Chapter Eleven
The breath on the back of Ashenivir’s neck shifted, and he knew Rizeth was awake. At first he only lay there, for the moment felt fragile as glass, such that the slightest movement might shatter it. Then Rizeth’s lips pressed lightly to his shoulder, a touch so tentative it made his heart ache, and he rolled over.
“Hello,” he whispered, which conjured a faint smile. Rizeth traced the line of his jaw with his knuckles.
“Good morning.”
Ashenivir started to lean forwards, then paused. “Can…can I kiss you?”
Hardly had he finished asking before Rizeth’s mouth captured his in reply. His arms went around Rizeth’s neck as their legs tangled, the nearness of their bodies sending a shiver through him; desire and relief and a frightened need to cling on tight, lest all that lay beneath his hands go up in smoke. He rolled over, pulling Rizeth atop him, but before he could get further than that, Rizeth drew away.
“We need to talk.”
“Can’t we just pretend it didn’t happen?” Ashenivir tried to pull him back into the kiss, but he resisted. “That I wasn’t stupid and you weren’t upset, and—”
Rizeth put a thumb to his lips. “No, xi’hum. We cannot.”
Ashenivir sighed as Rizeth shifted off him, curling straight away to his chest as he lay back. He hooked an ankle with Rizeth’s, and reached over to link their fingers together, held between their hearts. Every point of contact grounded him, kept his mind and heart from flying off to places he’d rather not go.
“I wish you’d come to find me,” he said. Rizeth squeezed his hand.
“I didn’t want to push you. Chase you when you wanted to be left alone. You…” He cleared his throat, and it was Ashenivir’s turn to tighten his grip. “The divination block suggested that was what you required.”
“But you knew where I was?”
“I had a fairly good idea. I knew you were safe at the very least, even if it meant being far away from me.” He stroked Ashenivir’s knuckles with his thumb. “Then the day I did go to the Haven, she was there. Coward that I am, I couldn’t face the both of you.”
Ashenivir didn’t need to ask who she was. He rested his head against Rizeth’s chest, and they lay in silence for a while. The light was grey with summer rain this morning, the light patter mingling with the creak of cartwheels, the click of hooves, the chatter of the city waking up.
“You need to know about her,” Rizeth said at last.
“I know all I need to. She’s awful.”
“She is nothing but herself.” Rizeth’s sigh brushed the top of his head. “She has only ever been that.”
“Well, herself is obnoxious and petty.”
An ungenerous thought, given her occupation, but after what she’d said at the Tears and the way she’d shouted at Rizeth last night, Ashenivir was disinclined to generosity.
“She speaks her mind, very often without care for how others might feel about it,” Rizeth said. “You are aware, I think, that she and I did not part particularly amicably.”
“Kelran said you haven’t been close with anyone else until…until me.” He said the last part very quietly. The weight of it still scared him.
“I haven’t,” Rizeth replied. He slid his free hand into Ashenivir’s hair to stroke through the morning tangles; taking comfort as much as providing it, Ashenivir thought. “I am not good at this. I never have been. For a time, Elian’la made me think that I could be, but the longer we were together—and together without the House, in Mythen Thaelas—the clearer it became that it was sex for her. The rules, the dynamic...it was only ever sex for her, and it took me far too long to realise that what I needed from it and what she needed from it were not the same thing.”
He spoke flatly, matter-of-fact, as though none of it mattered, and if Ashenivir had been anyone else, he might have thought it didn’t. But he’d spent years studying the subtleties of Rizeth Velkon’yss, and so he sat up and took Rizeth’s hands in his.
“What happened?”
Rizeth didn’t meet his eyes. “I overstepped.”
“You offered her the mark,” Ashenivir realised. “That’s why you were so worried about giving it to me.”
“I didn’t offer, I told,” Rizeth said tightly. “I thought it would help. I had no idea what she wanted, how she felt—everything became a joke or an argument, and she could cut equally deep with both. She’d lie about where she was, who she was with; vanish, and then be furious when I went looking for her, as though my concern were a noose she needed to escape.” His fingers dug hard into Ashenivir’s, though he still didn’t look at him. “I thought it was the answer. I would know what she felt, where she was. If I didn’t have to chase, she wouldn’t need to run.” He swallowed. “I began the ritual. We argued. She left. That was the end of it.”
A great many things suddenly fell into place. No wonder he didn’t come to get me.
“I don’t think you’re a noose,” Ashenivir said softly.
“I could be.” Rizeth sat up, pulling away. Ashenivir climbed into his lap to keep him from leaving, so there was nowhere Rizeth could look but him.
“You’re not. You haven’t trapped me, and you didn’t force this”—he pulled Rizeth’s hand to his mark—“on me. I chose it. Chose you. From the day you let me into your quarters back at the Arcanum, I chose you and this and everything we do.”
Rizeth’s magic flickered in the mark, lightly, as though he hardly dared to touch it. “I do not deserve you.”
“Deserve has nothing to do with it,” Ashenivir said. “I love you. I want you. I’m sorry I acted the way I did—for acting like her—and…and I forgive you for everything else. You are not a noose, and I don’t want to escape you.”
Rizeth leaned his forehead to Ashenivir’s. “I am sorry. I was wrong then, and I am wrong now. I cannot keep from making the same mistakes over and over, and now you comfort me when I am the one who hurt you—”
Ashenivir kissed him. “You were wrong, and I lied. I think that makes us even. I forgive you. It’s done.” He didn’t give Rizeth a chance to debate the point, kissing him again, pleased when Rizeth returned it.
He moaned encouragingly as Rizeth’s tongue slid against his, and pressed him down to the bed. An apology was one thing—showing it was another. For a long minute Rizeth indulged him, but caught his hands when they wandered too far south.
“Breakfast first.”
Ashenivir tugged ineffectually, a hot flash of delight in his core at the firm grip. “No. I’ll be full of things that aren’t you.”
“I have not eaten for almost a day now, and if I know you—which I hope I still do—neither have you.” Ashenivir’s traitorous stomach chose that moment to side with his Master. Rizeth kissed his cheek. “Breakfast, Ra’soltha.”
The title sank into his bones, a greater relief than even last night. He sighed, flush with the pleasure of it, more so when Rizeth’s expression softened at his reaction. Xi’hum was fine, but it wasn’t who he was. Wasn’t what he was. He slipped his hand into Rizeth’s as they rose from the bed.
“Will you cook for me, Master?”
“As I’ve told you before, Ra’soltha, you may have anything you want.” Rizeth paused. “Within the limits of what remains in our pantry.”
Ashenivir laughed at that, and followed him out of the bedroom. Anything he wanted. He felt like himself again, heart steady and settled. What more was there to ask for?
The morning unfolded slow and lazy, though to Rizeth it had fragile edges. His arguments with Elian’la always came with such eggshell aftermath, and he knew all too well how easy it was to say the wrong thing, bring everything crashing back down. He glanced to where Ashenivir had curled up on the couch with a serial. Gods, he didn’t want to say the wrong thing.
He busied himself clearing away the breakfast things—and the previous day’s dinner things, and a vast array of scattered neglect, which embarrassed him deeply now that his head was clearer. The size of the mess was overwhelming, but he could manage it. One thing at a time, that was the way to put the place to rights. One thing at a time.
“Master,” Ashenivir called. He’d set his book aside and hooked his fingers into his collar. “Breakfast is done.”
“So it is.”
Rizeth picked up his cuffs before joining him on the couch, pressed them into his hands, and wordlessly held out his wrists. The metal fit into place with a hum of enchantment, though the brush of Ashenivir’s fingers was a far stronger magic. Declarations otherwise notwithstanding, Rizeth didn’t deserve him, not any part of this perfect boy who saw him as no-one ever had.
“You still like them?” Ashenivir’s touch lingered, his eyes dark with longing.
“Very much,” Rizeth said, and leaned in to kiss him.
Neither of them had dressed properly, Ashenivir least of all. A bare leg hooked around Rizeth’s calf as he pressed Ashenivir into the couch, kissing his neck, finding the sensitive place behind his ear that made him gasp. Eager hands slid to his waist and then to the half-fastened laces of his breeches.
“Still hungry, I see.”
“Always, Master.”
Rizeth freed his cock, shifting so they were flush, Ashenivir’s own hard length pressing into his hip. They rocked into one another, out of sync and clumsy—Rizeth didn’t care. He covered Ashenivir’s mouth with his own and kissed him for so long he went light-headed. Ashenivir’s breath came in hot gasps, every small moan sweeter than wine.
“Can I touch you?” Ashenivir panted, whining when Rizeth nipped his lip. “Please, Master, I want to touch you.”
The question stung even as it made his heart sing. “You do not always need my permission.”
“I like having it.” Ashenivir ground harder against him, flushed, eyes already hazy as need overtook sense. “I like the consequences of not having it, too.”
This was veering too close to all they’d argued about before. Rizeth kissed him quiet. This was enough. There was no need to make more of it.
“Please let me touch you.” Ashenivir bucked into his hip, gripping his shoulders tight. “I want to feel you, Master.”
Oh, but his voice when he asked! That soft, needy tone, the submission that came with it—useless to seek it after a fight, when the last thing she wanted to do was endure his commands, but he’d always craved it.
Rizeth guided Ashenivir’s hand to his cock, curving his own overtop.
“There, Ra’soltha,” he said. “See what you do to me?”
Ashenivir exhaled as if in great relief. While he stroked, Rizeth kept a gentle pressure over his hand, which served to send him flying higher. His movements fell to jerky rutting, unable to concentrate on both motions at once, and he seemed to favour pleasing his Master. Of course he does, it’s what he loves.
“Good boy,” Rizeth said, fleeing the thought and all it might mean. “Such a good boy for me.”
He sucked a bruise into Ashenivir’s neck, between two of many he’d left last night, and Ashenivir moaned beneath him. His hand worked faster over Rizeth’s cock, and Rizeth noticed his other had gone to his own. The order to stop—he hadn’t given permission for that—was halfway to his lips when he caught himself. Not a scene. Don’t make it one.
“Master,” Ashenivir gasped out, “Master, may I come?”
“You do not need—”
“Please, Master.” His eyes were glassy, his voice desperate. Now was not the time for discussion.
“You may.”
Both Ashenivir’s hands worked faster, and his head fell back as he came with a cry. His other hand still worked frantically, stroking and squeezing under Rizeth’s palm as though chasing another climax. Rizeth kissed him—the messy, frantic lick of Ashenivir’s tongue against his sparked heat in his spine that carried him over the edge. Ashenivir was whispering something, thanking him over and over between soft whimpers.
“No need for that,” Rizeth murmured. “Not when we’re like this. It can just be…” He trailed off. Just what? Just them? Just sex? What about that had been ‘just’ anything? Even a kiss became something more, he couldn’t help himself.
Sometimes you just need space to let things breathe, that had been Cain’s advice.
“I think,” Rizeth said slowly, “that perhaps we should take something of a break.”
Ashenivir’s eyes flew open. “A break? What do you mean a break?”
“From the dynamic side of things,” Rizeth clarified. “Just for a tenday, to clear our heads.”
“I…if that’s what you want.”
He felt Ashenivir cut off the Master from the end of his sentence, and almost took his words back. No. No. No more blurred lines between play and reality.
“Just for a tenday,” Rizeth repeated. “And besides, I enjoy you using my name. You will have to get used to using it when we return to Mythen Thaelas, anyway.”
“That’s not for ages,” Ashenivir grumbled. Rizeth kissed the corner of his mouth.
“This does not mean no sex. I have no intention of denying you in that respect.”
He seemed to relax at that. Rizeth sat up and motioned a prestidigitation, and once they were both clean, Ashenivir recovered his book and tucked against his side on the couch. Rizeth watched the rain track down the window, trying to ignore the lead weight in his stomach. This was what they needed. They could take the time to recover, to know one another properly without scraps of dynamic bleeding out of where they belonged and making a mess of things.
Ashenivir shifted, and Rizeth hugged him closer. Ten days, that was all.
Just ten simple days.
Returning to the Haven was almost as nerve-wracking as the first time he’d gone. Unlikely as it was for Elian’la to be there, Ashenivir couldn’t help picturing running into her—and from there his imaginings tended towards a highly unrealistic scenario in which he told her exactly where she could shove her opinions about Rizeth in such an eloquent manner that she was forced to flee the Haven in shame.
She wasn’t there when he arrived, though, so his nervous energy had nowhere to go but into dancing the morning devotional. He kept up with the acolytes reasonably well—he still couldn’t get over how good it felt to put his body through these motions; more so now that they weren’t driven by a driving urge to escape his thoughts.
Rizeth’s declaration yesterday had him trying to work through them instead. They’d never taken a break from their dynamic before, not on purpose. Even when he’d been miles away in Sshamath, he’d still considered himself Rizeth’s Ra’soltha. And he was still that, he wasn’t not that just because they weren’t using the title right now. He didn’t stop being a wizard when he wasn’t casting spells, after all. It was just a break. It was temporary. It was fine.
Zelka fell into step alongside him halfway through the routine, taking her place smoothly amongst the dancers. Not as wild as Elian’la or as light as Xalin, but confident and certain. He kept pace with her right until the end, and didn’t trip once. Dancing through his misery had been helpful in that regard, at least.
“I’m glad to see you alive and well,” she said, when they were finished and dressing. “You vanished last night. Xalin and I were worried about you.”
Ashenivir grimaced. He’d run off without so much as a farewell. “I’m sorry. I had to go home.”
“To go back to him?” Her voice went sharp. “You know you did not have to, don’t you?”
“I went because I wanted to. It was time,” Ashenivir said, shrugging into his outer-robe. “Things are…they’re fine now.”
“For the time being, I suppose.” Zelka’s eyes swept over him much too intently, lingering at the plethora of bite-marks Rizeth had left on his neck. “No illusions today, I see.”
“I…I don’t know what you mean.”
“You think I cannot tell when you come here covered in them?” She crossed her arms. “I know that magic. I’ve seen it on dozens of males—looking pretty is better for politics, but a Matron must find her amusements somewhere. And I know that the moment you step out of his line again, I will see it back on your skin.”
He was thankful then that he wasn’t wearing any illusions—any marks he’d had before his and Rizeth’s time apart had long faded. If she knew the magic, she might know how to remove it, with or without his permission. Ashenivir shoved into his boots. “You’re imagining things,” he said, putting as much confidence into the words as he could. “I’m not hiding anything because there’s nothing to hide.”
“The Haven is always open to you,” she called after him as he hurried away. He didn’t look back. She meant well, he knew she did, but he hoped she wouldn’t press the issue. He didn’t want to have to worry about avoiding her as well as Elian’la. Zelka lived here. Avoiding her would be much more difficult.
Speaking of avoiding Elian’la—he bit back a groan as he neared the villa. The acolytes he’d danced with were all clustered by the rear door, listening raptly to whatever story Elian’la was entertaining them with. When had she arrived? Late enough that at least he hadn’t had to dance with her and pretend everything was fine.
She had her back to him, so he thought he could probably slip past unnoticed, but next to her, looking directly at him, was Catriona. Who, judging by the sour expression on her face, had overheard at least part of his talk with Zelka.
Ashenivir looked purposefully away from her, striding into the kitchen, past the cats in the entry hall, and out of the villa. So what if she knew he and Rizeth were no longer arguing? Better, in fact, if she did. Her attempts to drive a wedge between them had failed, and he wasn’t going to give her a single second more of his time. Besides, he had much more pleasant things to think about today; namely, that Rizeth was taking him to the Sea Maiden’s Faire this afternoon.
Catriona Hanali could seethe and scheme on her own time—he had a third date to go on.
Shrieks and laughter rang out all along the boardwalk, accompanied by lively music—Rizeth counted a half-dozen distinct tunes, a different one swirling from every stall. Ashenivir tugged at his hand, pulling him towards another vendor: a halfling presiding over some sort of ball-toss game, the incomprehensible scoring of which was written on a nearby blackboard.
“Step right up, sirs, step right up! Two copper a toss, or a silver for ten, and a prize every time!”
Ashenivir was already rummaging in his coin pouch. “I’ll win this one, I know it.”
“That is what you said the last three times.”
Ashenivir grinned as he handed the halfling his silver. “Don’t you have faith in me?”
“Faith doesn’t enter into it, apprentice. I rather suspect these games are all rigged.”
“On my honour, they are not,” the halfling said. He set a line of brightly-painted wooden balls on the counter. “Captain Zord would never stand for such a thing.”
Rizeth was none too certain about that—he’d seen said Captain on their way in, a theatrically piratical man absolutely drenched in illusion magic—but stowed his scepticism. Rigged or not, watching Ashenivir play at the ridiculous games was reward enough in and of itself. Certainly it was more entertaining than the meetings he was meant to be attending—he’d cast a sending to Lyzira this morning asking her to take care of them, which was only polite given the many days she’d simply shouldered the burden of his work when he’d been too uselessly miserable even to think about it. She’d flung back a squeal of delight that the spell regrettably counted as only one word, then used the remaining twenty-four to express her congratulations that he and Ashenivir had ‘kissed and made up’.
His original plan had simply been to spend the day with Ashenivir, slow as the previous one, and continue to restore the apartment to a liveable state. Then Ashenivir had hesitantly asked if they could go out instead, after he’d visited the Haven, and suggested the Sea Maiden’s Faire, which was in the city only until the end of the month. Rizeth had jumped on the idea—normal, it was a safe and normal thing to do—and now here they were, in the heat and the noise, with Ashenivir determined to lose all his coin on carnival games.
“Yes!”
“Outstanding, sir, absolutely outstanding! You’re a natural, so I’m certain.”
Ashenivir’s coloured balls were now all caught in variously sized cups nailed to a board at the back of the booth. The halfling counted them up according to his inexplicable system and presented Ashenivir with what appeared to be a stuffed owlbear cub. It was certainly large enough to be real, though the visible stitching and black-button eyes suggested otherwise.
Ashenivir hugged it to his chest as they left the stall, and slipped his hand back into Rizeth’s.
“See, Master, I told you I’d do it,” he said, then grimaced. “Rizeth, I mean. Sorry.”
“It’s quite alright,” Rizeth told him. “You must be hungry. Let us find something to eat.”
Better to avoid the topic than start discussing it again. It had only been a day, and he’d bitten his own tongue on Ra’soltha a dozen times already.
“Oh, yes please,” Ashenivir said, brightening. “I want to try the candyfloss—Mara said it was spun sugar—they make it in some sort of Gondian machine, no magic—and it looks delicious.”
“You didn’t have any when you came with her?”
“No, I…” Ashenivir’s grip on the owlbear tightened. “I didn’t do much of anything when they brought me.”
Rizeth squeezed his hand. “Well, you shall have as much as you like today. Though do not come seeking my sympathy if you make yourself ill.”
“I wouldn’t have to seek it,” Ashenivir said, as they joined the queue for the candyfloss stall. He was biting his lip over a smile, half hiding his face behind the owlbear’s stuffed head.
“No,” Rizeth said, “I suppose you wouldn’t.”
They continued to wander the carnival as they ate. Ashenivir devoured two sticks of candyfloss, a package of sugared dough balls, and a large tub of flavoured ice studded with cherries all by himself, and proclaimed to feel completely fine. Rizeth would believe that when they got home without a single complaint of stomach-ache.
“I wish we had something like this in the Underdark,” Ashenivir said, when they stopped to rest. “The whole thing, not just the food.”
“Travelling the caverns is a little too high risk for what reward such a carnival might make.”
“I know.” Ashenivir plucked dejectedly at the owlbear’s furry ears. “Keszriin would love it, is all. And the others—though I dread to think what kind of carnage Dresvan and Pella would wreak on the games.”
The Hyn twins would certainly leave a lasting impression, of that Rizeth was certain. He shifted up the bench, hesitantly setting his arm around Ashenivir’s shoulders—Ashenivir leaned into him, and the solidity of his form acted as a welcome counterbalance to the tight anxiety such touch wound in Rizeth’s chest. The carnival sang on around them, and for a few minutes they simply sat together, quiet inside the chaos. It was not the kind of ambience Rizeth had pictured taking in when they’d left the Underdark, but it wasn’t altogether unpleasant.
“This trip has become somewhat less educational than I intended,” he said, and Ashenivir laughed.
“I’ve learned a lot.”
“When was the last time you went to the Font of Knowledge?”
“Don’t ask me that, Master, I don’t want to lie to you.”
Either Ashenivir didn’t catch his slip that time, or had decided to ignore it. Rizeth let it go.
A touch on his knee made him look over. Ashenivir smiled up at him, his eyes glittering like purest rubies in the sunlight.
“I wouldn’t change a thing about this trip,” he said. “I’ve got the rest of my life to figure out demiplanes. I think I only had this one chance to figure out how I felt about you.”
There was sugar caught at the corner of his mouth. Heart thudding, Rizeth carefully swiped it away, his thumb dragging slowly over Ashenivir’s lip. The shouts and laughter of the carnival seemed three times louder, the dozens of passing eyes like eightfold spotlights burning into him. Ashenivir leaned forwards, and at the last second Rizeth pulled away.
“It is far too hot,” he declared. “I shall fetch us something to drink. Stay here and rest.”
He braced for disappointment on Ashenivir’s face, but Ashenivir only took his hand and kissed it, as lightly as Rizeth had ever done his. “Alright.”
Rizeth rubbed the place he’d kissed as he headed down the boardwalk. Over the course of their decades together, Elian’la had gone from finding his public reluctance oddly charming to finding it endlessly frustrating; one more mark in the towering tally of reasons to resent him.
It was old fear, worn thin. How much longer would he allow it to command him? Menzoberranzan was a distant memory; who was there to turn his affections against him save himself?
He raised his hand to his lips, brushing them over the ghost of Ashenivir’s kiss. It was past time to face such fear. Long past time.
Keeping the word Master out of his mouth was almost impossible. It wasn’t just a title—where his brother might call Fellanistra darling or d’anthe, that was what Master was as much as it was an acknowledgement of ownership. It held everything Rizeth was to him; Ashenivir had called him it so long it was more his name than Rizeth was, and Rizeth wasn’t a word he wanted to throw around so lightly. It was precious; something to savour, to whisper with reverence. Private.
He shifted the stuffed owlbear in his lap, resting his chin atop its fluffy head. It was what Rizeth had asked for, and so he would give it. He didn’t want to do anything that might risk upsetting everything again.
Even if that meant suffering through a whole tenday without titles.
“Ashenivir!”
He looked up from the owlbear to see Mara skipping towards him. She had Xalin’s hand in hers, both of them dressed in white, though Mara’s skirt was considerably shorter, and she’d matched the embroidered daisies with real ones woven into her hair. Xalin tolerated the dragging with good grace, offering him a slight bow as they came to a stop by his bench. Mara’s daisies, he noted, had found their way into her hair as well.
“Zelka mentioned you came by earlier,” she said. “I’m sorry I missed you.”
“My fault,” Mara said, utterly unabashed. She dropped down next to Ashenivir, fussing at the owlbear as if it were a real cub. “Are you here on your own? I know you missed a ton last time, but if you wanted to come again, you could’ve asked us—River gets all weird about being a third on my dates, but I really don’t mind. Are you feeling better? You look a lot less miserable today.”
“I’m not on my own,” Ashenivir said. “Rizeth brought me.”
“He did?” Mara squeezed the owlbear’s head between her palms. “On a date?” Ashenivir nodded, and if the poor owlbear had been real, it would’ve had its skull crushed into dust. “You’re not fighting anymore? Oh, River’s going to be so happy! I’m so happy—he’d better win you a hundred owlbears to make up for making you cry—”
“It’s good to hear you’ve worked things out,” Xalin said over her, her gentle tones apparently as effective as Verin’s firm hand, for Mara ceased her excited rambling. “This one was most distressed at the thought of you not being able to attend the wedding because of your argument.”
“I was distressed because Ashenivir was sad,” Mara said huffily.
“And because you couldn’t show him your dress.”
“You finally found one, then?” Ashenivir said. Mara beamed, sketching a shape in the air he couldn’t make head nor tail of.
“It’s only the most gorgeous thing ever! It’s elven silk, and it has this bodice that makes my breasts look amazing, and when I showed her, Xalin—”
“Where is Rizeth anyway?” Xalin interrupted loudly, her cheeks darkening. Ashenivir very politely didn’t laugh.
“He went to get something to drink,” he said and, as if conjured by the words, Rizeth suddenly appeared, cutting through the crowd towards them with a bottle of summer cider in each hand. Whilst he’d been away, the heat had apparently gotten the better of him again, for he’d rolled his sleeves to the elbows and loosened the upper ties of his shirt—Ashenivir made absolutely no pretence of not drinking in the sight of him greedily; being on a break didn’t mean he couldn’t do that.
“Hi, Master Velkon’yss,” Mara said, not sounding nearly as demure as she likely hoped to.
“Good afternoon, Miss Shemov. Priestess.” Rizeth inclined his head to each of them in turn. Xalin took Mara’s hand, tugging her to her feet.
“We’ll leave you to your day,” she said. “Enjoy the rest of the faire, Ashenivir.”
Rizeth watched them go, then handed Ashenivir one of the bottles.
“Can I assume that all of Waterdeep will know the status of our relationship by sundown?” he said, returning to his seat at Ashenivir’s side. Ashenivir leaned against him, the owlbear squashed between them.
“Oh, no,” he said, popping the closure on his drink. “I doubt it will take that long.”