Days went by with no more talk of the mission. The tension in the air was thick and unyielding, like the fog that had rolled in from the sea. Kael couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with Liora. Her lightness was replaced by a solemnity that seemed to weigh her down. Her smiles were forced, her laughs brittle, and she avoided his gaze.
As he lay on his makeshift bed, staring up at the wooden beams of the shelter's ceiling, he turned her words over in his mind. "I'll do what I must." The phrase echoed through his thoughts like the tolling of a distant bell. What did she mean by that? Was she planning something that went beyond the scope of their mission? He knew she had her demons, but this was beyond some sick personal vendetta. This had more to do with freedom-since they were free themselves and all.
Kael was of the opinion that he needed to find out just what was really happening between Liora and whatever was going on behind these closed doors.
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The door swung open, and Elara, her sister, stood there with her cheeks flushed and stars in her eyes, like a night sky. The moment their gazes met, Elara's smile grew so wide it seemed to light the alley. She threw her arms around Dalilah in a fierce embrace, and Dalilah felt the weight of her second life fall away like leaves in a storm. They stepped inside the house and warmth filled up the room as a stew pot would be on simmer. Elara looked in her eyes and noted the worn-out lines due to their long separation, yet she did not utter a word, just held her closer.
Her mother, plump and warm and smiling almost all of her life, entered the hall and was surprised to take in her daughter's form. She gasped and rushed forward, her apron fluttering like a cape behind her. Dalilah felt the years melt away as she was enveloped in a hug so warm and tight that it threatened to break her ribs. Her mother's scent of lavender and fresh bread brought back a flood of memories so intense, it was as if she had never left. She hugged her mother tightly, aware of the steady thud of that heart and the comforting sensation of familiar arms.
Their father came out of the darkness tall, proud, and bearded silver to more black. Unshed tears made his eyes glisten as he looked at Dalilah as a ghost, unable to truly believe she was there in the flesh. And then, gruff as a bear but all for show, he said, "You're late," and spread wide his arms. The three of them hugged, a knot of love and relief, and the house grew brighter, as if the very walls had sighed in happiness.
They talked, their voices weaving in and out of each other's stories like threads on a loom. Dalilah listened attentively as her sister spoke of her studies and the young man who had been courting her. She felt a twinge of jealousy, not for the man, but for the simple, uncomplicated life Elara lived. Her father spoke of his work, the same blacksmith shop where Dalilah had learned the basics of combat, his hands now more adept at shaping metal than wielding a sword. The mother had opened a small bakery, and the smell of freshly baked bread filled the house - silent testimony to how hard she worked.
The conversation turned more serious when the theme of Dalilah's prolonged absence came up. She felt the weight of unspoken questions that came their way-the questions that carried a hint of fear. She knew they wouldn't understand her life as an assassin, the choices she had made to survive and protect her sister. So, she painted a picture of a life full of adventure and danger, but in the end, noble and just. They sat, eyes wide, listening to tales of far-off lands and heroic feats as if with bated breath. She left out the blood and the fear, the moments when she doubted herself and the world she had chosen to live in.
Elara leaned closer, her eyes searching Dalilah's. "But what is your job?" she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What do you do when you're not. when you're not here?"
Dalilah took a deep breath, her gaze drifting to the flickering candles on the mantel. "'I serve the crown,' she said, her tone calm and controlled. "I am a. an envoy. I travel to distant lands and ensure that our country's interests are protected. It's a job that requires discretion and, at times, a certain level of. diplomacy." She picked her words carefully, weaving a tapestry of half-truths that she hoped would be enough to satisfy Elara's curiosity without revealing the bloodstained threads of her actual profession.
Her parents shared a worried look, lines etched across their faces that hadn't been there the last time she saw them. They knew what dangers came with serving the crown, but the pride in their eyes was unmistakable. Her father spoke up, his voice gruff, "Your sister's always had a way with words, even when she's spinning tall tales." There was a hint of a smile on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of her tact.
Elara studied her, her curiosity piqued. "Tell me more," she urged, her voice filled with excitement and a touch of awe. Dalilah felt a pang of guilt for deceiving her, but she could not risk her sister's life by revealing the truth. So, she continued weaving her fabricated life, speaking of grand palaces and clandestine meetings, of exotic lands and the thrill of the unknown. Her parents listened, their expressions a mix of pride and concern. They had always known Dalilah was capable of great things, but they had hoped for a safer path for her.
Laughter had grown louder, the stories more outrageous, as the evening went by. The tension in the room began to unravel like a loosened knot. Warmth of the fireplace danced on their faces, casting flickering shadows that painted a semblance of normalcy over their reunion. A sweet scent of their mother's famous apple tart filled the air, mingling with the bitterness of their unspoken fears.
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Days had indeed elapsed since the volatile discussion at the tavern, and Kael couldn't help but feel an ill ease creeping over his stomach. The rain had ceased and been replaced by a drizzly mist that clung to the streets like a shroud, veiling the world in a cloak of uncertainty. He'd decided to secretly follow Liora. He had to know what she was planning, who she was meeting, and if she really could trust. His instincts told him that she was holding something from him, something important to their cause.
He followed her from a safe distance, his eyes glued to her figure as she wove through the crowded streets. The cobblestones were slick with dampness, air heavy with the scent of damp earth and the promise of more rain to come. The hood of his cloak was drawn low over his face, his steps deliberately quiet. Liora had always been a puzzle to him, her motives as elusive as the shadows that danced along the alleyways.
Kael's pulse ran fast as she headed to the grand estate, its ivy-covered walls a stark contrast to the shabby taverns they often frequented. He watched her pause at the gates, then glance around as though ensuring she was not observed. Then she slipped through, her cloak billowing briefly before it enveloped her. He waited, counting his breaths, until he could be certain no one had noticed her departure.
He moved quietly at a good distance behind, the wet cobblestones silent under his boots. The mist deepened, veiling his vision of the manor and obscuring further the exquisite gardens he had seen beyond the iron gate. His fingers drifted down to touch the hilt of his sword: reassuring weight in a business so deadly as this if she played them false.
And then, rounding a bend in the path, he saw her. Liora stood under a great oak, her cloak drawn tight around her. A figure stepped from the shadows, tall and massive, his rich clothes whispering of wealth and power. Kael's heart thudded in his chest as he recognized the nobleman, Lord Charles. His reputation preceded him: cunning, ruthless, and with a flair for the dramatic. He was not a person to be taken lightly.
The nobleman extended his hand, offering her a single, white lily, a symbol of purity that stood stark in contrast to the murky night. Liora took it graciously, eyes never leaving his. The two spoke in hushed tones, their conversation lost to rustling leaves above them. Kael felt his curiosity grow as he watched the exchange, and his hand tightened on the sword hilt. What could she possibly want from this snake of a man?
He crept forward, his eyes straining to hear what they said. Lord Charles, the nobleman, spoke with an urgency that made Liora's smile falter slightly. He pulled a small, leather-bound book out of his pocket and pressed it into her hand. Kael's mind was racing. What in that book could be so crucial to their purpose?
As they separated, Liora's eyes flicked towards the spot where Kael was hiding, and for a brief moment he thought he caught her seeing him, but she turned away, disappeared into the mist without even a look. He heard his own heart beating in his ears as he stepped out of the shadows, boots echoing off the wet ground. He left, after the smell of his expensive cologne lingered and the discarded lily lay on the ground.