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“I think so,” she says, not following my train of thought. “Why?”
“Zyranth has gotten really into cooking lately,” I say. “And he’s still not very good at not burning the house down.”
Realization crosses her face, and a wry chuckle becomes hardy, shared laughter. For a solid minute, we laugh together as Zyranth peers out, pondering when I’m going to be rejoining him.
“I’d have to check with him,” she says. “But I’m sure he’ll see what he can do.”
“That’s good,” I say, wiping a single tear from my eye as I compose myself.
Mirose’s smile fades as she looks back toward the Dark Market.
“Well,” she says. “I should probably be heading back. Lord Dirnyn doesn’t like it when I’m out too late.”
Something about the crestfallen look on her face alarms me.
“Is he taking good care of you?” I ask.
She looks back at me, confused.
“Is he taking good care of me,” she repeats, before answering. “I mean, he’s very kind, but sometimes, I worry he’s getting the wrong impression.”
“You mean you’re not together?”
Mirose shakes her head, and I grow instantly more concerned.
“So you’re not even together, and he’s telling you when to be home?”
“He’s been very kind to me, Ariella,” she says, smiling and staring blankly into the distance.
Perhaps I’m being unreasonable. I know the list of conditions Zyranth has always had for me and how jealously he guards me.
Still, I’m not about to be barred from spending time with my friend.
“Why don’t you step inside?” I ask. “I think Zyranth’s cooking worg, and I need to make sure he doesn’t –”
“Burn the place down,” Mirose says absentmindedly, her sense of humor as absent as her mind.
“Yeah.”
She weighs a heavy amount of consideration, locked into her thoughts. Before she can object, I take her hand, leading her forward.
“It’ll just be for a bit,” I tell her. “And if Dirnyn has any trouble with it, you can blame me.”
Reluctantly, she follows me into the cabin, nodding as she walks.
We move across the brittle foliage, walking toward the wooden structure I consider my home. Beside us, the sound of the rushing waterfall, flowing over the mountaintop, blends in with the gentle roar of the wind.
Mirose has never seen our home, as many times as she’s been by. There’s always a rush to head back to the district that conveniently places her out of reach.
I’m not losing my friend.
“Look what the worgs shook loose,” Zyranth growls.
I can see that Zyranth has intimidated our guest, so I stare daggers into him as Mirose huddles closer to me.
“Mirose was just stopping by for a visit,” I say, smiling. “Isn’t that nice?”
Zyranth realizes that he might have accidentally scared her, so he tries to smile. It’s an ill-fitting, caricature of a smile, uncannily contorted to try to imitate what a smile looks like.
