8.
The Blooming Rose was a cacophony of sounds and sights. Fenris remarked under his breath that it reminded him of home, but said little else to her as they carefully picked their way through the establishment.
There were tables, but they were set up in a haphazard kind of way, and more than a couple were occupied by a woman, perched there in scanty clothing… and often looking incredibly bored, even while chatting. Brona’s eyes lingered on them, curious, but never for too long. She didn’t want to appear rude.
The floors were clean in the walkways, though there were a few sets of dirty small footprints that wove their way around the clientele. While she couldn’t hear or see the children, she knew they must exist, and she kept an eye out for them the rest of the time they were there, hoping to spot one. Even if she did, she wasn’t sure what good it would do, since the whole of the building seemed to be dimly lit. There were cloths over the windows, sheer to throw a cosy light through the space. Up on the ceilings were various chandeliers, as if they had been all procured separately and hung up as trophies. She spun there in her steps beside her friend as she gazed up at them.
It was only Fenris’ hand at her back that made her break her trance. He had found someone who kept a logbook. The elf leaned against the counter to look at the woman, so Hawke imitated him as casually as she could. “Is Jethann available?”
“It’s his rest day,” the woman returned in a bit of a monotone, not even looking up at them. Her quill was busy in the book, so Fenris waited for her to be done with the line before he continued.
“Actually, I’d just like to speak with him for a few minutes.”
The woman finally paid attention, hooded eyes at Fenris before they trailed to Hawke… and then back to the elf. “He in trouble?”
“No, nothing like that. We are investigating a missing woman, and hope she told things to him that she didn’t mention to her husband.”
“That is likely,” she agreed, head turning with a little click of her tongue up the stairs for his benefit. “Up the stairs, down the hall, at the very end.”
“Thank you.”
They left the woman there to her book-keeping, and Fenris once again took the lead, this time through the main floor to the stairs. “You can be pleasant,” Hawke noted as they climbed the steps, avoiding any fallen clothes along the way.
“You seem surprised.”
“Usually I do all the talking. I like this side of you.”
“You are forgetting the night we spent together, I believe.”
“How could I forget that?” He glanced back down at her, and she bit her lip. “But in a closed room with me is different than here.”
He grunted. “Why, because no one here has saved my life and helped me wreak revenge on maleficar?”
“Yes.”
He grunted again, this time longer and leading into a displeased noise. “If he asks, I will tell him that we are together. I’m not sure what he will be like.”
“You think he will proposition you?”
“I fully expect he will proposition us both.”
Hawke was close behind him as he went down the hall, and there at Fenris’ shoulder as he knocked on Jethann’s door. A lithe elf answered half a moment later, holding a robe together with his free hand. He was shorter than the pair of them, and looked between them. “It’s my rest day.”
“Jethann?” Fenris wondered, and he nodded. “We are sorry to bother you, but we have some questions about Ninette.”
Jethann’s face lit up, and the door opened further to allow them in. His room was dark, but he paused to light a candle as he spoke. “How is she? I haven’t seen her in a few weeks, and I actually miss the depraved woman.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
The smaller elf made a thoughtful noise, returning to them in the candlelight. “At least a few weeks, maybe a little more. She used to come quite often.” His eyes looked over them both, and then his head tilted. “Why? Did something— did something happen to her?”
“We’re not sure,” Hawke replied gently. “Her husband seems to think so, though.”
Jethann scoffed, waving a hand at the mention of the man. “That man! I hope she just left him, and if she did, then good for her.”
“She spoke of him to you?”
“Some. Venting, you know. Nothing out of the ordinary.” His eyes fell down them again. “You’re not guards. Mercenaries?”
“Yes, but we thought this was important,” Brona replied. “Her husband spoke of her many lovers. Did you hear about any of them?”
Jethann shook his head. “No, maybe in passing, or telling me where she went. No one really recently, though— though,” he said sharply, eyes away as he recalled something. “You’re not the first to ask me about her recently. A templar was here a few days ago.”
“A templar?” Fenris breathed out in surprise. “Was she an apostate?”
“Who, Ninette?” He blew out some air. “She was enchanting, but, no. She wasn’t a mage.”
“Do you recall his name? Perhaps he’s investigating as well.”
“Emerald— Emeric,” Jethann corrected with a nod. “Yes, I remember. Older than either of you, dressed in that templar armour that’s so easy to get under— not that he let me, mind you. He said he was going to be investigating in the Undercity, I believe. He might still be down there, somewhere.” He took in a breath. “And now, a question for the two of you. You, with those markings that I want to see the rest of—“ Fenris made an offended noise— “and you not showing any skin whatsoever—“
“And you will not see any,” Fenris said quietly with a sharply warning tone.
Brona set her hand on his arm gently, attention still on Jethann. “Anything else you can tell us of Ninette?”
The whore shrugged away the denial, showing most of his skin then, since he had stopped holding his robe closed. “Specifics? Sure, I can describe her, if you need me to.” He took in a breath, eyes darting between the two of them. “If you do find out anything, will you tell me?”
“I hope we find her,” Brona murmured with a nod. She then thanked him quietly for his time, turning Fenris for the door. He opened it, and then shut it quickly behind her once they had stepped through. They shared a long look before he led the way back out.
Going to the Undercity meant that Brona was going to stop in at the clinic, and while Fenris sighed, he didn’t object. She knew the way well by that point, and she was a common enough sight that a few of the long-term patients knew her. She came to check on them while she waited for Anders to be free, but Fenris became a gargoyle by the entrance. His eyes moved over the interior, and then the way just outside the door, always alert.
It was only a few minutes before Anders came over to greet her, drawing her away from the cots with a smile. “Is everything all right?” He wondered, looking her over carefully for any sign of a recent battle.
“Where’s Bethany?” Brona wondered instead.
“Home. Feeling a bit under the weather, so I insisted she rest. I gave her a book to read in the meantime.”
“She seemed all right this morning.”
He murmured an agreement. “She might have just not wanted to work today.” They exhanged a look, and his eyes were over her again, seeing if he had missed something. “Bethany’s fine,” he promised, “now tell me why you are here.”
“We heard that a templar was down here—“
“What?”
Her hands came to his arms quickly. “Investigating a missing woman,” she continued, and the look of panic left his eyes, albeit slowly. “I was wondering if you have any idea where he might have been searching.”
“There are a few tunnels near here that lead to— well, that can lead to the Gallows.” Fenris looked over at that, eyes narrowed. Anders ignored him, staying focused on Brona. “I would start there. Was she a mage?”
“I don’t think so. I have no idea why he involved himself.”
“Be careful,” he warned her in a breath, hands rising to cup her face affectionately. “Anytime your work involves templars, I get nervous.”
“I’m always careful.” He made a noise of dissent. “How are you?”
“I’m perfectly fine,” he promised her, kissing her nose before he released her. “See you for supper?”
“No, Aveline pulled us for some work, so we’ll come home after.”
Anders finally looked over to Fenris, whose eyes were now trained on the pair of them standing so close together. “Watch her back, especially down here.”
“She won’t come to harm with me,” the elf returned, though he did come to stand beside them.”Did the templar come here?”
“Is that concern I hear?” Fenris just stared at him, unmoving and unblinking. “No, he didn’t, and none others, either.”
“Is this good or bad news?” He wondered of Brona, who quirked a smile. “We’re wasting time.”
“You’re right,” she agreed, offering a real smile and a wave to Anders. She followed close behind Fenris back out to Darktown. “I think I know the tunnels he meant.”
“He kissed you.”
It was such a simple statement, and yet it took her a moment to get control of her emotions and the thoughts it provoked. “My nose, not our lips.”
“But you still allowed it of him.”
“This offends you?” He didn’t reply because she had dropped down a steep set of stairs, and their boots soon began to squish with every step. “Fen?”
“I find it curious. What else do you allow him?”
“Nothing beyond friendship,” she reminded him, yet again. Still, her mind skipped to those two brief moments where they had gotten very close to breaking their friendship with a kiss, and the dozen or so times since when it was simply a look that he gave her while standing far too close. Or in the middle of the night, when he awakened to a nightmare of Darkspawn, or templars, and she had to soothe him back down.
“Don’t forget what he is.”
“He’s also my friend, now as close as kin.”
“I remember,” he said bitterly. “What do you see in him?”
“You want to discuss this, now? We’ve already spoken on this, and this is hardly the place to rehash that conversation.”
He concurred quietly. “I only worry what his nature might bring down on you and your family. If you get too close, there might be no disentangling, and especially not in the eyes of the templars.”
“If they come for Bethany, if they come for Anders, then we both are doomed to their defence, regardless.”
He made a soft noise, stopping as she did, but his words were through her hair to her ear. “Are we that inseparable?”
“Yes,” she returned. He let out a warm breath there against her, enjoying the moment before she started forward down the narrow— and dark— corridor.
“I suppose I do feel protective of them both. I blame you for that,” he said after some silence, and some thought.
“You spend enough time with each.”
He grunted an agreement. “Not as much time as with you, but yes.” And then, “did he tell you any about his relationship with Karl?”
“A little. It’s still hard for him to talk about. Why?”
“In Tevinter, mages being together was the norm, but it’s not here, is it?” She affirmed this softly. “Obviously, in the Circle here is different than back home. I wonder how many others there are like them. I wonder what happens to the children born of some of those unions. Raised in the Circle as well?”
“That’s a good question. Perhaps we can ask a templar, next time we see one,” she mused.
“I don’t know if I’d like to know the answer.” More silence that seemed to permeate as they walked, but for the squelching of their steps and the ambient noises around them. “He hasn’t tried anything with you, has he?”
“Beyond the attempt at a kiss? No. We really haven’t known each other very long, and we’ve been busy, regardless.”
“I was wondering if that had changed since I last asked.”
“Like you’ve been away from me long enough for him to have,” she said in a light tone, and she could almost hear his frown. “And before you ask, no. Bethany told me it is strictly a teacher-student relationship.”
“As it should be. She’s barely out of childhood.” He bit his lip, thinking of how to phrase his next question. “Has he… mentioned any other relationships to you?”
“Besides Justice, and the Warden, no.”
“What was his relationship with her?”
“She protected him. He talks about her as if she was Andraste Herself. If you’re curious about the specifics, you should ask him.”
“He doesn’t want to speak to me.”
“I think he would, if you both could get over your prejudices.”
They reached a corner, and his hand came to her arm quickly, stopping her as his ears perked to some distant sound. He stepped around her to take the lead, as narrow as the corridor was, silent as he made his way towards the sound of fighting. Their steps quickened as they got closer, and slid into a room, the floor nothing but water and blood— and thugs surrounding a templar.
He was already in the water, clutching to his side, which was pouring blood, while scrambling for his sword. He sputtered as he fell.
Fenris had his sword drawn first, but Hawke’s was close behind his. They had defeated half the thugs— just some lowlifes from the Undercity— before the rest scattered now that their target had such able defenders.
Fenris knelt beside the templar and rolled him over, seeing if he was even still alive.
He was, if struggling to breathe, and a gloved hand came to the elf’s shoulder with a gasp. Brona came to beside them both, looking him over quickly, and then her fingers was removing the armour covering his chest. It fell with a clang through the water to the stone, and her hands found the wound, slicing open his side into his stomach.
“We’re going to patch you up,” she told the templar, who nodded with a cough. “I have some bandages in my bag,” she directed to Fenris, who was soon helping her to roughly wrap the wound, augmented with one of the scarves that she had been wearing.
“You’re not going to take him to the healer’s?” Fenris wondered of her under his breath, and she shook her head.
“No, but this will allow us to bring him back up to the main city, and from there, the Gallows.” She lifted the man over her shoulders to carry him like a soldier, and the templar offered no resistance. Fenris followed behind her with the rest of the man’s gear, all the way up to Lowtown. They were quiet on the trip, and it was actually in the boat to the Gallows that the templar finally spoke.
“Thank you,” he managed, adjusting on the hard wood, uncomfortable and nothing he was able to do helping with that. “It was the Maker’s hand that showed you there to that alley.”
“No, we were looking for a templar,” Brona replied, brushing some hair from his eyes gently. “We had heard that one was looking into Ninette’s disappearance.”
“Yes, that’s me.” He tugged his bag onto his lap, and dug through it to pull out a bundle of papers, held together with string and metal but little else. “Here, take my notes. I was looking into her disappearance, since it was so similar to the way some of our Circle’s mages have disappeared. All older women, all with a new suitor, but they were… isolated. Kept to themselves, usually.”
“That’s not how Ninette was,” Fenris noted, and the templar shook his head.
“On the surface, perhaps, but she never stayed in one place for long, even for that husband of hers.” He took in a breath, watching how Hawke was looking through his compiled research. “Thank you, for saving my life. I was only trying to do some investigating, but I suppose the inhabitants don’t take kindly to a templar down there.”
“No, not usually,” she mused. “Why were you down there alone?”
“We’re understaffed, and this was not deemed top-priority. Actually,” he said, laying a hand over the page she was on so she’d look at him, “I do have a lead. There’s an old foundry, in Lowtown. It’s abandoned now, but since I’ve begun this investigation, it seems that it’s not completely. I’ve followed a trail there, but found nothing. Perhaps you two will be more lucky.”
“Are you sure they’re related at all?” Fenris wondered, moving closer to Hawke— and thereby getting Emeric to withdraw that hand.
“I believe they are, that’s where the evidence points, but even if they aren’t, then you’ll be continuing my investigation for me. And for that, I’d be very grateful.”
“It is a good cause. It is terrifying to think that as secure as the Gallows are, that mages can still be kidnapped— or disappear— like this.”
Emeric made a soft noise, not quite of a disagreement. “Yes. It is.” His eyes slid off of Hawke and to the Gallows themselves, as they were pulling up close to the dock. A disheveled-looking templar recruit was waiting for them, and helped the pair of mercenaries to unload Emeric. Fenris handed the templar’s armour off to a second recruit, and the pair stood there on the dock and watched as Emeric was carried off to the healer’s.
“We did our part,” Fenris grunted, feet adjusting, uncomfortable on the wood. His boots made little tapping sounds as the nervousness ate at him, but not at Hawke. She was staring into the Gallows.
It was the first time she had been back to them since they had arrived in Kirkwall, and it brought back a slew of memories that she’d rather forget. She was lost in them anyway until Fenris snaked a hand around her shoulders, bringing her in for some semblance of a hug.
“We can leave,” he told her into her hair, “and we should. You’re attracting too much attention.”
“Aveline said there were some missing templars.”
Hawke pulled from him to walk through to the Gallows proper, and though he sighed, he followed right behind her. Her eyes scanned over the courtyard, past the tranquil hawking their wares, past the templars going about their business, and the mages out to enjoy the fresh air with a book or with a friend. She finally landed on a group of templar recruits, who were talking amongst themselves, and made her way over to them.
“Wilmod came back,” one of them said, nodding at her two friends. “I saw him, just this morning.”
“So he survived the intiation—“ that recruit cut off as he spotted Hawke and Fenris. His posture went from natural to one of attention, which the two beside him met. “Ah, hello, may we help you?”
“I heard there were some of you missing,” Hawke said in a quiet tone. “That is what you were speaking about?”
“Well, yes—“
“No, we can’t talk to some stranger about all this, and especially not a mercenary—“
“And why not? No one besides the Knight-Captain seems at all concerned,” she said in a sharp voice, attention from the other recruits to Hawke. “Some of the older recruits, they go for their Intiation, and some of them don’t come back. We think that the Knight-Commander—“
“Has concocted some sort of test, and she’s eliminating recruits who won’t obey her,” the third recruit said, looking between the other two. “I’m due for mine next week, and I can barely sleep, thinking about it— what if she wants us to kill an apostate, or a tranquil—“
“She’s not that bad, is she?”
“You’ve seen the way she is,” the female recruit answered with a frown for him. “We need some sort of inquiry into all this, through the Chantry, perhaps, but right now I’m more concerned about the way Wilmod has been acting. Odd, even for him. He was never hot-tempered before.”
“Perhaps the lyrium changed him,” Fenris noted.
“Or whatever ritual they have them perform broke his mind,” Hawke added, hand up to her lips in thought before they fell. “This Wilmod— he isn’t here now?”
“No, he left again, and the Knight-Captain was hot on his trail. He said something about the coast, but it could all be nonsense.”
“What’s there on the coast? Nothing for the Order—“
“There’s plenty of small caverns down there, for apostates to hide,” Fenris cut in. “Used to do it all the time, back when this place was a part of the Imperium.”
The recruits all studied him for a few breaths, not quite sure what to say to that.
“Right, well, it wasn’t that long ago. Maybe you can at least catch the Knight-Captain,” the female recruit finally answered, eyes drawn back to Hawke. “I think he felt the same oddness from Wilmod that I did. I really hope whatever happened to him didn’t happen to Keran.”
“Who’s Keran?”
“A recruit who just went through his intiation, too— last week, I think. He didn’t come back from it, and his sister’s been here every single day since, asking for him. No one knows quite what to tell her.”
“Were they friends, Wilmod and Keran?”
“I mean, we’re all sort of friends, but I suppose they were close. You think they’re connected?”
“Maybe,” Fenris murmured, glancing at Hawke. “We should go, to find this Knight-Captain, at the very least.” She nodded an agreement, and they were quiet until they were almost nearly to the docks in Lowtown. “What are you thinking?”
“Have you heard Anders talk about the conditions in the Gallows?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“I had never considered how the templars might also be suffering.”
He grunted, sitting forward with his eyes on their silent tranquil guide across the water. “I didn’t see much suffering in that courtyard, Hawke. There were tranquil, yes, but I also saw many mages who were just going about their business.”
“Who knows what we don’t see?” She sat forward beside him, her eyes to the tranquil as well. She was quiet as she worked, eyes only on her task. “I’ve seen their handiwork firsthand. I saw them entrap him—“
“I remember.”
“And besides from Tevinter, I’ve not seen a maleficar—“
“Yet,” he amended, eyes darting to her. “I promise, they exist. Fuck, these missing templars could be the work of some of them. Even with all their lyrium and suppression abilities, your templars are really no more equipped for a highly-trained mage than ours were. And these were recruits, fresh out of training.”
“The perfect target.” He grunted another agreement. “Did being there with me really make you nervous?”
He looked at her quickly before his attention was away again, clearing his throat. He climbed out onto the dock before her, offering his hands to guide her. She took them, as unnecessary as they were, and they made their way quickly towards the coast.
“Yes,” he finally replied.
“Why?”
“You are surrounded by mages, and you insist on going against templars every chance you get. Why wouldn’t I be nervous?”
“I’ve been around templars my entire life,” she murmured, amused. “I’m in no more danger than you are.”
“You think I wasn’t in danger?” She just looked at him, and he sent her a frown. “It’s not the same thing. I was trained to fight mages, and I’m quite good at it. I have more in common with them than not.”
“And I don’t? I trained with them, when I was younger, we’ve fought together—“
“And against each other,” he reminded her. “I saw your hesitation there on the docks. You were nervous, too.”
“What?” She let out a breath, shaking her head as she was following a line of heavy boot-prints in the dirt now that they were out of the city. “No, I was thinking of the last time I was there.”
“With Anders?”
“No, with my family, when we arrived from Kirkwall. Aveline, too. We spent days within those walls.”
“That must have been unsettling.”
“It was.”
She fell quiet, and he helped her track the footprints down along the coast, dropping down a small cliff-face, and then up a long rise. He was booking it ahead of her as they heard some yelling, but she was following behind him, as quick as her feet could carry her.
“Damn it, Wilmod!”
Hawke nearly ran into Fenris, as he had stopped right in the center of the path. He held out an arm to her, urging her to wait and watch the scene in front of them. A templar, full in his armour, was pacing in front of a younger looking templar, fitting awkwardly in his armour. He was nervous-looking, but was desperately trying not to be.
“You disappear, right after your first draught, and now— now you’re gone again, right after coming back,” the templar continued, a hand raking through his hair. Neither one of them had noticed the two mercenaries. “Your mother wasn’t ill, was she? Where were you, really?
“She was ill,” Wilmod insisted, hands out to gesture, but it looked forced. “I had to go home, Knight-Captain, and I couldn’t wait. What if she had died—“
“When you took your oath, you agreed to follow our Order, and our laws,” the Knight-Captain said hotly, spinning to approach the other man. He gripped at the lad’s shoulders, eyes not leaving his, staring him down. “You could have told anyone, but you didn’t. Where were you?”
“My mother’s!” He screeched out, his voice breaking.
“Lie! Where were you going today? What is out here on the coast?”
“I just needed some air—“
The Knight-captain scoffed and threw him back. Wilmod stumbled before finding his feet. “You’re a terrible liar, Wilmod. Just tell me the truth!”
“That is the truth, ser—“ He cut off to a whimper as the templar drew his sword and had it under his chin in one solid and smooth move.
“The truth! Where were you for a week, and where were you going—“
“It is the truth! Please, ser, mercy!”
“If only it were that easy,” the templar growled right into his face, sword pressing up into his skin. “You’re at best a deserter of the Order, and at worst, a conspirator and a traitor—“
There was a burst like an explosion, and he was thrown back from the younger man, his sword ripped from his hand. He landed hard on the dirt and rock, but alive.
Hawke was watching with a terrified gasp as Wilmod transformed from a man into a twisted creature, not unlike those that had infested Danarius’ estate. Fenris let out a string of curses in Tevene, not even bothering to keep his voice low.
Hawke did not hesitate, because as revolting as the sight was, this was something she was trained to do. Sort of. She cut an appendage off of the abomination as it reached for the templar, and she standing over him protectively. It screeched, an arm coming for the templar again, and she cut off that tentacle as well.
Once Fenris had his sword drawn and reached them, the creature stood no chance. It fell into a pile of black blood and goo surrounding and covering a carcass that only vaguely resembled Wilmod. The elf stood and looked down at it with a disgusted face, and a tell-tale displeased noise from deep in his throat.
“He was a mage?” Hawke wondered, looking down at the templar.
He shook his head, and then a hand was up to it and through his blonde hair with a pained noise. “No, certainly not. He completely the training, and he had the draught of lyrium.”
“Then how did he—“ Her sword fell to the dirt in lieu of helping the templar to sit up. He thanked her under his breath. “There was a demon in him.”
“Yes,” he agreed, eyes over her before they were behind her to her companion. “I’m sorry, I am grateful— but who are you?”
“Brona Hawke and Fenris,” she offered. “Some of your recruits said you came out here chasing Wilmod, and they were extremely worried.”
“Hawke,” he repeated, looking her over once more, and then to her sword. She was quick to reclaim it, standing from him to clean it. “I see. You have some experience with— with abominations?”
“Some, from my time with the Red Iron.”
“I suppose you would.”
“What does that mean?” Fenris wondered, rag out and halfway through cleaning the black goo off of his own blade.
“Nothing.” He did sigh, though. “I am Knight-Captain Cullen— Cullen Rutherford. And that was Wilmod. How in the Maker’s name did he get possessed?”
“Perhaps when he was missing?”
“Likely.” Cullen finally pulled himself up to standing. He wasn’t bleeding, but he was clearly rattled. He made a noise of pain as he stooped to recover his blade, and then it was away. “I was conducting my investigation, and it led me to the Blooming Rose. Wilmod and some other recruits did frequent the establishment, but uh—“ He cut off, looking away from them, and then clearing his throat. “Well, I didn’t get very far talking to any of them. Perhaps you’ll have more luck.”
“You want us to continue?” Hawke wondered, finally sheathing her sword.
“I will assist you, of course, but clearly something is happening that us templars are not entirely equipped to handle— not in our current state. I will return this creature to the Gallows in the meantime. Please, find out what you can, and then meet me back there.”
“Some foul blood magic,” Fenris murmured, observing the corpse again. “A sleeper demon, only scared out by your threats.”
“It was what I was afraid of— well,” Cullen said, blowing out some air, “not this exactly, but I knew that something was the matter. The threats were necessary. He had to feel that I was being as serious as the Blight, and I clearly was quite convincing.”
“Would you have harmed him?” Hawke wondered as Fenris came to join her.
“Only if he had resisted me returning him to the Gallows. Perhaps… Perhaps it is better that this happened here, and not in the courtyard. The panic that this would induce…” He trailed off, eyes glazing over as he stared at the corpse. It was a moment before he returned to himself, eyes raised to Hawke’s. “So, please, I ask for your discretion. As much as I am sure you dislike the order and the Circle, do not let this get out.”
Her eyebrows furrowed at that comment. “Why do you think I hate your Order?”
They were staring at each other, neither blinking. “Your name has crossed my desk, Hawke. I know you’re a mage.”
The world seemed to crash down around Brona at that calm statement. There was nothing but her heartbeat in her ears as she— the templars knew about Bethany. They knew about her! That he had mistaken her for her sister was… was it a good thing? She couldn’t decide.
“And you’re not going to drag me to the Gallows?”
“You just saved my life with a sword, and you wield it like a soldier. You are not my top priority,” he assured her. “I’ll wipe those reports away, if you continue to aid me.”
“Yes, thank you,” Brona agreed with a little nod, and a smaller smile.
Toro Tokuda 