Safe

“Good men follow the path they know to be correct, great men consider that they may be wrong.” 

-Excerpt from “Travels of the Rune-Bard”

"The bedroom is ready," Zygan said, stepping down the stairs. Elma looked up at him, her teacup halfway to her lips.

"Thank you," I said, and stood. I held out my hand to Elma, and she handed me her cup. "What are you doing?" I asked. 

"Oh," she blushed, and shook her head. "Sorry, I thought you were offering—never mind, I am just too used to having servants, I suppose."

I took her cup to the kitchen with my own, poured the remnants of their contents into the sink, and rinsed them out. I was surprised to find running water in Zygan's home, but the house was nice enough that it made sense. 

I heard Zygan go back upstairs, creaking floorboards following him down the hall to his bedroom. With awkward energy, I trailed Elma to our room. 

The room was simple; wood walls lit faintly by the dying firelight through the crack in the door, a modest bed of clean linen, and a small desk shoved under the window. Elma took the bed without ceremony, and I made a place for myself on the floor, using my pack as a pillow and my cloak for warmth.

It was not comfortable, but it was clean quiet. For the first time in days, I felt my muscles relax, unburdened by the anxiety that went hand in hand with running. I was not worried about being ambushed, or the ever-present spectre of discovery.

Time stretched, and my breathing steadied, but I found no sleep. The house groaned, the wind outside slapped the siding, a dog barked in the distance. As pleasant as it was to be free of stress, the absence left a vacuum for smaller discontent to find purchase. 

“Are you asleep?” Elma asked, her voice soft enough to barely carry.

“No,” I said.

There was a pause before she spoke again. “I apologize for not telling you everything.”

"I won't say that I am unbothered by it, but I do understand. 

Another stretch of silence followed. I stared at the ceiling, my mind drifting towards sleep but never quite reaching it. Time passed in fits and starts, and the sullen haze of restless energy clung to me. I rolled over, readjusted, and stretched—nothing worked to settle my thoughts. 

A halo of soft golden light peeked through the curtains, shattering the inky blackness. I rubbed my face, eyes heavy and mind sluggish. Elma shifted on the bed, leaning over the side as she gazed down at me. "You didn't sleep either?" She asked. 

"Not a wink"

“Nervous?”

“About Zygan? Nah,” I shook my head “He’s a good man.”

“That isn’t what I’m getting at.” She tilted her head, hair falling over her shoulder. “He’s your friend, right? Aren’t you worried he’s upset?”

“Oh, he’s upset,” I said, sitting up. My joints ached from the hard floor. “But he’s always kind of upset with me. So it’s no big deal.”

Elma gave me a pained look. “You don’t think that's the problem?”

I shrugged. “Probably. Doesn’t change anything.”

"You're kind of a shitty friend," she said. A fraction of a second later, her eyes went wide, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. "That was uncalled for, apologies."

"Don't worry about it."

We rose and went about preparing for the day. I changed into fresh clothes, sneaking glances towards Elma as I did. She performed her morning ablutions with the practiced grace of a noblewoman, and I idly wondered if she had ever been a lady-in-waiting.

"What are you staring at?" She asked, not deigning to look at me. 

"Nothing."

"Are you implying that I am nothing?" She said, and it took me a moment to realize that she was teasing me. "Anyway, I hate to ask, but may I borrow something to wear for the day?"I handed her my bag, and stepped towards the door. "Wear whatever you'd like," I said, then left. 

Downstairs, Zygan was already up, moving about the kitchen with quiet purpose. The scent of fatty bacon filled the air, mingling with the earthy fragrance of steeping tea and warm bread. For a moment, it felt like nothing had changed—I was a boy again, waking up to Zygan’s rough cooking before we set out for another job.

“You still wake up before the sun,” I said.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes tired but sharp. “Old habits.”

Elma came down a few minutes later, her hair trussed up in a tight bun, and her eyes shadowed with fatigue. We sat at the table, and Zygan served breakfast—bacon, toast with jam, and steaming cups of tea.

The three of us sat in silence for a while, content to focus on the meal.

“So,” he said. “Do you know why I’m upset?”

“Because I brought a walking tinderbox to your home.”

“Wrong.”

Elma shifted, setting down her cup. “Because I took advantage of Deryth?”

“Wrong again,” Zygan said, tone as even. He pointed a finger at her, then turned it to me. “I’m upset with you because your selfishness put my friend in danger. And I’m upset with you because you’re an absolute fool.”

Elma blinked, visibly shrinking in her chair. “You’re right,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think it through. I just couldn't go back.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m a fool?”

Zygan didn’t smile. “You are. You’re smart enough not to get involved in something like this. Danger to me aside, do you know what her father would do to you if he found you?”

“I didn’t know she was the Duke’s daughter,” I said.

“That’s not an excuse. Do you know what any father would do to a man who runs off with his daughter in the middle of the night?” Zygan folded his arms. “Especially one with this much power?”

I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Good. Now that we’ve cleared that up, we need to get you two settled in properly.”

He stood and started gathering the breakfast plates. “Deryth, you’re going into town. Get groceries, and some new clothes for both of you. Elma, you’re staying here to help with chores. And you,” he looked at her with a raised brow, “Should probably cut your hair.”

Elma’s hand went instinctively to her braid. “Cut it?”

“Just a suggestion. You look like a noblewoman trying to pass for a peasant. Someone sharp-eyed will spot it. Short hair makes you harder to recognize.” He softened slightly. “Only if you’re willing.”

She hesitated. “I’ll think about it.”

“Fair. Deryth, here’s the grocery list.” He handed me a folded scrap of parchment. “Eggs, bread, salt pork, beans, maybe some dried fruit if you can find it cheap. And for the gods’ sake, get yourself new clothing. You look like a beggar.”

I stood, taking the list. “Fine. Anything else?”

“Don’t dawdle. And keep your head down.”

“Got it,” I said, tucking the note away.

As I pulled my cloak on and stepped out into the morning chill, I felt the first tug of something I hadn’t felt in a long time. A sense of place.

Zygan had every right to be furious. But he hadn’t turned me away. He never had.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Inside, Elma remained at the table with Zygan, the clink of dishes and the low whistle of the kettle filling the silence he hadn’t bothered to break.

She sat stiff backed, hands folded in her lap before picking up her fork and poking at the bacon like it might bite her.

Zygan sipped his tea, set the cup down, then finished eating. The silence stretched, not cruel, but heavy—dense with the weight of things unsaid.

Finally, he broke it.

“So,” he said, voice low but direct, “tell me everything.”