It wasn’t long until the wine bottle was empty and Lyre was sleeping at the table, and I realized he really was an absolute light weight. I decided it was probably time to head to bed, and pulled him up to his feet. He drunkenly mumbled some mild protests but moved along as I instructed. “Do you need help?” Greyjon said, shifting his chair back so he could stand.

I waved the offer away. “No, it’s fine. You guys have a nice evening.” He looked uncertain, but didn’t insist further. The barkeep and the innkeeper had disappeared – with none of their usual clientele to tend to, I guess they didn’t see the point in staring at us the entire night. I realized I wasn’t really sure what rooms we were allowed to use. Not wanting to even attempt to drag Lyre upstairs, I decided to try a door just past the stairs in a short hallway. I hoped fervently that I wasn’t going to be walking into the kitchen or an employee break room of some sort, and pushed the first door I came to open.

I initially breathed a sigh of relief seeing a bed and what appeared to be a normal room, but froze when I realized it was occupied. Asterollan looked up, frowning – he was standing at the foot of the bed, his shirt halfway pulled off. For a moment I gaped – he was thin, practically all wiry muscle, and also covered in a shocking variety of scars. He looked as though he had been slashed and stabbed and then poorly patched up at least half a dozen times, and I could see a massive burn scar across his upper back. “Oh, shoot, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” I mumbled, and attempted to back out of the room, tripping over Lyre’s feet and falling over him instead in an awkward tangle of limbs.

Asterollan sighed and pulled his shirt back on. Then he came over and helped me to my feet, before pulling Lyre easily up from the floor into a fireman’s carry and plopping him down on the bed. I stood by the door for a moment, unsure of what to say or do. “Is he drunk?” Asterollan asked, sounding a little surprised.

I laughed, perhaps a bit nervously. “Yeah. I don’t think he has much experience with wine.”

Something in Asterollan’s expression softened. “No, I suppose he wouldn’t.”

For a moment I was struck with how strangely sympathetic his reaction seemed, for someone that hunted escaped slaves. I studied Asterollan for several moments – the quiet must have stretched a little too long because he looked up at me, a frown on his face that brought me back to the present. “I’m sorry for walking in on you,” I said. “Were you getting ready to go to sleep?” He nodded, and I grimaced. “Sorry,” I said again. I looked down at Lyre’s sleeping form. “I umm… I guess we’re stealing your room.”

He shrugged. “A bed’s a bed. I’ll be fine in one of the other rooms, I’ll just remember to lock the door next time.” He moved to gather his pack and cloak, and started to walk toward the door. Then he stopped, and turned back toward me. He seemed hesitant to speak for a moment, but then asked, “What is the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”

“I peed my pants in a movie theater once because I didn’t want to miss any of the movie,” I answered automatically. I opened my mouth to elaborate more before realizing I really didn’t want to, and stared in wide eyed horror at Asterollan. How had I just let that slip like it was nothing? It hadn’t even been the first thing that crossed my mind, because I would never willingly tell anyone about it. I felt my face redden just remembering the moment. “That… I can’t believe I told you that.”

Despite my own embarrassment, he was the one who looked sheepish. “I think I owe you an apology. Raella noticed that I… compel the truth out of people. I was not even aware I was doing it.”

I froze for a moment, thinking of everything I had told him over the past several days. It was true that I had shared everything he had asked, even despite the lack of trust I initially had for him. Even things I would have felt more comfortable withholding. I nodded slowly, feeling strangely violated. “So you decided to test that by asking me about my most humiliating moment?”

“I needed a question that you might not choose to answer honestly. At first I had considered asking something more… intimate. But that seemed inappropriate.”

I sighed, feeling the same level of frustration I had initially had for him. I wondered what kind of intimate question he had considered asking, but did not want to be compelled to answer anything of the sort in the moment.  “Is it something you can learn to control?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. I intend to try, but even if I can’t, well – perhaps everyone can stand to be a little more honest, and I prefer knowing the truth.”

I glared at him, crossing my arms. “If only we could all be privy to everyone’s truths.”

He looked ready to leave, but stopped at my statement and met my glare evenly, calmly. “Is there something you wish to know about me?” For a moment, I was taken aback. Seeing the expression on my face, he said, “It’s only fair. You have been exceedingly honest with me.”

I didn’t even pause to consider my question. “Why did you choose to be a Hunter?”

“Oh? Most women that have seen me without my shirt on are more curious about the scars,” he said, his tone unexpectedly teasing. I raised an eyebrow as I waited for his answer. He fidgeted, suddenly looking uncomfortable, and leaned against the wall. “I came from a very poor family. My father was always driving us into further debt, and when the time came to pay those debts, he offered my mother and I as indentured servants to the household of a minor lord and disappeared. Per the terms, we were legally bound to stay with the family for at least 5 years, but because we were looking at total poverty after that period, my mother extended her contract to 10 years.”

“So you were like slaves?” I asked. I settled onto the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Lyre.

“Being indentured is a contractual agreement. We had more rights than slaves, and knew that our time in service would come to an end, and that we’d be well paid for it. But we did spend a lot of time working alongside the slaves. My mother always sympathized with them. She was a kind woman.” He paused, his gaze becoming unfocused and a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Whenever she had a chance to sneak away some sugar, she would make pulled candy. She would let me work it until it was set, then she would cut it in pieces and share it amongst the other staff and the slaves. She was always particularly fond of children.” I frowned for a moment, until I realized he was basically describing taffy, and I nodded in understanding although he didn’t seem to be paying attention to me.

He seemed especially lost in thought, until I finally said, “None of that explains why you would want to hunt slaves.”

His head jerked slightly as he refocused his eyes on me. “Yes… I was getting to that. There was a slave that managed to be freed – entirely by accident. She had placed her focus down, and another slave had picked it up and used it. When the shock of the Focus breaking had calmed, and the slave realized she was free, she panicked. She was too scared to run, but she was terrified of what staying could mean. My mother was trying to calm her and she lashed out, calling down a telekinetic storm that sent everything in the kitchen flying violently.” He ran his hand down the scar that crossed his face. “This was a kitchen knife. An entire cauldron of boiling water was upended on my mother.”

“But… that was an accident.”

“Yes, but not what happened next.” He grinned mirthlessly. “Two of the other slaves in the kitchen cowered, throwing up barriers to protect themselves, but one other saw the moment for what it was. He grabbed another of the slaves and shoved his Focus into their hands, threatened to bash their heads in if they didn’t try to use it. Then he had his freedom too. The first thing he did was kill my mother.” The mirthless grin disappeared. “Maybe he was taking pity on her. She was so badly burned from the water, she would have died – it may have taken hours, or maybe days. It doesn’t change the fact that I had to listen to her die screaming.”

I felt sick to my stomach imagining what that would be like – seeing your own mother die in front of you. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

His mismatched eyes met mine. “The slave escaped. He took the other, the one that had been freed first, with him. She was still in shock, I think. They ran. The other two slaves were killed so they couldn’t spread the knowledge of how to break the tether, and I believe he was caught and put on display as a warning.”

“What happened to the other slave?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps she made it to the Empire.” Asterollan pushed away from the wall. “I was very angry for a very long time. My mother had been a kind person, and she hadn’t deserved the life she got, or the end she met.” He paused again, drawing in a deep breath. Then he gave a half-hearted smile and added, “Besides, that moment ruined this beautiful face.”

I groaned. “It’s less charming when someone knows they’re beautiful,” I said.

The smile turned a little more genuine. “So you think I’m beautiful,” he teased.

“Yes,” I said immediately. Then I grimaced. “Damn it, I would not have normally said that at all. I think I’m owed another question.”

He snorted. “Ask away.”

“Can you see out of that eye? Or is it just… dead?”

He looked a little taken aback by the question and laughed. “Ah, so we get to the scars. Actually… I did used to be blind out of it. I spent so much of my life learning to overcome and adapt to that half-blindness. But shortly after I started hearing the voice… the vision returned.” He waved a hand briefly in front of his face. “A generous gift.”

“Binocular vision. A most generous gift,” I said – but not knowing the word for binocular I said it in English, and he looked a little confused. I hopped up from the bed and walked over to him, studying the scar on his face curiously. “I wonder, if I focused hard enough, if I’d be able to heal any of the scars…” I said as I reached up to his face.

He grabbed my hand before I could touch him. “I doubt it. And even if you could, I wouldn’t want it.” I tilted my head slightly. “We should keep some of the scars we earn by living.”

I thought briefly of all my own removed scars, and nodded. “I understand,” I said.

I looked at my hand, that he was still holding. “Ah,” he said, and quickly dropped it. Standing this close to him, it was easy to see that we were the same height, and I caught the scent of mint from the cloak he still held, hung over his other arm. He was staring at me intensely for a moment, and then suddenly asked, “Are you in love with the elf?”

A part of me meant to laugh it off and say that I hadn’t known Lyre long enough or well enough to love him. Instead, I simply said, “Yes.” The quickness of the answer, the fact that it was compelled by truth, the answer itself – it all completely surprised me. I stepped back for a moment, staring at the floor, and realized it was true. “Yes,” I repeated, slowly in consideration.

Asterollan smiled at me. “I thought so,” he said. “But I wanted to know for sure.”

I frowned at him. “I think you’ll be owing me a lot of questions before long.”

“I’ll answer them all truthfully,” he said. “But perhaps another night. I’m off to find a different bed.” I opened the door for him and stepped back, and watched him make his way to the stairs to find an available room. I could faintly hear laughter and groaning from the others out in the tavern section. I closed the door quietly and turned back toward the bed, to see that Lyre was sitting up, staring at me.

I froze. I wondered how long he had been listening and how much he comprehended in his drunken state. Regardless, it wouldn’t be a conversation for tonight. I walked over and pushed him gently back. “Go to sleep, Lyre. You’re drunk,” I said. He closed his eyes, nodding slightly, and reached up to place a hand over mine where it still rested against his chest. I stood like that for awhile, until his breathing grew even, feeling his heart beat under my hand.

With a sigh, I finally extricated my hand and walked around to the other side of the bed. Crawling under the blankets, I extinguished the lights, curled onto my side, and forced myself to sleep.

---

I woke suddenly in the morning to the sound of a familiar scream. It still startled me enough that I sat up, feeling alarmed. “Lucas,” Lyre murmured from where he lay above the blankets next to me. Right – Lucas and his pet spider, that he was terrified of. I chuckled and flopped back down onto the pillow. There was light coming through the window, but it was the dim gray of early morning, when the shadows of night still linger.

I yawned and rubbed at my eyes, my stomach lurching in embarrassed anticipation. “How much of last night do you remember?” I asked tentatively.

“It’s a bit of a blur,” he said, and I almost sighed with relief before he finished with, “But I remember that you love me.” I felt like curling up and dying of embarrassment for a moment. I stayed still, not wanting to look at him, but I felt him pull the blankets back. “Are you hiding on purpose?” he asked, sounding amused.

“Maybe,” I groaned. I turned to see that he was leaning over me, smiling.

Instead of the usual flutter of butterflies that I had expected, my heart instantly calmed at the sight of that smile. I smiled back at him. I felt it right then, the second before he said it – and strangely, despite the brief time that we had known each other, it felt right. “I love you too.”