1st Draft Fridays - A Fistful of Deception: Book #4, Chronicles of Marsdenfel

Year 253 of the Bynding - Pardyam - winter, part I

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay! It's been one of those weeks. I'm still playing catch-up, but the to-do list is…

Okay, my to-do list really isn't getting smaller, because I'm getting more stuff added as I get other things off, but at least it's something of a revolving door, right now. But next week will probably be another not-that-long update at the last minute. If all the "oops" checks come back on A Fistful of Water, I may even skip, in order to get that prepped for release.

That news aside, I hope you enjoy this update! I'd be interested in hearing what you think. :-)

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Gradually pulling the gold from Iluka’s and the banks is about as time-consuming as finding a solid able-to-be-warded rental in the right part of town. Our clothes have come from the tailor’s and dressmaker’s—only an idiot shows up out of nowhere for one of these auctions—and puzzling out the part we’ll play has taken a lot of time.

More accurately, the part I’ll play. He’ll be safest as himself: Aldrik Jarvim, King of Salles and husband of one of the gods of Oswen. That was easy to figure out.

Me… Sweat drips into my eyes, and I wipe it off with a sigh, rocking back on my heels while keeping my crouch. The charcoal line on the wood is as straight as it should be, though, so I accept it and move to the next.

“Having some trouble with the foundation?” Aldrik asks quietly in royal felvish.

Which brings the other reason I’m not feeling well: He agreed to strip my elven magic a lot more readily than I anticipated, and he did so the very first evening the high protector and Xhey shared rooms with us. That means I’ve been puttering about with the unsteady feeling of incomplete magic just as my balance is screwing up from the baby.

I’m not letting myself use my magic—I can’t let myself use my magic—but the prickling on my neck tells me that Aldrik’s keeping his own magic poised for signs that my elfin side is showing, relaxed by his use of one of my native languages. “I got it.”

Zeke’s off collecting…I’m not sure what, exactly, other than it likely comes from corpses. I’m pretty sure Aldrik doesn’t know enough about the lumen wards to realize that, but he seems to have caught on that there’s something odd about them.

The former high protector insists on sticking near me. I’m certain that I’ll be unsettled and displeased, once he admits whatever that reason is, but in the meantime, he’s volunteered to act as servant while Aldrik and I are making ourselves visible to high society. And Xhey’s doing the laundry. I hate doing laundry.

Even that wouldn’t have been enough to convince me to allow their help, but they pretty much all teamed up on me and pointed out, “They’re our lives to risk. Let us make our own mistakes.”

Part of me wanted to put my foot down and refuse to allow Xhey to help, if only for her baby’s sake, but I do try not to be a hypocrite.

Even assuming I survive the next several months, I’ll be having to leave Pardyam for another few years at the very least. Possibly decades. Between finding Berthen a wife, tracking down Lallie to help keep her from Gullying, and keeping watch on my son, once he’s born…

Aldrik and I have been extremely cautious over these past weeks, to avoid causing further problems for my employees, down the road. Considering we’re spinning our association as a temporary arrangement intended for the purpose of giving him another heir, that isn’t an easy line to walk.

I sigh.

“T?”

“Just trying to figure out how to keep the gods of Oswen from lashing out at my associates, after we’re done with your wife.” My tone isn’t quite as light as it should be, but most wouldn’t hear the difference. “How are your lines coming?”