I accept him fully for the beast he is, but as he wipes stray blood clean from his sharp, protruding chin, I realize that is hardly the concern.
“You know, honey,” I say, pinching his hard, armored shoulder, densely packed by scales. “You don’t have to change a thing about yourself for me. I’m perfectly comfortable with the beast I bonded with.”
“That’s wonderful,” he says, a twinkle in his eye. But I can’t help but think that maybe he’s being a bit dismissive, covertly. “I just think this stuff is neat.”
I sigh, holding the watering can over the somanas growing in the dirt. In a flash, I remember the stables where I was kept and having to fight off rodan while I was forced to stomach eating these raw, nearly every day. I shiver a bit, picking myself up after the water drops have fallen onto the crops. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Zyranth surveying me, and wonder if he has been able to read my thoughts all along.
But he says nothing, turning around and growling before heading back to our cabin.
Reluctantly, I follow suit, before hearing the hard, rocklike stomping of an equu behind me. Turning around, the smile that crosses my face is out of my control.
Mirose dismounts from the equu. Her face is friendly, brightened up by the countless freckles that adorn her golden skin, but sometimes I question whether she’s truly happy.
“Have they come by to apply the enchantment?” Mirose asks, stamping across the threshold in hard boots.
“Well, hello to you, too,” I say, smiling mischievously.
The front door of the cabin behind me opens slightly, and I see Zyranth peering forward, wondering why I haven’t joined him. The animosity he formerly regarded Mirose with has thankfully disappeared.
Mirose folds her arms. I consider her a good friend, but at times, she can be a bit severe or straight-to-business.
“Yes,” I reply. “They came by yesterday.”
“Oh, good,” she says.
“Still, you said it would just be temporary?” I ask.
It’s still weird to me that only select individuals can even see my cabin. But so far, Dirnyn has made good on his promise to protect us.
“Just until we’re sure the number of Everan’s loyalists within the city has diminished,” she says. “I’m surprised nobody’s tried anything yet. It’s been a yea –”
“Yes,” I say, gripping her face and moving closer to her. “It’s been a full year, Mirose. We are fine.” To make it clear that my gesture is friendly, I wear the most sincere smile I can muster.
She looks confused.
“So… you want us to remove the illusory barrier then?” she asks.
I look thoughtfully back at our little farm. Setting up a home right outside the Dark Market might not have been the greatest idea, but it is nostalgic to us.
“It can stay up a few more days,” I say. “But even if anybody tries to come for us, I don’t think Zyranth’s going to have any trouble shooing them off.”
Before she can interject, I continue. “I know Dirnyn wants to make sure we’re safe, and I appreciate that. But I think we’re going to be just fine.”
“Is thereanythingelse he can do?” Mirose asks.
I shake my head, struggling to come up with anything before one thing dawns on me.
“Oh,” I say. “Is there any way he can make Typhe cabins fireproof?”
Mirose bites her lip, raising an eyebrow.
