A Lifetime

The eyra jill leaned forward in her stool, her silky-furred elbows pressing down on the edge of the bar.

The tiny claw on one diminutive finger tapped her chin as her eyes narrowed, staring across the polished oaken service counter into the smug expression of the blue-haired elfkin woman.

Cinder ran her tongue over the pointed canines behind her tightly pursed lips. Adison’s crystalline eyes, the same cerulean shade as her hair, sparkled as her confident grin widened.

The fire blazing in the hearth on the other side of the empty dining room crackled, sending an ember tumbling down to the expensive redwood floor.

Cinder’s hand shot down from her chin and slapped the counter.

“Ninety-seven!”

Adison reeled back from the counter, her jaw dropping and her eyes going wide. Cinder threw her arms up and nearly jumped off the stool, but caught herself before she took her celebration too far.

Adison’s smug grin returned in a flash.

“Nope!”

“Ugh!” Cinder slapped her palms down on the counter, her chin dropping down to her chest.

“So close,” Adison crowed, taking a sip of brandy from a crystal tumbler.

Cinder raised her head slowly to glare at her friend.

“You said the same thing when I guessed one hundred and twenty! And again at one hundred and six! What do you consider close?”

“You’re certainly less than one hundred off.”

Cinder’s half-serious scowl deepened. They’d been playing this game for more than two years, and she never felt as though she was getting any closer to winning.

“Funny,” she said, rolling her eyes. Adison threw her a wink and Cinder could help but to smile along with her.

These nights always ended up being a lot of fun. She glanced around the clean and tastefully decorated tavern, now empty as the night hour grew long. Adison had shown out the last customer and sent her staff home a little while ago, but she’d kept the lights on so the two of them could enjoy a meal and some drinks together. And, of course, play their guessing game.

“Come now,” Adison laughed, “you’ll just have to think harder next month! I’ve given you plenty of clues.”

“Giving history lectures doesn’t help me guess your age. I wasn’t exactly big on going to sanctuary growing up.”

“I know.”

Cinder’s ears twitched, signalling her annoyance, but she could only sigh in resignation and slump back in her seat. She watched her friend drain the rest of her brandy and turn about to peruse the bottles arrayed on the wall behind her. Cinder picked up her own eyra-sized mug and took a half-hearted sip of the dark ale within. Her eyes followed Adison’s beautiful hair, which flowed almost to her waist, as pure and brilliant as a clear summer sky. It bounced about while she searched back and forth for one expensive liquor or another. Adison was famous around the district for that hair – it was unusual even among elfkin. And no doubt it had been the inspiration for the name of her high-class tavern, Sapphire. Cinder’s gaze moved down, to admire the taut and flawless skin of her face and bare arms that all but shone under the tavern’s bright, magically lit lanterns.

Cinder clicked her tongue – she’d have won the game by now if Adison was human. Her vigor and beauty would have made pinpointing her age simple. But elfkin aged very differently from humans, eyra, and even siska. Cinder was fourteen, which made her a young adult in eyra reckoning. Her exotic, red-tinged fur would retain its youthful lustre for perhaps another fifteen years before dulling. Her teeth and tail would probably show her advancing age even before that.

Elfkin didn’t have to suffer such decay. Once they hit their late twenties, they’d look more or less the same for the next century and a half.

Cinder sighed and planted an elbow on the counter, laying her chin in her palm.

“You could at least tell me if I’m high or low.”

“Hmm, nope,” said Adison, turning back to her with a tall, skinny bottle in hand. She poured herself another glass.

“I could tell you a story to help you guess though. But first.” She reached below the counter and lifted out a small basket filled with dried and salted locusts.

Cinder rolled her eyes. Every time. Did Adison think she was still a little kit? This salty treat had been the reason she’d first stolen into Sapphire back in the day – when she’d been running the ally-ways of Daemedra with an eyra street gang. Cinder ran a hand behind her back and gave her immaculate red cape a dramatic flick. These days her compatriots were much more… well compensated. If similarly shady.

Still, Cinder couldn’t stop her gaze from drifting towards the plump-looking locusts. She licked away the saliva building behind her lips and glanced resignedly at Adison, who was trying hard not to smile.

This woman was too good to her.

It had been like this ever since their first meeting, when Adison had caught her rooting around her pantry and subsequently cooked her a delicious dinner. Prideful even back then, Cinder had insisted on paying her back, and returned to the tavern often to sweep floors and wash dishes. It didn’t take long for the two of them to develop a close friendship. When Cinder’s gang got hauled in for stealing jewels, Adison had allowed her to hide away at Sapphire for a full year. She even used their time living together to teach the young eyra how to read and write. Cinder breathed a contented sigh as she thought back on those warm and happy days. She reached a hand towards the locusts.

Maybe she’d have just a few.

“All right,” she said between salty mouthfuls. “Let me have it. Just try not to ramble okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” said Adison with a chuckle. She opened her mouth to begin just as the front door burst open wide. Both of them turned to watch a well-dressed if somewhat disheveled human man stumble into the tavern. He caught himself on a table near the door and cast his eyes about sluggishly until he spotted Adison and waved.

“We’re closed for the night, sir,” the elfkin woman called out politely.

“Saw the lights were still on,” the man said a crooked grin. He walked towards the bar shakily. Cinder scowled and picked a chitinous leg from between her teeth.

“She said the place is closed mor-“

Cinder’s mouth snapped shut when Adison shot her a subtle, disapproving glare.

“Do you still have any of that Costalian ale you were serving last night?” the man slurred, dropping himself onto a stool a few seats down from Cinder.

“I do,” said Adison with a polite nod. “You prefer a wooden tankard, correct?”

“I do,” he parroted with an attempt at a suave smile. The smile shifted to a hungry leer as the man’s gaze drifted down to Adison’s neck and past the unbuttoned collar of her blouse, settling on her chest.

“Excellent, I’ll be right back.”

Cinder frowned as Adison gave a quick bow before hurrying into the kitchen, picking up a tall wooden tankard on the way. The young eyra shot the man an exasperated glare and plucked a particularly hefty locust out of her basket. She bit off its head with a loud crunch.

The human winced and fixed her with a disgusted grimace. He took a long moment to look her up and down.

“I haven’t seen you before,” he said. “Do you come here often?”

“I do,” Cinder said around a mouthful of insect guts.

“Pity.”

Cinder snorted and crunched down on another locust. She had a few expensive articles of clothing and was well groomed – even for a single young jill – but she still couldn’t hope to pass for someone of equivalent social status to this arrogant ass. That was a fact he’d probably ascertained with a glance.

When Cinder didn’t respond to his dig, the man raised a finger as if remembering something.

“You know,” he said. “I was out hunting in the Redwoods the other day and I brought down a lovely stag. I started cleaning it but I got thirsty and had to go fill my water skin in the river. When I got back, a mangy little weasel was gnawing on my prize,” he glared sidelong at Cinder. “Such wretched little animals, wouldn’t you agree? I shot the thing immediately, of course.”

Cinder nearly laughed aloud at the overused insult and the man’s ham-fisted metaphor.

“You’ll get good trade for its pelt, if it looked anything like mine,” she said, fixing him with a sardonic glare. “Or are we talking make believe?”

The man scoffed. “Would you prefer I be more direct?”

“I’d prefer if you’d fu-“

Adison hustled back into the room at that moment, fixing Cinder with a stern glare even as she strode through the door.

“Fu-finally enjoy your drink. Friend,” Cinder corrected herself. But the man wasn’t even looking at her anymore.

“My thanks, miss,” he said, dropping a couple copper bars on the counter as Adison presented him with his ale. “And my condolences that you have to put up with such… troublesome customers.” He glanced non-too subtly towards Cinder as he finished.

“She can be a bit of a handful,” Adison laughed good humoredly, ever the professional. “But she is a good friend of mine.”

That was a subtle telling-off if ever she’d heard one, Cinder thought as she downed the rest of her dark ale. Though she doubted this buffoon would pick up on it.

“I see,” the man grumbled.  “Well in my opinion, a woman of your fame and beauty would be more at home amongst higher society. Believe me, I’m of noble blood myself you know.”

Cinder let out a quiet snort while Adison smiled politely.

“You flatter me sir. However I’m quite comfortable where I am.”

“Oh but the people I could introduce you to!” the noble went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “The parties you could attend in the Imperial Palace! A woman such as yourself would thrive! And of course I would be honored to escort you-”

“Hah!” Cinder threw her head back, unable to contain her amusement. So that was his game, not that it hadn’t been obvious to her from the moment he walked in.

“Could you be silent?” The noble barked, turning a disgusted glare her way.

“Please! She’s old enough to your great-grandmother!” Cinder chuckled mockingly, but then cocked her head to the side and looked to Adison. “Or great-great-grandmother?”

Adison didn’t hide her grin.

“This is no business of yours, eyra,” the noble warned, drawing himself up in his stool. “The lady and I are talking.”

“Oh yes and she seems absolutely taken by your gallantry,” Cinder drawled sarcastically in her best snooty accent.

“Wretch!”

“Cinder…” Adsion warned, but then Cinder thrust her empty mug across the counter.

“Barkeep, I’ll have a Kantish beer please. The one you keep in the cellar.”

Adison fixed her with knowing glare but scooped up the mug anyways.

“Be careful,” she hissed, leaning in close before hustling into the back again. Cinder smiled sweetly in her direction until she heard footsteps descending on creaky wooden steps.

“You should take care who you insult, eyra,” the noble grated. Cinder turned back to him with a tired sigh.

“I could make it so that you’re never allowed in this district again,” he went on.

“Oh?” said Cinder, her eyes going wide in feigned dismay. “And who have I had the misfortune of insulting?”

“I’m Juslin, of the Auldcrake family!”

“Oh really?” said Cinder, tapping her chin. She thought she’d recognized him. What luck.

“Yes!” said the noble, drawing himself up haughtily. “My aunt is a countess!”

“I see,” said Cinder, eyeing him like a cat about to pounce on a baby bird. “Tell me then, are you the same Juslin Auldcrake whose father has been smuggling dragon hide through Lacamere?”

Cinder bared her pointed teeth in a wide smile when Juslin’s mouth dropped open and his posture deflated.

“Wha- I… how do you know about that?” he said quietly.

“It would be unfortunate if your aunt found out,” said Cinder, wishing she still had a drink to sip on in this moment. “She might be forced to disown your father. And what would that make you?”

Juslin’s confused expression hardened at that and he jumped down off his stool.

“You, you’re with the Market aren’t you?” he said, striding towards her ominously. He stopped a step away, towering over her with his fists balled at his sides.  

“You keep your mouth shut, or I’ll be speaking to your syndicate head about your wagging tongue!”

“Hah!” Cinder threw her head back in a mocking laugh. “My employers will be speaking to your father about his idiot son getting drunk and spewing about our business!”

Juslin grabbed the front of her shirt roughly and drew his arm back for a punch.

“The Hell they will!” he growled.

Cinder’s mirth disappeared as the fist flew forward. This had gone on long enough.

___________________

Adison waited patiently at the top of the cellar stairs, listening to the conclusion of their heated exchange, a ring on her right hand glowing faintly. She held Cinder’s re-filled mug close to her chest. The elfkin woman trusted Cinder to send the young man and his tiresome advances running, but still couldn’t help but worry. He was more than twice her size after all. If it came to blows…

Just then a commotion broke out and a loud bang had Adison springing forward, darting through the back room and through the door that led out behind the bar. She froze in the doorway, still holding the mug – from which she hadn’t spilled a drop of beer – and stared in surprise at the scene before her.

Cinder was standing upon her stool, one hand grasping the young noble by his hair, the other holding the tip of a small dagger just below his eye. Blood was streaming from the man’s nose and right hand, which he was gripping tightly with the other.

Adison took a breath.

“Enough Cinder,” she said, taking care to sound stern, but not too stern.

“He threw the first punch,” Cinder replied calmly, not taking her eyes off the noble.

“Let him go.”

Cinder sighed and rolled her eyes, then brought her face down to the battered young man’s ear. Adison moved a hand to her ring, using the familiar touch to activate it. Normally she used its magic to keep an ear and a nose on her ovens while she was out in the dining room. But now the modestly enchanted implement allowed her to hear Cinder’s whispered warning.

“Cause any trouble for Sapphire, and I’ll gut you,” the auburn-coated jill breathed in the young man’s ear. “After I’ve ruined your family.”

Cinder released his hair and the noble fell to his knees, one hand flying to his nose, the other held trembling before him. It bore a deep and bloody bite mark, Adison noticed.

“The guard will hear of this,” he said, his voice a nasally hiss.

“Yes they will,” said Adison, before Cinder could respond. “Sir Damon takes his breakfast here just after dawn. Why don’t you stop by so the three of us can discuss how you attacked my friend?”

The man scowled and rose shakily to his feet. Throwing one last glare at Cinder, he ambled out of the tavern, slamming the door behind him. Sighing heavily, Adison turned a disapproving eye on Cinder.

“Please tell me he deserved that?”

Cinder plopped back down in her stool and shrugged. “Probably.”

Adison ruffled the fur atop the young eyra’s head roughly, handing her the mug of beer before walking out from behind the bar.

“I told you not to bring your work in here,” she said as she reached up to one of her magical lanterns. She placed her hand on the copper orb and deactivated its light spell then moved on to the next.

“So you were listening,” said Cinder. “Well he’s the one who brought names into it. And it’s not like I expected to run into an Auldcrake here.”

“Won’t this get you in trouble with your… people?” Adison asked, genuinely concerned. She deactivated the last of the lanterns and the light in the dining room shifted to the warm red hue reaching out from the hearth.

“Not at all,” Cinder replied. “My syndicate aren’t the ones moving his goods.”

Adison arched an eyebrow at her as she slipped back behind the bar.

“Then how-”

“One of our competitors is doing it,” Cinder explained with a sly grin. “Such a pity that they might have a falling-out. Wherever will the Auldcrakes turn to next?”

Adison shook her head with a tight-lipped smile and plucked her glass of ice wine off the counter. She didn’t fully approve of Cinder’s choice of employer, but she had to admit, the job fit her well. Adison frowned when she noticed a few dark spots of liquid, right beside Cinder’s elbow.

“Is that blood?” she asked.

Cinder cleared her throat nervously and took a sip of her beer.

“Did you slam his face on the counter I just finished cleaning?”

“Just a little bit,” Cinder muttered into her mug. Adison sighed, taking a long sip from her glass.

“You used to be such a cute little thing,”

“Used to be?”

Adison snorted wine out her nose and the two of them laughed long and hard, the firelight dancing over their smiling faces.

As the night wore on they refilled their drinks many times each, eventually moving to a small table beside the hearth. Adison told tales of her wandering days working in taverns, barracks, and castles around the world, honing her skills as a chef. Cinder reciprocated with anecdotes of her latest adventures in Daemedra’s shadowy underbelly.

After one such tale, Adison let her eyes rest on the young eyra for a long while, her thoughts nostalgic. She’d grown up so fast. But then, it always seemed that way, didn’t it? The hazy image of a blue-haired girl in a dirty apron, smiling up at her sweetly, flashed into the elfkin’s mind. She frowned and shook the thought away.

“What’s wrong?” asked Cinder sleepily.

“Nothing,” said Adison, a little too quickly, she realized as Cinder’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re not still worried about that oaf are you?”

Adison shrugged, going along with the off-target guess. She’d been meaning to talk about that more anyways.

“You didn’t have to get so violent on my behalf,” she said quietly, holding Cinder’s gaze with hers.

Cinder held the stare for a moment before looking away sheepishly. “He was annoying. And he was…staring.”

“Does that call for a broken nose and a bitten hand?”

“He should have shown you more respect. You’re a pillar of the district, noble or not.”

“It’s fine, Cinder,” Adison said, her visage softening. “I don’t want you getting yourself in trouble over something so trivial. Besides, that’s hardly the first time a young noble has propositioned me.”

“Oh please,” Cinder laughed. “Try not to brag too hard, seductress!”

Adison gave a good humored “hmph” and drew herself up proudly.

“You can joke but I’ll have you know Rayne Sedra proposed to me once upon a time.”

“You’re serious? Duke Rayne Sedra?”

“He wasn’t a duke then. Just a boy. I was serving as head cook in the Sedra household at the time.”

Cinder drooped down in her chair, eyeing the elfkin in disbelief. “Then why by the gods are you not Duchess Adison right now?”

Adison laughed and swirled her wine beneath her nose, enjoying its rich aroma.

“His father would never have allowed it,” she said, thinking back. “And I wasn’t ready to marry again anyways.”

“Again? What do you mean again?”

Adison bit her lip, chastising herself inwardly for the slip.

“You never told me you were married!” said Cinder, leaning forward eagerly. “Was it a husband or a wife? Oh! Were they elfkin or human? Or eyra maybe – that would be scandalous. What happened? Tell me everything!”

Adison chuckled, though her mirth was due more to Cinder’s enthusiasm than the memories her questions evoked.

“He was a human man. We spent three decades together until he passed of old age. I never mentioned him because it was so far back in my past. A lifetime removed. Long ago and far away.”

“Did you have children?”

This time, Adison was ready for the question. She drained her wine before looking Cinder square in the eye.

“No.”

Cinder raised an eyebrow but Adison held her gaze.

“Really? Not in thirty years?”

Adison raised her glass to cover her mouth.

“You are the only child who has ever needed me, Cin.”

Cinder’s face scrunched up.

“I’m not a child,” she deadpanned.

“Where’s your bowl of locusts?”

“I finished them. Shut up.”

Adison stuck her tongue out and poured herself more wine.

“Hmm, well anyways,” said Cinder. “Before I ask you more about this mysterious husband of yours – and oh do I have so much to ask – let’s get back to the Duke for a moment. What’s he like?”

Adison smiled, happy for the change of subject. “Rayne has grown up since then. He stopped by for a bite late last year actually. We talked. The Empire is lucky to have men like him leading us.”

“If you say so,” Cinder chuckled.

The two of them chatted until the fire burned low and their eyelids grew heavy. The darkness outside – pushed back only in some places by magical street lights – had grown deep, and the busy streets were as quiet as they ever got. Adison sat watching the glowing coals. Cinder had grown quiet after her latest tale and was lying with her upper half on the table, her head resting in her arms. Adison didn’t mind, she was content to sit quietly with her friend until she drifted off.

“Y’know,” Cinder muttered suddenly, her voice slurring slightly. “Eyra don’t live long. I might only be around another forty years, give’r take. Are you – hic – you gonna still gonna – hic – damn it all. You’re not gonna pretend like I don’t matter anymore, after I’m gone, are you? Like you do with your husband?”

Adison’s chest tightened. “I didn’t mean to give you that impression. He’s still important to me Cin. He still matters to me, he always will. And so will you. For the rest of my life no matter where I go or how long I live. I swear.”

Cinder nodded, drawing her head deeper between her arms.

“You’re always moving around in your stories, and you’ve been here so long. You won’t leave soon, will you?”

“No, I’ll stay.”

“How long?”

Adison shook her head thoughtfully and her gaze drifted back to the glowing embers of the dying fire. She’d built a good life for herself in Daemedra, but it wasn’t the first time she’d tried to anchor herself. Her grip tightened on the wine glass. This time, she wouldn’t drift away from the people who mattered. Especially Cinder.

“I think I’ll stay another forty years. Give or take,” she said, smiling warmly.

When her friend didn’t reply, Adison looked her way curiously, only then did she notice the soft snores.

Adison giggled and sat quietly until she’d finished her wine, her thoughts drawn to the past against her will. Eventually she set down her empty glass and walked around the table, hefting Cinder in her arms gently.

“Time to go to bed,” she whispered when the jill squirmed and yawned. Cinder calmed and her soft snores returned as Adison made for the stairs to her living quarters. She’d already prepared a spare room.

As she climbed the stairs slowly and carefully, Adison couldn’t help but glance down at the peacefully sleeping eyra. The century-and-more-old elfkin lowered her own face down into the fur atop the little jill’s head, breathing in her scent. Her heart swelled.

It had been just like this back then, she remembered. For a short time. So long ago. Adison wondered if her daughter had smelled the same, when she had last held her like this.

She liked to think so.

That bright little girl and this feisty eyra jill were alike in so many other ways, it would only make sense. Adison wanted so very badly to see her face again. But her pride, and the wide expanse of decades were a hurdle she wasn’t strong enough to leap. Not when she didn’t know for sure what an outstretched hand might find. She kissed Cinder atop her head before laying her down in her hammock.

Besides, she had a place here now. People she loved dearly, and a home built on the back of many years of sweat and hard work.

She could live with her regrets.

Adison’s eyelids fluttered as she shuffled sleepily into her bedroom. She undressed and lay herself down in bed, smiling all the while. The past was the past, and she was grateful for what she had in the here and now. The elfkin woman drifted off to sleep imagining the years that lay ahead of her.

But she dreamed of the lifetimes she had left behind.