"Building homes for my husband's citizens," Seraphiel cut in. Her smile was gentle. Her tone was not. "On my husband's land. Using trees from my husband's forest."
The elves went quiet.
"I love these trees as much as you do. Possibly more." She glanced at the stump. "But we can plant new ones. We cannot conjure shelter from thin air. The dwarves know what they're doing and are listening to Jasmine's instructions. Let them work. Even Lady Luminara would approve."
The elven women exchanged looks. "How can you say such a thing with so much certainty?"
Seraphiel tilted her head and did not answer. "Unless you'd like to explain to Quinlan why construction is halted because you were arguing with the people doing the actual labor…"
They shuddered at the idea.
Scoffed.
Pouted.
Stomped the ground.
Then, they turned around and moved.
Seraphiel watched them go, then glanced at the dwarf crew. The lead dwarf gave her a short nod. She returned it.
She still wasn't a fan of dwarves in any shape or form.
But even she could admit they were useful when they weren't being insufferable. Which was rare. But today counted.
...
Farther down the main road, the orphans had broken containment.
A pack of children, roughly a dozen, tore through the streets at full sprint. They ducked between legs, slid under carts, and used a stack of lumber as a ramp to launch themselves over a fence that had been built fifteen minutes ago.
Three nuns gave chase. Two of them had already given up and were doubled over with their hands on their knees.
Mira - the glasses-wearing brunette with freckles adorning her face, the same woman who helped Quinlan get to as many orphanages as possible to save as many kids and nuns as possible - had not given up.
"Get back here!" she screamed. "I said- formation! We talked about formation! You all agreed to formation!"
They had not agreed to the formation.
A boy with dirt on his face and no shoes glanced back at her, stuck out his tongue, and veered hard left into an alley.
"You little! e back here right now, or I'll tell the Goddess on you!"
Theological threats did not slow them down.
Mira lunged.
Her arms stretched wide. Her fingers grazed the back of a girl's shirt. Close. So close.
The girl ducked.
Mira's momentum carried her forward with nothing to grab onto. Her feet tangled. Her body pitched ahead at full tilt, glasses sliding, arms windmilling, and she slammed face-first into something solid.
Her forehead cracked against a thigh.
Hard.
An absurdly tall, armored leg that did not budge a single inch when her skull collided with it.
"O.."
Mira clutched her forehead with both hands, hunched forward on her knees. Her glasses hung off one ear. She squeezed her eyes shut, rocking slightly, teeth clenched.
"Those little shits are too quick..."
She opened her eyes.
Boots. Large boots. Black, polished, and far too expensive-looking for anyone in Miri Town.
Her gaze traveled up.
Greaves. A belt. Chest armor. Broad shoulders.
She kept looking up.
And up.
'This man is really tall!' she screamed inwardly.
Then she saw his face.
The familiar jawline. The insufferable ease with which he looked down at her. The faintest curve at the corner of his mouth, already forming.
Her eyes went wide. And she smiled from ear to ear.
"The arrogant guy!!" Mira blurted. "You're back!"
Quinlan smirked down at her. "You know my name. Use it, woman."
Mira's eyes narrowed. She tapped her chin with one finger, tilting her head with exaggerated thought. "Hmm... yeah, I think I do... Wait, no… What was it again...?"
"Repressing your mortal desires for all your adult life has turned your brain to mush."
"What are you saying?!" Mira shouted, enraged.
"I called you a dumbass."
"Blasphemer!!!"
"Quin."
Lucille's voice came from behind him, bright and teasing.
"I didn't know you were into nuns."
Mira blinked. "Hah?"
Then she looked at herself.
On her knees. Between his legs. Her face angled straight up to meet his gaze, neck craned back, head tilted. From any angle other than hers, it looked exactly like-
The blood hit her face so fast her ears burned.
"I am NOT!" Mira shrieked, scrambling backward on her knees before catching herself. She leapt to her feet and spun on Lucille with her finger already raised. "How dare you say such a thing?! What kind of filthy mind jumps to that conclusion?!"
Lucille shrugged. Unapologetic. pletely at ease. "I've been in that exact pose between Quin's legs many times in my life. There's nothing to be ashamed about." She inspected her nails. "It's one of the best spots in Thalorind."
Mira's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"You... you're... this woman is truly shameless..."
Lucille grinned.
Then the grin softened into a laugh, warm and light, and it was obvious. She was messing with her. The whole thing was a joke. A terrible, indecent, blasphemous joke.
Mira exhaled. Her hand pressed to her chest. Her heart was still hammering. "So you don't actually... you know..."
She gestured vaguely at Quinlan, unable to form the words.
Lucille's laughter stopped.
She looked at Mira with a perfectly straight face.
"Oh, that? No, I blow this big guy almost every day. Preferably many times a day. At this point, his seed is the main part of my diet."
Mira's soul left her body.
Her glasses fogged. Her knees buckled. She staggered sideways and caught herself on a fence post, one hand over her heart, the other pointing at Lucille with trembling accusation.
"You... you are... the most..."
Words failed her.
Kitsara's lush white tails swished behind her butt as she giggled. It was a sly, knowing sound, the kind that made innocent people nervous for good reason. The foxkin regarded Mira with open amusement.
"This nun is truly sexually repressed," she observed. "Would you like Lady Kitsara to tell you some truly eye-opening tales of how debased a union between man and woman could look? She has a lot of experience with this stud, the experience books would never be able to convey…" Her tails swayed lazily behind her again as she added with a low, ominous voice, "He's not kind in bed."
Mira's mouth worked soundlessly.
Her face was already red. This made it worse. Significantly worse. Her hands came up as if to ward off the words physically, but her eyes betrayed her. They were wide, darting between Kitsara and Quinlan with a mixture of horror and something she would deny to her dying breath.
"I... that's... You can't just say..."
Her gaze flicked to Quinlan's frame. Then snapped back to Kitsara.
"Define 'not kind,'" she whispered.
She immediately slapped her own hand over her mouth.
"Is he that cruel to his lovers…? I knew he was a bastard, but…"
Aurora sighed. "That's because Kitsara is a kinky woman who enjoys it." She turned to Mira with a calm, measured look. "And are you sure you should be chatting here, nun with repressed desires? You're losing the kids."
Mira's head whipped around.
"I am not repressed! And - THE KIDS!!!"
Every single child she'd been chasing had vanished into the crowd like smoke.
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